Page 24 of Drilled

“Uh…yes and no. Come with me, I’ll show you,” I said, taking a very confused Lane by the hand and picking up the bowl with the other. I led her through the heavy door of the kitchen and into the narrow, rain-slicked wooden porch out back. The small backyard was enclosed by a beaten-down fence, which cast shadows over a damp brick patio.

Bear had been right. The downpour was slowly starting to pick up.

I looked around briefly, then made a pspsps sound. I could feel Lane staring at me, probably thinking I was insane until, right on cue, a grizzly little tomcat with a notched left ear, mangy tail and defiant three-legged limp walked onto the scene.

“Hey little buddy,” I greeted, emptying the contents of the bowl into my hand so I could feed him myself and preserve the sanctity of Lane’s ceramics. The poor cat meowed in gratitude, far less skittish than he’d been when we first started getting to know each other.

“Hm. So this is your friend, huh?” Lane asked, putting a hand on her hip. I vaguely recalled her mentioning she wasn’t much of an animal person a few weeks back.

I offered an apologetic smile. “He was hungry.”

Lane sighed, her eyes soft but jaw hard. The picture of a lawyer griping with compassion. “Sy, I think this is wholesome of you and he’s…he’s cute. But I’d prefer it if you didn’t turn my backyard into a cat sanctuary.”

“Oh come on, Lane. Please? He’s a good dude, I swear. Doesn’t look for trouble, only eats what I feed him and, I mean, look at him—he’s all beat up, only has one and a half ears and a limp.”

But my pleading fell on deaf ears. She gave me and the little guy a look that said she understood but wouldn’t be moved. “No. Absolutely not, Sy. The city has sanitation laws and I’m not risking fleas.”

I felt a flash of disappointment, but I knew that she was ultimately right. This was her property and she had full right to run it the way she saw fit. Even in her assertive shut-down of my petition, she wasn’t cruel. Just sharp and resolute. Which was…kind of hot, in a way. I made a sound of surrender and reached down to give the tabby a scratch behind his good ear before we retreated to the kitchen.

“Deal. Tell you what, to thank you for not evicting him from your property effective immediately, how about I give you a foot rub?” I asked.

Lane scoffed. “Okay, I thought sarcasm was Dax’s specialty.”

“It is,” I confirmed. “And mine happens to be foot rubs. I imagine running around all day in heels isn’t exactly the best thing ever.”

“Sy, you don’t have to…” she started but I could already hear the longing in her voice.

“I want to,” I reassured her. “Plus we have some time to kill while the food simmers.”

She still didn’t look one hundred percent sure, but she let me lead her to the living room anyway and settle her down on the couch with a foot bath. I knew we’d have a random bucket somewhere in the back of the truck. After washing my hands, warming them under the hot water and hunting down some coconut oil in lieu of anything conventional, I knelt in front of her and slapped my towel-clad knee.

“Sy, are you sure? This doesn’t feel very—oh. Oh.”

The moment I traced my calloused thumbs against the pressure points along her arches, her whole body seemed to sink into the couch. She did her best to try and bury the little noises of satisfaction that seemed to be lodged in her throat, and it only made me adjust my technique.

I wanted to make it as hard as possible for her to stay quiet as I kneaded hours of courtroom tension from her feet. I wanted her to melt. A shudder ran down my spine watching Lane squirm around like that.

For someone so usually self-contained, she made for such a pretty sight when she lost just a bit of that control.

“Do we really have to stay here? It’s just a drizzle.” I’d completely forgotten about Dax and Bear.

As if in answer, there was a loud clap of thunder followed by an extra loud torrent of rainfall.

Bear marched past the window and jerked his thumb in its direction. “Care for a little evening stroll, then?”

Dax dropped his head against the armchair’s backrest, defeated and noticeably sulky. As I continued to massage Lane’s feet, I wondered to myself what his problem was. I’d known Dax since we were in first grade. At one time, I thought I knew everything about him but the last decade or so had proved me horribly, terribly wrong.

I knew that I was going to have to confront him about it at some point. I owed the kid I once thought of as my brother that, at the very least.

*

“That was so good, Sy,” Lane mumbled around her last mouthful of taco, sliding her empty plate away from her with a sigh of satisfaction. I grinned, having to admit to myself that it had been pretty good. And if Dax and Bear’s empty plates were anything to go by, I think we earned the bragging rights.

“Couldn’t have done it without my sous chef,” I said playfully and Dax rolled his eyes.

We were all seated on the floor around the low, round coffee table, borderline comatose after the dinner we just devoured. But from the sounds of it, the rain wasn’t letting up at all.

Lane’s head perked up and turned to the window, like she’d read my thoughts. “Doesn’t look like you guys are gonna be going anywhere any time soon.”