Arrogant Devil(66)

“Shhhh,” I hiss, petting him behind his ear before he starts barking or something. “Go away—can’t you sense that I’m fighting with your human? Stop hitting the wall with your tail! You’re making too much noise.”

I pause and listen for Jack, hear footsteps upstairs, and know I’m in the clear. I dash toward the liquor cabinet, grab whatever my hand lands on first, and then sprint back outside.

Alfred follows after me, acting as my accomplice, and together, we hightail it back to the shack. Once we’re inside, I slam the door closed and press my back against it. Mission: Possible, apparently.

I glance down at my bounty. I managed to nab a bottle of Jack Daniels. Fitting. I pour myself a bit and barf a little in my mouth when I take my first sip.

“It’s so bad,” I tell Alfred, trying to keep the rest of it down.

He looks at me with sad, questioning eyes as if to say, Hmm, and I thought you weren’t a little bitch.

I nod. “You’re right. Here goes nothing.”

I drink my glass in one long swallow then sit down on the floor and pet Alfred.

I continue like this for a while, so long that I lose track of time and space and the number of times I’ve forced myself to swallow more disgusting brown liquor.

What I do know is alcohol is great and Alfred is soooooo soft. My fingers feel tingly. I forget I have any problems. I know nothing beyond this tiny shack and this adorable golden retriever licking my toes. I’m lying on the rug, spread out like a snow angel.

“I’m considering moving to Mexico,” I tell Alfred. “I get that most people only flee to Mexico if they’ve committed a crime, but what’s so wrong with good ol’ fashioned fleeing? Do I godda robbabank or something to JUSTIFY running away from my problems?”

He splays out beside me.

“Of course, you can come with me if you want. I’ll just have to reteach you your commands in Spanish so we don’t stand out. Okey, hello is hola. Sit is siéntate. Stay is…I dunno, let’s go with…estée lauder.”

A fist pounds on the shack’s door and makes me scream out in fright.

“Relax,” Jack says from outside. “It’s me. The door was ajar back at the farmhouse, so I’m just making sure Alfred didn’t run off. Is he in there with you?”

“Uhh…” I look over at the dog in question. He licks my foot. “No! But I have a very strong feeling he’s fine!”

“He was in the house when I got home, but now I can’t find him.”

Apparently excited to hear his owner’s voice, Alfred hops to his feet and pads over to the door, scratching it with his paw.

“Alfred?” Jack asks, apparently hearing said scratching.

I contemplate telling him it’s me, etching hatch marks into the wall like a prisoner counting my days.

Alfred whines.

I cover my eyes with my arm. “Ugh, fine. He’s in here.”

The door opens and owner and dog are reunited once again. Whoop dee doo. I don’t have the energy to move off the ground…or open my eyes.

“Meredith?”

“’S’wat they call me.”

“Are you drunk?”

“What’s with the twenty questions?”

“Did you polish off that entire bottle of Jack?”

Depends on how much was in it when I started—I can’t remember.

“Who’s can say, really, in this day and age?”

“Why are you on the floor?”

“Be-cause it’s comfortable and my twin bed isn’t big enough for me and Alfred.”

He steps into the shack and toes the glass of liquor away from my hand.

I still have my arm thrown over my eyes, but I hear what he’s doing. “Hey, I was going to drink that.”

“I think you’ve had enough.”

“There you go again, with the I thinks. I think this about Meredith, I think that about Meredith. Well guess what? I don’t need Jack to tell me when I’ve had too much…JACK! Pffffff. Now please leave.”

“Not until I’m sure you won’t get sick. I can’t remember how much liquor was left in that bottle.”

“Okay, but can you close that door? You’re letting all the freezy-freezy air out.”

He obliges then I hear him take off his shoes and sit down on my bed. Meanwhile, I’m lying in the shape of a chalk outline from a homicide, legs splayed on the floor.

“I didn’t realize you were a drinker,” he says gently.

“I’m not. I hated every sip. Alfred peer pressured me.”

“Well watch out around him, he’s also a big fan of tattoos.”

“Ha ha, funny man. Now, please be quiet. I was in the middle of wallowing and I’m not finished. You can stay, but you have to stop asking me questions.”

The bed creaks, and maybe he’s getting comfortable where I sleep. Maybe he’s stinking up my blankets with his sexy scent. I’ll have to run the linen through the wash twice tomorrow morning, or I could just leave his scent there…maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. I push the rogue thought aside and try to get back to what I was thinking about before he so rudely interrupted me. Oh, right, Mexico. Mexico…I can’t remember why I was thinking about Mexico. I groan, fling my arm away, and sit up, eyes blinking open as I try to find my balance.