Page 7 of Filthy and the Beast

Sitting up on the couch, I notice a row of thick, hardcover books on the shelves across from me. Incredibly, they’re all about boxing.

“He’s an enigma,” I mutter. No way this man has literally only one interest and defining quality.

“You were saying you asked him about something?”

“His local community centers!” I continue. “If there was one in his neighborhood, maybe he’d even attended their programming? And he told me there was a boxing gym. He said it like this.” I drop my voice. “Boxing gym.”

“I suppose they might fulfill some of the same purposes.”

“So I told him I would certainly make a visit to their bulletin board, which I will. And then he said everyone should learn to defend themselves. He growled it like a threat, kind of, but I don’t know. He held my eye and nodded, and despite the tone, I just knew he meant it, like, 'looking out for you, kid.' After that he walked away. Toddled, really.”

After a pause, Nico says, “So it’s going well?”

“Yeah, I think so.” I recall Enzo, leaning against the counter while I grabbed him a bottle of whiskey. His muscles are thick and heavy; his dark nipples and hairy chest were visible through the old white tank he wore yesterday.

Sexy. Not my type, but sexy.

Distracted, I blink. “Who knows? By the time he’s healed, Enzo and I might be best friends.” I stand, grab my shoes, and carry them downstairs. “Are we still meeting up for dinner?”

“I’m writing songs all week with Kissing Dirt.” Nico reminds me his band is back in town. “I’ll be free at night, though! Tuesday? Want to come by the loft?”

“Tuesday works! I get time off to do my own thing.” I walk out the back and into the garden. As morning sun streams down on me, the dogs stir. The sound of them immediately makes my heart sing. “I guess I’ll check the schedule with Enzo before I go, in case he needs me for anything, but he hardly ever seems to.”

The dogs are out doing dog stuff, so I hang back and peer out at the garden while I wait for them to emerge. Brick walls, overgrown shrubs, and shady trees create exactly the mood I expected from Enzo’s place. Even with the animals nearby, the huge garden feels empty around me.

“I’m glad Enzo has at least learned to use his words,” Nico says. “If he’s hiding in his room all day, are you getting any time to plan your future like you hoped?”

“I have a date on Friday,” I offer. “Not like a hookup or a sexperiment. Like, an actual date. Dinner.”

“That’s unusual for you!” I hear him thinking. “And how is a date part of your future planning?”

“I’m considering a boyfriend. In the traditional sense. It’s something I haven’t done in years, and maybe some stability in my love life could be…”

“Pleasurable?”

I sigh. “With front-row seats to my best friend’s happy-ever-after, I can admit there’s some appeal.”

I’ve tried having a boyfriend, twice, and decided it wasn’t for me. The guys always ended up acting possessive or controlling, and with my strong sense of sexual curiosity, I’d much prefer to playfully indulge with clear boundaries established than spend my evenings arguing in cars or whatever it is keeping many couples my age so miserable.

But now I’m standing in a grumpy old man’s garden, my future upended. And having a boyfriend or some such thing to turn to at moments like these might be relaxing.

Dogs rustle behind the shrubs, and I shake my head.

“I should go. Will you tell me all about the new songs you’re writing when we have dinner?”

“Of course. See you then, Damian.”

Mirabelle, Petunia, and Goldie emerge down the garden path. They’re all pit bulls, or something close to it, I think. Petunia is young and brindled, and she bounds ahead with more energy. Mirabelle is old, white with dark brown splotches, and she walks with a lot of sway to her hips. Goldie is pure gray, the sunniest smile on her face as she plods forward.

“Ladies, ladies, ladies.” I sway my arm out toward my new favorite beings in the universe. “Breakfast is right this way.”

I lead them into the rear of the silent house. When I yank open the big wooden cupboard, I find the haphazardly stuffed dog food and many treats. Dog food dust covers the plastic scoop. Holding it away from my t-shirt dress, I give all three dogs their individual breakfasts, top off their waters, and then throw some plain yogurt from the mini-fridge into the breakfast bowls as instructed.

They love it! I laugh as they gobble down the food and then tumble around the rear lounge, playing together. All three dogs are goofy, each in their own way, and when I bend down to pet them, Goldie rolls over to give me her belly, and Petunia and Mirabelle cuddle up close.

I love on them all, cooing under my breath. “Are those the very best bellies? The very best bellies on the very best girls? Are you making me into one of those dog people who acts so, so, soooo embarrassing because the very best girls have the very best bellies?”

Petunia rolls over, confirming.

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