Page 21 of Bears Behaving Badly
Pat took pity on the deeply curious creature and replied, “Let’s just say that today I’m feeling more masculine than feminine. Say about 85/15.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“That’s all right.”
“How’d your interview go?” Annette was rooting through the fridge; in all the excitement, she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Note: go grocery shopping, dammit!
“They’ll let me know, blah-blah. In the meantime…” He produced seed packets from his overall pockets and waved them at her. “I’ve taken up organic gardening.”
“But it’s September.”
“Don’t try to restrain my ambitions, Annette!”
“Sorry, sorry.” To Dev: “Sandwich? Leftover stir-fry? Leftover meat loaf? Leftover—no, that’s far too old. I can’t even remember when we had spaghetti. Perhaps a gallon of freshly squeezed orange juice? And David, I’m sorry to report we’re out of SkittlesandStarburst. I can’t think how I let this happen.”
“I’m good.” He was staring at the litter of oranges, shaking his head and smiling. “You are juicing like a motherfucker.”
“Oh, is that what I’m doing?”
David turned to Annette. “Listen, I’d like to walk your perimeter—”
“Romantic!”
“Shush.” Bad enough the thought of him sleeping in her house was making her knees tremble. Worse knowing how easy it would be to show him to the guest room and then, er, initiate things. Because this was the worst time in the world to be thinking of her sexual dry spell. Her charges were in danger. David was here in a professional capacity and would not appreciate being molested. So this was no time for Pat to indulge in his shipping tendencies. But before she could elaborate—poor David was probably already ruing his impulse to remain—she heard a buzz and David turned away as he fished his phone out. “You understand that the matchmaking-roommate cliché is beyond tired, right?”
“Howdareyou call me a cliché. I’m a trope.”
“Is that like a trout?” she asked. “Or tripe?”
“I won’t dignify that with an answer, you harpy.” To Dev: “Drink this juice.”
“I dunno,” the kit replied. “Are you sure there’s enough?”
“I like him,” Pat announced. “Let’s keep him.”
“He’s not a stray, Pat. We can’t just keep him.”
“Yes I am!”
Before she could reply, David put his phone away and turned back to them. When she saw his expression, she groaned. “What? What troubling, terrible strange thing has happened now?”
“Lund’s dead.”
There was a silence while she digested the news. “Well, shit,” she managed.
“Have some juice,” Pat suggested. “You’ll feel better.”
Chapter 9
Never, obviously.
“I’d like to shift and take a look around. You mind?” David asked.
Drop it, will you?
Annette looked up from her grocery list, which looked long enough to be a Wiki entry. “Of course not. There’s a set of sliding doors on the lower level that lead to twenty-four acres of private land and the St. Croix River.”
“And if you go the other way, you’ll find a Dairy Queen Grill & Chill,” Pat added.
