Page 80 of Average Joe

He wasn’t wrong, but because of feelings and all that, I argued, “If a man’s gonna prey on a woman, he’ll do it whether she’s wearing lingerie or a turtleneck. Fucked-up men prey on women.” I grabbed the only article of clothing within reaching distance. Pulling Joe’s T-shirt over my head, I continued, volume rising, “It doesn’t matter if she works as a stripper or on Wall Street, if she’s a stay-at-home mom or a single lady out for a drink with her friends.”

Joe opened his mouth to speak, but I wasn’t finished.

“I have taken measures to keep my girls safe.”

Joe’s glare dropped, lingered, then lifted again.

My hurt lurched. The compassion in his blue eyes was unbearable. I needed to move, break the connection, keep my head in the game. I hopped from the bed.

My Levi’s lay on the hardwood floor, one leg bent over itself, the other twisted like my guts. I tugged them on while continuing, “You stand there and scold like I don’t understand the risks. I understand more than you ever could. I’ve dealt with men like Johan Harper since I was in diapers, and they don’t scare me.”

One flip-flop lay under the bed. I shoved my toes under the rubber strip. “You know what scares me?” I turned to face him but couldn’t make eye contact because I was on a tangent. Later, I’d be embarrassed, but I’d deal with “later” when the time came. As my soul bled all over Joe’s pretty feet, I knew I was safe because Joe was a safe haven. He would let me bleed, then, no doubt, take every ridiculous line of self-defense bullshit I spewed, and clean up after I finished. So I was safe to confess, “Men like you. That’s what scares me.”

I dropped to my knees and searched for my other shoe, rifling through a pile of bedding that’d fallen to the floor earlier. “You saunter into our lives, all pretty, tough, protective, and pretending to give a shit. Make us feel. Make us trust and believe that, maybe, we do actually deserve something or someone good.”

My cheeks burned with anger. Not at Joe, but myself, for sabotaging a great evening and probably ruining any chance we had at being more than neighbors.

God, I was a mental case. No wonder Dylan left.

My shoe no longer mattered. Ginger could chew the damn thing to pieces.

I hopped to my feet, met him toe to toe, and gave him the last of my rant. “Men like you scare me because you make me forget I had the balls to start a business.” Rising on my toes, I poked his chest with a pointed finger. “With little money and no college education, I turned that business into something successful, all by myself, without a growly, strong, supersmart man to hold my hand along the way.”

“I wasn’t—” he managed to sputter before I shoved my way through the door and headed down the stairs.

“Marley!” Heavy footsteps pounded behind me.

“Thanks for the fabulous fuck, Joe.” I waved over my shoulder. Then, after slamming the door behind me, I wiped the first tear away and whispered, “Fuck you, feelings.”

* * *

“You sure?” Equal parts mesmerized and horrified, I stared into a set of dopey brown eyes, waiting for the cosmic connection, hoping for a sign, something to tell me, “He’s the one.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” The man who had introduced himself as Marshall scratched the stubble on his chin. “Knows his commands. Well mannered. Best sidekick you could ask for.”

“No females?”

“Not today. You have a problem with males?”

Marshall was attractive, and I might’ve liked the guy if his gaze hadn’t landed on my chest more often than my face. “Men have a history of leaving me,” I told him. “You think this guy is a runner?”

Marshall laughed, but I wasn’t being funny.

The mutt’s black-and-brown fur wasn’t too long or too short and soft to the touch. “Is there a return policy, you know, in case we don’t mesh?”

“You ever have a pet before?” The kennel manager leaned against the painted brick wall and crossed his arms, clearly irritated with my uncertainty.

“Not since I was a kid,” I confessed, feeling chastised.

“Listen, if you’re not sure, go home and give this guy a ponder. Come back when you’re sure.” The man shrugged, standing upright. “Or not. He’s a good guy. Loyal, too. He’ll love you harder than anyone. He’ll be gone by the end of the week. Of that, I’m sure.”

The dog was big, shoulders wide, head boxy and massive, and I was confident that if he snarled, he’d look intimidating, which was why I’d picked him. Studies showed that burglars were deterred by dogs, big dogs especially, and after Harper’s threat, the thwarted break-in, and some guy in a sweet car doing drive-bys, I’d sleep better knowing I had an extra line of defense. Besides, although pleasant, the eighty-mile trek to the dog rescue oasis in the woods was not a trip I wanted to make again. Decision made, I blurted, “I’ll take him.”

“You won’t be sorry.” Marshall smiled and clapped his hands together, leading me into his office. “I promise.”

“What’s his name?”

“Bruce.” Marshall chuckled. “Guy who owned him before was aDie Hardfan.” He gestured for me to sit, then made his way to the other side of his desk. “You don’t like that name, you can always give him another one. He’ll adapt. You’re his mom now.”

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