Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
CHAPTER NINE
I head home at ten. The neighborhood is quiet, as it usually is on Sunday nights. There’s an occasional hum from a car on the nearby road and the hoot of an owl perched high in a tree. Seven or so vehicles are parked on the street, care of the party. Though one, a dark sedan, is further down the way. Not that it actually matters. My brain would just rather think about random inconsequential shit as opposed to recent events.
Noah and I exchanged exactly a dozen words during the rest of the night. “Can I get you another drink?” “Is everything okay?” “See you later.”
I don’t need him to hover. But it feels like he was avoiding me and that sucks. Though maybe I’m overthinking it. I really hope I am.
The front door key is in my jeans pocket. My front porch isn’t a big space. Just a couple of steps, a short wooden bench seat, and a planter full of white daisies. A small attempt at fitting into the neighborhood and appearing welcoming. Apart from the light above the door and another inside above the dining table, my house sits alone in darkness.
Logan leaves the party next. Shouting and laughter follow him out the door. I see him raise his hand in farewell before climbing into a battered old Jeep. The sedan parked down the street comes to life as I slide the key in the lock. It cruises past with dark tinted windows. Which is when Auggie starts scratching at the door from inside.
“I’m coming,” I say, putting myself between him and freedom. “Hi there, my friend. How was your night?”
His butt wiggles and he gives me a big doggy grin as I lock us safely inside. As for the question about how his night went, the answer would be great, apparently. What is not so great is the velvet throw pillow he viciously attacked and gutted. Fluffy balls of filling are spread across the living room floor.
“But I bought you toys,” I say, deeply aggrieved. “Why choose violence?”
Auggie wags his tail in a manner I can only describe as joyous or elated. Hard to be angry with someone who’s so damn happy to see you. Even if he does kill the décor for fun.
I take him out back and wait while he sniffs various places. He eventually settles for peeing on the base of the red maple. One of his favored spots. Then he trots back inside and curls up on his bed in the corner of the living room. Guess he doesn’t want to come up to my room tonight.
It’s good that he feels comfortable and doesn’t need to shadow me. I read a couple of articles on settling in a new dog. How to avoid causing them unnecessary anxiety. A calm and happy dog lives a longer life.
Having another heartbeat in the house has been nice. There’s a small chance I would be devastated if his previous owners showed up now.
When someone knocks on the door, he raises his head to bark exactly once before going back to sleep. I check the security camera on my phone and open the door. We just said good night not five minutes ago. Him being here makes me nervous. Same goes for the heavy frown on his face.
“Noah.”
“We need to talk,” he says in this gravelly voice. “Can I come in?”
I nod and step back.
He closes the door behind him, stares down at me, and says, “This isn’t working for me.”
“You mean being friends with me, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
My stomach drops straight through the floor. “Okay.”
“I know this is…it’s not…shit.” His hands curl into fists. Like he’s holding in some big feelings. Something which is definitely going around right now.
Not to be melodramatic, but a dagger through the heart would hurt less. And not some skinny stiletto either. One of those big-ass hunting knives. “Tonight was awkward with Jade, and you have to work with her. It makes sense that you would need to keep that relationship as friendly as possible.”
His brows draw tight together. “Yeah.”
“What I am trying to say is that I understand.”
“You do?”
I nod like a bobblehead doll. “I mean your work culture involves socializing sometimes and obviously—”
“Sid, this has nothing to do with what happened tonight.”
“It doesn’t?”
“No.”
Forget the hunting knife. The man has harpooned me in the heart. Hearing he doesn’t want to be friends because of me and not the shitty situation that is my life is a whole new hellscape. As soon as he leaves, I’m going to hurl myself into the nearest abyss and/or suitably deep chasm. Then I am going to messy cry.
He cocks his head. “What are you talking about?”
“You don’t want to be friends.”
“No. It’s not working.”
“Right. So that’s what I am talking about.”
He steps closer and says, “You don’t get it.”