Muffin Top

“Explain it, then.”

There wasn’t any judgment in her words, just an honest, straightforward curiosity that had the words coming out of his mouth before he could consider whether he should.

“I like women. I like the women I’ve dated. I was attracted. They were attracted. Sure, the physical had something to do with it, but the why of the attraction was different for each one. It could be their laugh, their weird drink order, or the way they saw the world. So, we’d go out a couple times, have sex, and everyone was satisfied. No one got hurt. End of story.”

Silence hung between them, filling the inside of the car like a third passenger.

About two miles later she broke it. “That was enough for you?”

“It was.” The last word being the operative one.

“And now?”

He let out a sigh. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

And he had miles and miles of road ahead of him to do that. Too bad that by the time they pulled off what seemed like the thousandth highway they’d been on that day and onto the darkened streets of small-town Antioch, he hadn’t figured out a damn thing. After an extra-long day on the road, the only sound in the car was the GPS as it took him through the sleepy streets until he pulled into the driveway of a two-story blue house with white shutters and a wraparound porch, complete with flowers hanging in baskets and a swing. Light streamed from the house’s windows, and Lucy’s shoulders relaxed, a small smile that looked a lot like relief curling her lips.

“I should warn you about Gussie,” Lucy said after they’d parked and he’d grabbed his duffle and her two suitcases from the trunk. “He’s a little excitable.”

Frankie was still trying to figure out who Gussie was—he’d thought her dad’s name was Tom—when the front door opened. A blur of black flew out from inside, making a beeline straight for him. By the time he realized the streak was a dog, it was already leaping into the air and going straight for Frankie’s balls.

Chapter Seven

There were many benefits to growing up as a Hartigan. One was the fast reflexes a person developed when they were one of seven kids. Dodging a dog who thought he was a missile was nothing compared to getting out of the way of a flying towel or book aimed at his oversized noggin by one of his siblings.

“Oh my God,” Lucy yelled. “Gussie, no!”

In a move of incredible dexterity, she intercepted the dog, scooping him up in midair and pressing him to her chest. The dog, which Frankie could now identify as a French Bulldog, since it was no longer gunning for his family jewels, must have realized who held it because he let out the happiest of yaps and began licking her face.

Frankie was still watching her when a man who looked like he’d just walked out of The Dad Catalog hustled out of the front door and down the porch steps.

“I am so sorry about that,” he said. “Gussie is convinced that we are in a state of siege, and he’s actually a German Shepherd charged with protecting us against any and all strangers.”

“Translation,” Lucy said as she did her best to avoid Gussie’s tongue. “He’s a spoiled dog who’s half evil.”

The somewhat-evil dog in question was still slathering his attention on Lucy with total love and devotion, oblivious to the insult sent his way by the woman holding him. She wasn’t helping her cause of getting the dog to stop at all, either, because she kept making kissy noises and talking baby talk to it in a low tone.

Lucy’s dad held out his hand. “Tom Kavanagh. You must be the fake-but-still-walks-around-my-daughter-naked date.”

Well, that was one way to put it. He dropped his duffel to the sidewalk so he could shake Tom’s hand. He’d meant it to be a friendly gesture. Tom meant it to send a message, judging by the fact that the man was trying to break his knuckles with the strength of his grip.

“Dad,” Lucy said, delivering a kiss to her father’s cheek as she passed them, still carrying the besotted dog. “He was wearing a towel.”

Tom’s aw-shucks smile didn’t waver, but his hold tightened. “You’re right, Muffin. My mistake.”

Then he turned, hooked his arm through Lucy’s, and led her into the house. Shaking his head, Frankie picked up his duffle and followed them inside. He sat Lucy’s two suitcases and his bag down in the large entryway. It was all warm woods and peaceful greens and browns in here, from the hard floor to the ceiling. Off to the left, a door opened into a room with a large desk, several diplomas on the wall, and a chair facing a love seat. Beyond the open door straight ahead of him, though, the house was a riot of bright colors and huge windows that looked out onto a vast, tree-filled backyard. It was almost like the spaces were inhabited by two different people.