Page 103 of Average Joe

The woman was drowning in denial. “Yeah, not buying it.” I gathered my level and screwdriver and headed toward the shed. The dogs ran ahead of me, then stopped to sniff the air before darting around the rose garden.

Marley followed a few paces behind, her ire heating my back. “That wasn’t the deal, Joe.”

“I don’t recall any deal.” I set the drill in its case.

“Fuck buddies until you find someone who can give you a relationship.”

“Tell me, neighbor…” I took my time shutting and locking the case before turning around. “Who do think about first thing in the morning? Who is it you can’t wait to see when you get home every night? Who did you cry to when you were drunk off your ass and breaking into pieces? Who did you cling to when you were terrified?”

Marley took three slow steps away, eyes wide, glassy.

“I get it. Your shitty father did a number. Every man who should’ve taken care of you let you down. But what you fail to understand is that I won’t abandon you.”

“Stop.”

Shortening the distance between us, I repeated, “I won’t abandon you.”

“Joe,” she pleaded.

“My heart is yours, you stubborn woman. My yard”—I pointed to the new gate—“my home, my dog. All yours.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“You know why.”

With a shaky hand, she viciously swiped at the tears wetting her face, another layer of her wall crumbling to dust. Her dogged determination to fight that change would have been awe-inspiring if not so frustrating.

“There’s a lock on your side of the gate. You’re in full control. It’ll only be open if and when you want it open.”

Marley looked over her shoulder, then found my eyes again. For a moment, the wrinkles between her forehead smoothed. I’d thrown a lot her way, too much to process. But life was too short for bullshit.

Eyes wet, spirit fierce, she studied me. Then, with a huff, she turned around and headed back to her yard.

She did not, however, close the gate.

At 9:45, she knocked on my door. When I let her in, she headed straight for my bedroom, stripped naked, and burrowed under the sheets.

I chalked that up as a win.

We didn’t fuck, but I held Marley through the night with no resistance.

I woke before she could escape and made my girl breakfast.

Joe

Ginger shot from her perch on the bench and sprinted across the lawn, her tiny legs gaining impressive ground. At the back porch, she barked and growled, her aggression mighty, her bark pitiful. Hackles raised, she pawed at the glass door.

Bruce trotted behind, unexcited but curious until he reached the slider.

Someone was in the house.

The only weapons I had on me were a pair of snippers and my fists, so I hoped to God whoever was inside didn’t wield a gun.

I forced a false sense of security as I shooed the mutts aside and pulled open the door.

Larry was two steps from escaping through the front.

“How the fuck did you get in?”

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