Page 16 of Wine & Dine

7

Dog sitting and some petting

[Dolores]

Despite worrying about Wally running away from me and having to tell Garrett I lost his dog, the time was spent no differently than what I do every day. I binge watch television, read a book, and try to remember to eat. Garrett gave me a quick tour of his place before he left. It’s a mirror replica of Denton’s. Open concept kitchen-dining-living room with double doors leading to a balcony off the living room. Three bedrooms, one of which is an office. Master bedroom with another set of double doors but no walk-out balcony, only a decorative railing.

I’m not supposed to let Wally on the couch, but when he hops up next to me and puts his head on my thigh, I don’t kick him off.

“That’s what you get for asking me to dog sit,” I mumble aloud as if Garrett can hear me all the way in Atlanta.

My hand finds Wally’s head, and I stroke his soft fur. The motion is strangely soothing. I doze on the couch, the television still on. The monstrosity nearly fills the wall adjacent to Denton’s apartment, and my mind drifts through everything and nothing. Eventually, I decide I should sleep in a bed even though I told myself I’d stay on the couch. Garrett told me I could stay in whichever bedroom I was most comfortable. Out of curiosity, I wander into his room.

His dressers are masculine: one is a chest of drawers, the other a low double set with another large television over it. The rustic black wood tone surprises me, considering his flair for expensive, sleek, and modern. Two nightstands flank the king-sized bed. He’s neat for a man. Unlike Rusty’s place, nothing is out of place, on the floor, or covering the dressers. It’s also extremely clean, almost fresh, with the bed made and vacuum marks on the carpet. Rusty’s bed is constantly disheveled. The floor remains littered with clothing and an alcohol bottle or two, plus maybe a glass and an ashtray rest on the rickety furniture. I shiver with the comparison. The contrast between the two men is one end of a spectrum compared to the other. I always thought I wanted the bad boy until I had a few. Somehow, I sense Garrett has bad boy tendencies, but he just disguises them under a suit.

Opening his bedside table confirms my suspicion. Sex toys.

An eye mask. Some silk blindfolds. A box of condoms. A set of metal balls. A vibrator.

I’ve seen nothing to suggest Garrett swings both ways, though I don’t know him well enough. Considering the object is pink-tipped with rabbit ears, with one longer than the other, I’m assuming he uses this to pleasure his women friends. Not one-night stands. Not girlfriends. So maybe friends with benefits?

Sex partners? I’m good with that.

The thought makes me a little sad. I’m tired of a sex partner, but I don’t even think I could handle a friend with benefits. I’m emotionally drained in all aspects of my life, so it would be nice to have an emotional connection with someone. Sex partners doesn’t exactly have that kind of ring to it.

I close the drawer and coast my fingers over the dark pattern of the duvet. The material is soft, and based on how Garrett dresses, I imagine he sleeps in only top-of-the-line sheets. Testing my theory, I draw back the duvet. The cool sheet under my palm feels nice, tempting, and my skin gets goose bumps. I wonder how the fabric would feel everywhere.

“Don’t look,” I mutter to Wally who lies on the floor near the bedroom door. I strip out of my clothes, making the room a little less sterile, set my cell phone on the nightstand, and then slip into Garrett’s bed.

“Nice,” I murmur, drawing the coverings up to my neck. My legs swish, and my arms spread. I’m making a snow angel across his sheets, relishing in the way the material kisses my skin. It’s decadent like chocolate drizzled over a strawberry. My nipples peak, and my fingers twitch. I think of the drawer of toys. I don’t know where any of them have been, but the thought alone heightens my imagination. My palms flatten on my belly, skimming over my hypersensitive skin until they reach my breasts. Cupping each swollen globe, I squeeze until my fingertips find my nipples and pinch.

A moan escapes, and I hear Wally shuffle in his sleep by the door.

My hands lower, skating down my stomach again. My abs quiver, and my lower belly pools with flutters. Finding the curl of coarse hair at the apex of my legs, I stroke lower, heading farther south until my cell phone goes off. I retract my hands like I’ve been caught with them where they shouldn’t be. My head rolls over the luscious pillow, and I check the caller ID on the screen.

“Garrett.” I exhale his name as I answer, drawing out the harsh syllables in frustration.

“Dolores.” He chuckles. “Whatcha up to?”

My head falls back to the pillow, and I try to regulate my breathing.

“I’m in bed,” I say, my voice still shaking and a touch too high pitched.

“Oh. Sorry to wake you. I just wanted to…” He pauses a beat. “Whose bed?” His voice drops.

I can’t answer him.

“Dolores, are you being a naughty doggie sitter?”

His choice of words makes me giggle. I’ve been caught with my hand nearly in the cookie jar, and shame washes over me.

“You know I have doggie cams.” His tone draws serious, and I panic, rolling my head left and right, searching for a hidden camera.

“Wally’s fine,” I offer, my voice a squeak. Can he see me? Does he know what I was about to do in his bed?

“I’m sure he is. And you know I’m teasing, right? About the cameras.”

My eyes close. “You suck,” I mutter.