Mai Tai'd Up (16 page)

I laughed. “I’m pretty sure the meanest street in Monterey is the one without a Starbucks. Although there’s a strip mall without a Pilates studio that’s looking a little ragged,” I joked.

She sighed. “Chloe, Chloe, Chloe.” I could tell she was shaking her head. “What are you doing up there?” she asked quietly.

“I’m not getting into this again,” I said, trying like hell to keep my voice calm. My mother could irritate me faster than anyone on the planet, but a raised voice from me meant she won. When I was Chloe with the Program, I rarely questioned her. Chloe Who Crawls the Mean Streets of Monterey, however, questioned her frequently.

I admit, I’d been the one to let her manage things in my life
longer than was probably healthy. It wasn’t her fault that her tiara princess had course-corrected and “rebelled,” but it
was
her fault if she refused to see that I wasn’t coming home anytime soon. And it was
my
fault if I continued to allow her to affect me so. It was a balancing act—one that we were both learning.

“I saw Charles at the club yesterday,” she said. “He brought a woman there—a date. We barely spoke, though he usually asks questions about you. He’s moving on.”

“That’s good. He
should
move on. That’s what I’m trying to do too—and your mentioning Charles every time we talk isn’t helping,” I said, feeling anger heat my cheeks. “I’d love it if you never mentioned him again, okay?”

Silence. Well, partial silence. Remember, her eye rolls are audible.

“Fine,” she allowed after a moment.

“Fine,” I agreed.

More silence.

“Did I tell you Molly Adams is getting married? To a congressman, can you believe it! I ran into her mother at the market the other day.”

I listened for another few minutes until I begged off the phone and paced around the house, thinking about my mother being happy there was a man around to help me. Pffft. I was grateful to Lucas, of course; he was a huge help. But the way my mother said it, it was like I couldn’t do a thing without needing some help. Pffft.

Pffft.

As I was pfffting, I looked out the front window, my gaze settling on my car. A gift from my parents when I graduated high school, I’d driven it ever since. Sporty, fun, fast, and a little preppy—I loved that car.

But it wasn’t right for me anymore. I couldn’t have picked up
Sammy Davis Jr. this morning without Lucas and his truck. As it was, I couldn’t even haul more than two industrial-size bags of Dog Chow. The car was perfect for San Diego Chloe. But Monterey Chloe needed something different.

Grabbing my keys and my purse, I jumped into the car, dropped the top, and headed down the hill for my last joy ride.

“Y
ou did what?” Lucas said, when I came sailing in through the front door of the clinic that afternoon.

“I bought a new car! Come see, come see!” I pulled him through the waiting area by the hand. “Hiya, Marge!”

“Hiya, sugar!” she called back, smiling big when she saw me holding Lucas’ hand. I dropped it quickly, holding the door open for him instead.

“I don’t understand. Why did you get something new?” he asked, his face curious.

“The convertible wasn’t practical anymore—not with what I’m doing now. And I didn’t want to have to call you every time I needed to go get a dog. Not that I don’t appreciate it, but I needed something bigger. Something more in line with my new life here, more outdoorsy,” I explained, practically skipping through the parking lot.

He couldn’t help but laugh at my excitement, and followed me through the cars toward the back. “You went by yourself?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

“I would have gone with you, you know.”

“Why would I need you to go with me?” I asked, then did my best Ta-Da Pose. “Ta-da!” I sang out, pointing to my new car.

“That’s why,” he sighed, looking at what I’d bought.

A 1989 Suburban. Blue with white paneling. It was a thousand
feet long, a thousand feet wide, had actual carpet on the floor, and smelled liked pine.

“Oh, Chloe,” he said, his mouth quirking up at the edges as he struggled not to laugh.

“What? It’s great! Wait until you see how it handles,” I said, tugging at the driver’s-side door, which tended to stick a little.

“So what did you pay for this car?”

“Nothing! I got a great deal on my trade-in and—”

“You traded in your convertible?” He was no longer laughing. “Can I please see the paperwork?”

“Hey, I handled it, it’s no big deal. I looked online at the trade-in value before went in, on that Carrie Blue Book site? And this car was priced at almost exactly what my car was worth! And the best part is, I even talked the guy into giving me free car washes for the entire year. I was all wheely dealy,” I said proudly, climbing into my new car. I slammed the door shut, and then rolled down the window. “Look, manual windows! How cool is that!”

“Very cool. Did you happen to notice it’s leaking under the engine?”

“The guy said it did that sometimes, but was perfectly normal for a car this old. What color is it?”

“Green.”

“Oh, yeah, he said if it did that, to just bring it back; they’ll top something off.”

“Chloe, you really should have taken someone with you,” he said, shaking his head. “This is a piece of shit. They saw a pretty girl with a nice BMW, and they totally took advantage of you. We need to go back and get this straightened out. You can’t keep this car.”

“Like hell I can’t!” I climbed out of the car. He was taking away my buzz and I was started to get pissed. “I know what you
think: stupid, pretty Chloe can’t handle her own problems. But I got this, okay? I’m not taking the car back.”

“I’m not trying to start a fight here. Of course you can take care of your own problems. But have you ever done
this
before? Bought a car?”

“No,” I allowed, the spike of anger giving way as quickly as it came.

“Chlo, I took my dad with me the first time I bought a car. Hell, I took him with me the first
three
cars. It’s kind of a big deal, and you want to make sure you’re not getting, well, taken advantage of,” he said softly, tapping on the hood of the car. A bit of rust fell onto the asphalt.

Ah, fudge, what had I done? I’d been excited to get this car, but I did have a funny feeling afterward that maybe I’d acted too impulsively. And now that funny feeling was back in the pit of my stomach.

“I just wanted to take care of it on my own, you know?” I asked, turning toward him. He wasn’t laughing, he wasn’t mad, he wasn’t making fun of me. “That’s all.”

And then the tears came. Oh, for God’s sake. Between the emotions of picking up the dog this morning, the conversation with my mother, the excitement over getting the car, and now this . . .

“Hey, c’mere,” he murmured, and just like that I was in his arms.

And now
that
affected me. I buried my face in his chest, feeling the tears spill over.

“
So
stupid,” I sniffled. I nuzzled into his shirt, not caring that I was in the middle of the parking lot, just needing to be held. Was that so terrible? I couldn’t admit earlier that I needed someone’s help, but I could totally and completely admit that in this moment, in this space, I needed to be in someone’s arms.
His arms, specifically. “Oh, God, I totally just sold my car for this beast didn’t I?” I laugh-cried, clutching his back.

He said nothing, which was wise. He merely pulled me closer, rocking me as I cried. When there was a tear stain the shape and size of Florida on his shirt, I finally pulled back. Clutching his arms, I blinked up at him. “What in the world am I going to do?”

“We’re going to go back there first thing tomorrow morning and get this worked out. Don’t worry about it,” he said, wiping away a lingering tear.

“Are you sure? What if they don’t take it back?”

“They will. We’ll work it out.”

“Sorry about your shirt,” I said, brushing at the wet spot.

“No problem. At least you managed to cry in the shape of a giant dick.”

“That’s Florida!” I cried out, no longer brushing but slapping.

“No, it’s not,” he insisted, holding my hands to stop the slapping.

I stopped and gazed up at him. “I’m so embarrassed. It’s just been a weird day.”

“Want to talk about it?” he asked, and I looked down at our held-together hands.

“Not really,” I whispered, and let go. “Sorry for busting in on your day like this.”

“Are you kidding? This was way more exciting than what I have planned next. I’ve got an owner who thinks her Chihuahua is depressed.”

“Does she want to buy him a car?” I joked.

He smiled, then changed the subject to a happier one. “Sammy’s doing well, by the way. He’s still under sedation, but you should be able to pick him up tomorrow.” As I started to clap my hands, he said, “
After
we get this car sorted out.”

“Thank you, Lucas,” I said. “I really appreciate this.”

“You’ve certainly made it interesting around here,” he said, his voice soft.

“Interesting good?”

“Hell, yeah, chickie baby,” he replied, his face lighting up.

I laughed, but he laughed even harder when I tried to roll up my stuck window. Ah, well—it was a nice day.

Several weeks later

“No, no, you can’t put that there. You need to unload those around back in the shed.”

“You got it, Chloe.”

“Chloe, the Mitchells’ home visit went great! Can we approve them?”

“Do it! Let’s get Rocky outta here and on his freedom ride!”

“Got those flyers back from the printer, Chloe, you want them in the office?”

“Yeah, set them on my desk, would you?”

I blew the hair from my eyes, wishing I’d grabbed a headband this morning. Although, to be fair, when that alarm went off at 5
A.M.
, I hadn’t been thinking too clearly.

Might have had something to do with all that wine last night.

More likely, it had something to do with all that vomit last night. Not my own, thank you. Doggie vomit. Which you tend to step in when one of your charges sneaks a giant bag of Doritos, and then yaks it all up.

I blew my hair once more, mentally promising myself I’d
grab a headband when I got back to the house for lunch. Right now, I had more pressing things to deal with.

“Hey there, cutie pies, how we doing today, hmm?” I cooed, leaning over the whelping box and counting puppies. Still six, and that was good. First litter delivered at Our Gang, which brought our in-house total to twenty-seven. Twenty-seven . . . wow.

We’d been officially open for business for a few weeks now, with the grand opening party tomorrow. And Our Gang was booming busy! We popped our doggie cherry with the wonderful and talented Sammy Davis Jr., and just kept on going. This latest population expansion was a surprise, the result of a stray we’d picked up that was pregnant and due any minute. She’d delivered two weeks ago, and my team had celebrated with an impromptu party and cherry Coke as a stand-in for champagne. Speaking of which . . .

“Hey, Jenny! Did you get beverages ordered for the grand opening?”

“Of course; you gave me that list weeks ago,” she called back, reminding me once again that I worked with the best. “How’re they doing?” she asked, appearing around the corner of the barn.

“They look great, very wriggly.” I laughed as I was professionally nuzzled by one of the puppies determined to climb inside the neck of my shirt. They were just beginning to open their eyes, and their collective adorableness was off the charts.

“You want me to change out the bedspread?” she asked, and I nodded. Jenny was a veterinary student, volunteering her time in exchange for extra credit in her program. Bright and cheery, she added a bounce to everyone’s step. Especially Tommy, a local guy who went to the local community college and helped us out nights and weekends.

Nights and weekends. Well.

Since Our Gang officially became open for business, Lucas and his father had thrown the full weight of their animal hospital toward helping us get on our feet. They donated their time and services to any dog that came in, making sure they were healthy and doing any spaying or neutering for free. They also continued to spread the word in the community, and we’d already had three adoptions.

And Lucas? My nights and weekends were still spoken for.

We were spending a lot of time together. We’d fallen into this easy pattern of having dinner together, either on the patio at my place or on the deck of his, which had a killer view of the bay. We’d told each other stories about our exes, almost exorcising our collective demons. It had been many weeks since I’d walked out on my wedding, longer still for Lucas. We were divinely attracted to each other—and yet.

We had never moved beyond friendship, although I thought about that almost-kiss in the barn all the time.

We had never moved beyond friendship, although if I leaned across him to grab something off the kitchen counter and accidentally-on-purpose brushed my breasts across the back of his hand, his breath would catch and he’d clench his fists as if stopping himself from touching me.

We had never moved beyond friendship, although if he was helping me with my jacket on those chilly evenings out on the patio and accidentally (pretty sure also on purpose) pressed his body against my back while straightening out my sleeves, breathing magical puffs of salty, woodsy-scented Lucas air all around my head and pretty sure also nuzzling against my ear, sending a shockwave of sizzling heat straight to my bloodstream, enough so that I pressed back against him, feeling his warm body connecting to every part of my now very overheated body . . . wait, what?

Still just friendship. Rebounds without benefits.

Why weren’t we taking this relationship to the next level? A question with several answers.

Part of it was that he was getting ready to leave for another tour with Vets Without Borders. In a matter of weeks he’d be in Belize, and I’d be here. Okay, something to consider.

Part of it was the fact that in the beginning, I’d been adamant that this was friendship alone, because I needed time and space to process my breakup with Charles. Though I hadn’t regretted that decision once, I also didn’t want to jump willy-nilly from one relationship to the next. I almost wished I’d met some delicious and dumb guy that I could be all whammy bammy with, getting the rebounding done with someone I didn’t care about, and could then leave behind for someone pretty much like . . .