What Lovers Do(57)

I no sooner start washing Cersei and Shep’s laughter fills the room. It gives me goose bumps. However, I pause a minute before glancing over my shoulder because I know that laughter isn’t for me. Someone else is the lucky recipient of that level of happiness and the smile I’m sure accompanies it. As if my head is on a squeaky swivel that I don’t want anyone to hear, I turn ever so slowly until I see Riley (the perky new employee) clinging to Shep’s arm like it’s the only thing keeping her standing as she cries in silent laughter.

Really, she should take a breath. I can’t imagine what could be that funny. Unless they’re talking about my life. It’s hysterical. A tragicomedy.

A pickle.

A quandary.

A muddle.

“You kill me, Shep,” Riley says as she peels herself from his arm and floats three feet away to assist a customer.

What’s she doing here? I thought she was working weekends and every other Wednesday night. It’s a Thursday.

“Your friend is here, Shep,” Marta says, and I whip my head back around and focus on my dirty dog.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” he says.

Dog. And Cersei hardly dragged me in here. It’s really the other way around. Thank god she can’t tell him that.

“Oh, hey.” I smile when he positions himself on the opposite side of the wash bay.

“What happened? She looks like she rolled in mud? Where’d she get into mud? Did it rain when I was in the back room?”

Why does he have to be such a detective? Does it matter where she got into mud? Does he ask all the other customers twenty questions regarding the location and circumstances that led to their dogs needing a bath? I think not.

“I see Riley’s working Thursdays now.” That’s my answer to his line of questioning.

“What?” Shep narrows his eyes. It takes him a few extra seconds to catch up to my shifting of the conversation away from my dirty dog antics to his new employee being here on a Thursday. My mind goes wild, like a pack of dogs off leash.

What were they doing in the back room?

Why must she lean on him when she’s laughing?

Does she have a boyfriend squatting at her place?

Is she carrying someone else’s baby?

Would she run out on Shep if he tried to tie her to his bed?

Am I losing my fucking mind?

So many good questions. Maybe I don’t have a classic case of morning sickness driving me to stay in bed or remain within feet of a toilet, but something wonky is going on with my thoughts.

“Nothing.” There’s no need to repeat my Riley observation since I have no point in making it.

“Are you…” his confusion turns into a smirk “...jealous of Riley?”

“Do I look jealous of Riley?” I soap Cersei. It’s an honest question because yeah, I feel jealous of Riley, and I’m curious if that really shows.

Shep helps me suds my wiggly dog. “I thought you were going to call me to meet up at the park.”

“I thought you were going to call me,” I say.

“The park was your idea. And I told you to call me when it would work for you.”

Keeping my gaze on Cersei as I rinse her off, I shrug. “Well, clearly you didn’t care to meet me since you weren’t going to call if I didn’t call.”

“Really. What’s going on here? I detect an angry tone. Have I done something wrong? After dinner with my parents and what happened following that, I assumed you needed some space. Was that not correct?”

I squeeze the excess water from Cersei’s front side as he works on her backside. Shep has been doing all kinds of wrong things.

Smiling.

Laughing.

Flirting.

Looking sexy.

Existing on the same planet as my pregnant and unavailable self.

“I have a friend going through some … things.” I pause, eyeing him for a second as he works the towel over Cersei. “She broke up with her boyfriend, but he won’t move out. Now she has to go through an actual eviction process which could take months to get him out.”

Shep sets the towel aside and takes Cersei to the drying station. “Sounds about right.” He nods.

“Right? No. There is nothing right about it. It’s her house. The mortgage is in her name. She makes the mortgage payments. He hasn’t even had—” I bite my tongue before my rant goes into overdrive.

“Typical.” He shakes his head. “By ‘right’ I meant typical. I agree. He shouldn’t have a right to stay there, but the law seems to allow good people to live on the street while protecting freeloaders.”

“What should she do?” I ruffle Cersei’s coat while Shep continues to dry it.

A smirk bends his lips. “She should have better taste in men.”

Okay. I deserve that. She (imaginary friend) deserves that.

“For the record, the guy had a job when they met. And he was handsome and charming. My friend is a sucker for love; she simply has the worst luck with men.”

“Maybe it’s a sign.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “Maybe she needs to figure out why she has the worst luck with men.”

“It’s luck, Shep, for which the whole mysterious concept implies lack of human control.”