Color Me Pretty: A Father's Best Friend Romance

She stopped by the front doors leading into the sunny day outside. People milled about, walking around us, and talking about whatever. Classes. The weather. Exercise. But Tiffany and I stared at each other like it was a competition in itself. Except, I was trying to figure out her motive. Why would she help me at all? It didn’t make sense. We weren’t friends, like she’d pointed out, which was why it seemed strange she was willing to help me get over whatever I feared. Which was a lot.

“I’ve got a private studio I work out in,” she told me casually. “It’s not as nice as the one we used to practice at, but it works. Why don’t you give me your number and I’ll text you the address? You can choose to show up or not. No pressure.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Why not?”

Unable to fathom an answer, I found myself typing my number into her phone. She didn’t look cocky about it when she slipped it into the mesh pocket of her yoga pants.

“Think about it,” was all she said before waving me off. I stayed standing where I was, watching her walk away in awe.

“Stop! You can’t do that, Ramsay!” I tried running but got tripped up in the red leash he’d managed to wrap around my shins. I caught myself before faceplanting into the grass while he ran after some invisible animal. Flopping onto my back, I let the sun absorb into my already overheated skin and listened to the loud yaps that came from the corner of the yard.

“Why are you laying on the ground?” A shadow eclipsed over me, allowing me to open my eyes without wincing at the sunlight.

“Our dog tripped me.”

One of his brows went up.

“My dog,” I corrected. I knew better, though. Theo totally loved Ramsay, he was just pretending not to. I saw them cuddling on more than one occasion, and Theo always talked to him like he was another person. He did enjoy having a dog around, and it was mutual. Ramsay completely ignored me when Theo was in the same room. I might have rescued him, but he wasn’t mine anymore.

He reached out, wiggling his fingers for me to take his hand. I stared at it for a moment and debated staying where I was. When I’d woken up on his lap over a week ago, I hadn’t known what to say. He was sleeping, his cheek against the back of the couch cushion, with an arm draped over my side. I knew if he woke up, he’d make a big deal out of it, say something, so I snuck out before he could with nothing more than a note that I’d be back to take care of Ramsay after classes.

He hadn’t said a word about it, so I didn’t either. We moved on with our lives like we’d been doing since the night I found out what it was like to kiss a man like Theo West. I never let myself linger there long because it hurt too much to come back to reality knowing that he’d walked away without one look back at me the morning after.

“Christ, Adele, that was a fucking mistake.”

“Take my hand, Della,” he commanded.

“I’m good.”

He sighed and squatted beside me. “Is there a reason you’re being more stubborn than usual today?”

“No.”

The way he eyed me called me out on my bullshit without so much as a word.

I palmed my lids and exhaled softly. I’d gotten a few hours of sleep but was stressed about exams and a final project for Contemporary Art I still hadn’t started. All those things were weeks away, but professors were keen on reminding us that they lingered.

“School,” I admitted. Life. Dancing. Art.

He moved his pantlegs up before sitting down with his knees bent and arms resting on top of them. “What about it?”

I blinked at the expensive light-colored gray pants he adorned before meeting his gaze. “You’re going to get grass stains.”

“So are you.”

Glancing down at the cheap tee and denim shorts I wore I shook my head. “My stuff doesn’t cost as much as yours. Plus, most of my clothes are stained anyway.”

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he waited for me to indulge him on my problems. Why did I always do that? Theo should be sick of me by now considering how much of his life I’ve taken up with my burdens.

They’re not all yours, a small voice reminded me. I flicked it away.

“I haven’t been able to paint much, that’s all. It’s not a big deal, except I’ve got a big project due that happens to be a large chunk of my grade. I’ve stayed up late trying to come up with ideas, but nothing helps. I start something that I love, then lose all interest in it.”

It didn’t help that I’d been getting minimal sleep at night. There were times when that happened more often than not, and I’d cave and take a sleeping pill that Ripley prescribed me. Considering the bottle was nearly full, I didn’t do it often. I had hoped if I got a full night’s rest, I’d be inspired the next day. It didn’t happen, though. Instead, I felt the nagging feeling in my gut telling me to do anything but paint. Run. Bike. Dance until I sweat through my clothes. Whenever my mind conjured ways to exhaust itself, I had to pull back and remember why that wasn’t a good idea.

The soft hum that came from him had me turning to study his face. He looked off in the distance, his eyes seemingly following the running puppy. According to the vet I’d taken him to, Ramsay was only eight months old. Since I took him in, he’d gained a few much-needed pounds and had more energy than I knew what to do with. He was happy, though, so I was too.