“Right. I remember Saturday brunch,” I sigh, popping the pills into my mouth and swallowing them dry. “Ari made the best mimosas.”
Aurelia Day, Miller’s mom, started the tradition when he was a kid as a way to make sure her shy son socialized and had a supportive community around him. Miller’s obviously keeping it going in her memory.
Though I wouldn’t know, since I haven’t made it to one in a while. My schedule isn’t what anyone would call regular, and Miller hates being stood up.
“I didn’t think you’d want one this morning.”
“One? Oh, a mimosa.” I grimace, taking the glass of juice gratefully. “You’re right. This is exactly what I need. And I appreciate knowing you didn’t invite the neighborhood over just to gawk at my pain.”
“It’s not your pain they’re gawking at.” Miller slings one of my old faded t-shirts over my shoulder. “You left this in the laundry room the last time you were here. It’s clean.”
I watch his gaze flick back to my bare chest and try not to smile. I don’t think the lesbian couple is that interested in my charms, but I don’t bother pointing out the obvious.
It’s a good sign, I think as I slip the shirt over my head. At least I know we both still like what we see.
Miller was never that subtle about his attraction to me. I told myself it was just my ego that was flattered, explaining away all the times I made sure he got an eyeful.
But even when I was deluding myself, I was reciprocating. It’s an impossible task, not noticing Miller Day. Everything about him draws the eye. Olive skin with a smattering of freckles, a full upper lip that gives him a permanent, almost feminine pout, and a messy fall of thick hair that’s a natural mix of blond, brown and auburn. His eyes can’t commit to a color either—sometimes they’re hazel, and sometimes they glimmer like gold.
For some reason I’ve never been able to understand, he thinks his looks make him invisible or easy to dismiss, but he’s anything but. All those features that shouldn’t go together, added to his sculpted five-eleven frame, make him unique.
Unforgettable.
I’ve always had a thing for his hands too. Strong from spending his days massaging wealthy women into a state of gelatinous bliss, and calloused from all the work he’s done on his house.
I’ve had dreams about those hands on me, complete with happy endings and Miller’s oiled up body rubbing against mine as we both took out our tension on each other.
Shut that train down, buddy.
I need to stop fantasizing and focus on getting him alone so I can do some damage control. Hopefully brunch is almost over.
I’m taking another sip of juice, my attention riveted to the dimple on his chin, when I hear a high-pitched bark. I forgot about him. “What’s with the dog?”
Miller’s changeable eyes widen in disbelief. “You don’t remember your dog?”
What else don’t you remember?
I know that’s what he’s thinking.
Instead of giving in to the temptation to recount every detail of our kiss, I glance over at the Yorkie, who’s currently giving Miller a look of pure adoration and sneezing excitedly at being included in the conversation. I get a hazy image of a woman in leopard print handing me a carrier in exchange for a wad of cash.
Did I buy a damn dog last night? It doesn’t sound like me. I lease a furnished condo on a monthly basis. I don’t own a car. I’ve never bought a plant.
But I sort of remember purchasing a pampered pup in an airport.
I was trying to find the right gift for Miller. Something that said “I’m sorry we fought, I’m a prick, it won’t happen again” along with “I know I’ve been straight for years, but I think we should have sex and move in together.” Something that was a promise as much as an apology.
And thanks to the woman ditching her rich boyfriend and running off to Rome with an underwear model, I got first dibs on a sentient hairball.
Airports have everything.
“I’m pretty sure he’s your dog.” I stop and laugh wryly. “Should have said it with a card, I guess. But at least I didn’t steal him. I think I even have his pedigree papers in my suitcase.”
The dog came with papers. I wish I could remember how much I paid.
Miller looks down at the dog and nibbles his lip. I know that nibble. He wants to be excited, but he’s not sure if he should. “You got me a dog?”
“Best apology present ever,” Heather laughs from her perch in the kitchen.
“I like flowers,” Diane muttered, glaring down at her crossword.
I keep forgetting we have an audience.
Miller shifts awkwardly and takes a not-so-subtle step back, putting more space between us—which is the opposite of what I want.