Page 48 of Dear Pink

We stop groping each other and gradually come to our senses. “Uh, yeah. Sorry about this mess.” Hannah and I lie sprawled out in the middle of spilled puddle pads, and Lolly chews on a bone she found on a random shelf because we left her unattended during our make-out session. “And I’ll pay for the bone.”

“Are you going to reassemble this display?” he asks as if we work here, and he doesn’t.

“Sure will,” Hannah interjects, propped on her elbows, face flushed bright red.

The disgruntled teenager stalks off, and Hannah and I break into hilarious laughter. She stands and adjusts her shirt, which has fallen off one shoulder and half-way exposes her abdomen. I stare at the bare slivers of her skin. She catches me staring and winks. What does a wink mean? Does she want to skip the display and head straight to her bedroom? I adjust myself before rising. We gotta get out of here.

She gives me a naughty ass pat before grabbing a few puddle pads. “Don’t just stand there, Mr. Fancy. This display won’t fix itself.”

So, not straight to bed? I pout, disappointed. I pick up a puddle pad and wave the package around. “Mr. Fancy? Why do you call me that?”

She tugs my shirt and drags me close to her lips. Her light breath entices me, and I need her mouth attached to mine. This woman makes me dream of doing wicked things to her. I hope she wants the same.

“Because you’re fancy in your bike gear.”

“I am?”

“Well, fancy and sexy.” She bites her lower lip and flames burst in my chest. She’s flirting with me big time.

I glance around the disaster and ask, “How quickly can we organize this mess? I wanna get out of here.” I give her my best smolder and hope she understands the message.

She nods and bites her lip again, driving me crazy. “Let’s try a pyramid shape.”

“A pyramid?” Ugh. Sounds time-consuming.

“Watch me.” Hannah goes onto her hands and knees and arranges a square base of puddle pads. I shamelessly ogle her ass peeking out from her tiny biking shorts. Get a grip, Gabe, or you’ll end up on the dirty store floor again.

I follow her lead, and before I second guess the design, we’ve built an elaborate Egyptian pyramid of puddle pads. “Looks better than their previous display,” I say.

Hannah takes a dramatic bow. “A masterpiece.”

“Should we leave our mark, so everyone can appreciate our work,” I say, teasing.

Hannah chuckles and Lolly, who has finished her stolen bone, makes her way over to test the stability of our structure. Puddle pads are no blocks of clay. When she jumps, the whole pyramid tumbles down.

“We officially left our mark,” Hannah says, giggling.

I grab Lolly’s leash, reining her in tight. “Yep. This might be our cue to get the hell out of here.”

***

Several hundred dollars later, I walk into Hannah’s Tudor-style house in my favorite old East Dallas neighborhood. I help her haul the turtle stuff inside and dump the supplies in the living room. The inside decor is unexpected.

Hannah dresses in an eclectic vintage style, the complete opposite of the conservative, bland furniture in her house. Dark wood covers everything, including the floors and furniture. Even the upholstery blends in with the shades of boring brown. I assumed she’d have a purple velvet couch or no couch at all, just vibrant floor pillows everywhere.

Lolly, exhausted from her full day, throws herself in the corner where she snores in seconds. A million questions run through my mind, but Hannah turns distant once we’re inside.

“What about putting Homer’s home here?” She points to an alcove with a built-in wooden window seat. Before I answer, she spins around the living room. “Or here? I don’t use the fireplace ever. I could put him on the tiled floor in front.”

“No, the alcove is excellent. It’ll get great light from the window, and there’s an electrical outlet on the wall.” I unload the acrylic tank to assemble it.

Hannah sits on the floor beside me, opening the other packages. “Who knew a turtle requires this much equipment.” She gives me a silly squint, and I am grateful her shoulders relax a little.

“Someone might have bought too much for a turtle who demands very little.” I give her the same expression, and she cracks a huge grin. She’s hard to read, but easy to make happy. Every time she glances at me, her grey eyes glitter, and I experience a rush of endorphins.

We settle Homer in his new habitat, and I check on Lolly. She sleeps soundly. The PetSmart adventure wore her out. When Hannah wanders into the kitchen, I follow. She opens a bottle of wine and pours me a glass.

“To new friends,” she says with such sincerity I wonder if I read her body language wrong today.

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