Page 68 of Men or Paws
Rocco’s heart was even bigger than I thought, which didn’t bode well for me since I was a sucker for compassionate, generous men.
“You should join us,” Douglas said.
“Thanks, but I don’t want to intrude,” I said.
“Rocco’s girlfriend never needs an invitation,” Douglas said.
I smiled. “I’m not his girlfriend.”
“Female companion?”
I snorted. “You make me sound like Julia Roberts inPretty Woman.”
Not that I would mind being compared to her.
Except for the hooker part.
I thought of the 1989 Lotus Esprit SE from the movie that Rocco had in his garage, wondering if he would ever let me drive it. I doubt it. Men were very protective of their automobiles, more so than with their appendages, actually.
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” Douglas said. “That’s gotta mean something.”
I’ve seen that look, too.
Honestly, it scared me a little since we just met.
I shrugged. “We’re . . . friends.”
That seemed pretty fair to assume considering we’d gotten through the rough patch that had us butting heads like Rocky Mountain bighorn sheep.
“Well, whatever you are, there’s no need for you to overthink this,” Douglas said. “I can make the decision for you. You are going to join me and Rocco for bowling when he gets back from New York. I insist.”
“Okay . . .” I wasn’t going to argue because it sounded like fun to me. “If you insist.”
Hopefully, Rocco wouldn’t think I invited myself.
“See you again soon then!” Douglas waved as he disappeared behind the property wall.
I slid my hand in the bag and bent down to pick up the poop near the palm tree, then tied a knot in the top of the bag. “Okay, let’s go, Houdini.” I tossed the bag in the garbage and walked back to the guesthouse to grab my things.
Fifteen minutes later, I walked through the kitchen of the main house and down the hallway toward Rocco’s bedroom.
All of the doors to the rooms on both sides of the hallway were closed, with the exception of his bedroom. I took a couple of steps inside, glanced around, then inhaled.
The scent of his cologne still clung in the air even though he had been gone for most of the day already. I may have enjoyed the smell a little too much, considering I took in a second, much-longer breath through my nose, sniffing like a bloodhound on the trail.
Houdini jumped up onto the bed and staked claim on his usual spot. He lay his chin on top of his paws and sighed. I couldn’t tell if he was sad because Rocco was gone or perfectly content with just relaxing there for a while.
I set my things on the bed, then pressed down on the mattress with my hand, like a customer testing the firmness before deciding whether or not to purchase it. I even contemplated whether or not to starfish in the middle of it. I decided to save it for later when I could enjoy it and not have to remake the bed.
Glancing around again, I moved toward the open door of Rocco’s walk-in closet and took a peek inside. “Holy whopping wardrobe, Batman,” I mumbled, entering inside as the light automatically clicked on.
His closet was as big as the kitchen in my apartment, but what surprised me more was the sheer quantity of clothes, all neatly organized in sections by type of clothing. The one thing he would never have to do is organize by color.
“Rocco, Rocco, Rocco . . .” I shook my head in amusement as I ran my fingers along the long row of shirts, all black, just as I suspected.
The man had enough black clothes to attend fifty funerals without ever having to wear the same thing twice.
Black pants, black jackets, black shirts, black ties, black dress shoes. He even had five pairs of black tennis shoes on the floor, all name brand, all perfectly lined up, none of them with even a scuff.
