Page 34 of Hounded
“Not my girlfriend,” I replied.
“Do youhavea girlfriend?” Indy asked.
“No.” I shifted into reverse and craned my neck to check out the rear window as we rolled backward.
“How about a boyfriend?”
“No boyfriend,” I said.
Indy grinned. “You want one?”
A mix of pain and anger churned in my gut. If only it were that easy. If only I could scoop him up, call him Doll, and pretend we weren’t lifetimes apart.
“It’s a bit soon for that, don’t you think?” I asked.
Indy posed in his seat to make his 5’6” frame stretch long and lean. “You tell me. How long have we known each other?”
Turning out into a narrow gap in traffic, I kept my eyes on the road. “A while.”
“And I still haven’t managed to tap that?” Indy crossed one leg over the other and bounced his platform boot. “Am I not your type or something?”
I looked over at him, deadpan. “You had to ask me my name yesterday. Twice.”
Indy folded his arms and settled into the leather bucket seat with a huff. “Maybe I alreadyhavea boyfriend. Maybe he’s hotter than you. Six foot forever tall Italian guy with luscious locks and skin like cocoa butter…”
I chuckled.
Indy shifted before continuing. “I gotta ask, though. What’s with the neckwear?” He extended a finger toward my collar as though planning to grab hold of the links. “You into some lifestyle shit?”
I dodged his advance, using my retreat as an excuse to roll my window down and lean out into the sun.
“It’s a lifestyle, all right,” I muttered. “Not sure I’m into it, though.”
Indy’s hand hovered in the air between us. “How do you take it off?”
“I don’t.”
Indy let his hand fall into his lap, then nodded. “Kind of a green flag, I guess,” he said. “You don’t have issues with commitment—”
“Indy,” I cut in, eager to redirect.
We’d stopped at a red light, and I took the chance to look at him and study the face I knew so well. Coils of brown hair spilled over his brow, almost curtaining his glorious golden eyes.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“How was rehab?” I asked.
I’d feared and fretted for weeks, and I felt like he deserved a chance to tell me the truth whether I was ready to hear it or not.
Indy blinked, clearly thrown off his pickup game. “It was good.” He frowned. “I learned a lot. Learned everything since I forgot it all.”
His attempt at humor fell flat, and my hound whined softly inside me.
“Were you scared?” I asked.
“Kind of.” Indy paused. “Yeah.”
Traffic thinned the farther we got from Brooklyn. The Pontiac’s engine purred, and I considered turning on the radio. Indy’s favorite stations were on the numbered presets, mostly oldies from lifetimes past. Like his collection of ‘80s films, some things stuck around from one reincarnation to the next.
