“Where did you get those?” Audra asked. “Oh! And I forgot to ask, did you return that little dog today? She was so adorable. Did she make it home okay?”
“I did return the little dog,” Simon said with a look at Gabby. “And the people watching her at the moment were so very glad they didn’t have to tell the owners that she was missing.”
“Well, how did she get way out here?” Audra asked. “I mean, that address was in Folsom, right? That’s a long ways!”
“It is,” Simon agreed simply. “And they were as surprised as we were.”
Gabby gave a snort. “Oh yes, they were.”
Simon sent her a sharp look, trying to remind her that he’d confided the whole weirdness scenario to her and she didn’t need to let it out. Gabby rolled her eyes in return.
“So,” Gabby said sweetly, arching an eyebrow. “Are those from Alex’s roommate?”
Simon nodded, taking his first bite of pizza. “Mm-hmm. Why?”
“How was Alex?”
He sent her a dark look. “Fine,” he said. “Fantastic.”
“Are you going to see him again?”
Chris and Audra looked from Gabby to Simon, and Audra was the one who asked the question. “See him? As in date him? Date who?”
“Yes,” Simon said shortly, ignoring Audra and fixing his eyes on Gabby. “By the way, Gabby, I hate you. Without reservation.”
“Don’t be mad at me,” she told him. “I like the idea. As long as, you know, you don’t get too stalky or weird.”
“I told you, Gabby, if things go wrong, move my office to another branch,” Simon said.
“Alex, right?” Chris clarified. “I mean, I know you said you liked him, but cookies and cinnamon rolls in one day? Sounds serious!”
“The little redheaded associate who always wears tan?” Audra asked.
“He’s five foot eight,” Simon defended. “That’s a perfectly average height.”
“He’s a perfectly average guy!” Chris exclaimed. “And I meant what I said—he’s a good person. You’re sure you won’t miss the bling?”
“You have no idea how interesting he is,” Simon muttered. “And he’s… kind. And passionate. And his roommate bakes magic cookies, so be nice.”
“I like him,” Gabby said staunchly. “He’s so damned competent he could probably be moonlighting as James Bond or Harry Dresden, and we’d never know it.”
“Harry Dresden,” Simon seconded, because if anybody resembled the well-known fictional wizard it was Alex Kennedy—minus a few inches in height and a really impressive leather coat.
“What makes him Harry Dresden?” Chris asked, mostly in jest, which was why Simon answered him mostly in jest and not for real.
“Because he does magic things to my heart,” he said, grinning foolishly. Ah, yes—those kisses in the last light of the sun. The way seeing Alex’s slight form, moving in that practical no-nonsense way in a neighborhood that was obviously being taken over by forces Simon wouldn’t have believed in even the day before, had made Simon feel safe, secure.
Alex was steady—so steady he could stay the course of the most wandering of ships. And Simon would know because he’d been a wandering ship for most of his life.
Chris, Audra, and Gabby all groaned at the sappiness, but it was Chris who called a halt to it.
“Seriously, Simon?” And Chris’s voice grew a little wobbly, probably because he’d trusted and been betrayed so badly. “It’s worth it? Even though it might be complicated?”
“God yes,” Simon told him. “He… he’s nice. And interesting. And funny. And all we did tonight was walk the damned dog, and it was better than a live play and a really expensive meal. He’s just… solid. I know I usually go for flash, but he’s, like, the opposite of that. He’s substance.”
And it was true. Simon usually dated girls who looked like Audra or Gabby and guys who looked like Chris. Alex made all of the extra flash superfluous, though. Simon had seen him make real live lights with his hands and his words—how much flashier could one man get?
“Well, good,” Chris said, licking the last bit of pizza off his fingers and pretending that he hadn’t been very concerned for his friend. “I’m dealing with the consequences of choosing flash over substance right now, and I have to tell you, you’re making the better choice.”
“Well, I think he’s cute,” Gabby said. “Alex, that is. We all know Simon’s a nerd, so he’s a lost cause.”
She gave Simon a wink so he’d know for sure she was kidding, and he smiled back. Yeah, he and Gabby could kid each other like that, because they’d been friends when they’d both been plain and unlovely. He wondered wistfully if Alex would have liked him back then, but maybe the reason Simon seemed so fixated on Alex Kennedy was that he was pretty sure Alex would have.
“So everyone finish your pizza, and then we can have snickerdoodles and ice cream and finish this Jason Statham movie that Audra wants us to watch,” Simon proclaimed, and the shareholders of Reddick, Lockhart, and Baldwin held a vote and agreed.
Ten minutes later, the pizza was wrapped up in the refrigerator, and everyone was settled with a bowl of ice cream and snickerdoodles. As the opening credits of The Meg began to roll, Simon heard a scratching and a whine at the door.
At that exact moment, his phone began to buzz urgently, and Alex’s name flashed across the screen.
Seven Fools and a Dog
IF Glinda had ever had dreams about being the center of the universe, Alex had fulfilled them on his unexpected day off.
When he’d awakened from his nap, he’d bathed her, brushed her, ground her nails, and brushed her again, until the little creature collapsed in a pleasure coma, exhausted from all the attention. He’d spent the rest of the day petting her at every opportunity and sneaking her dog treats that she was really only supposed to get once a day but obviously craved all other times of the day too. He’d been so damned glad that she’d come home.
He’d also been missing her real owners with all his heart.
Dante Vianelli and Cully Cromwell had been platonic roommates and best friends since their freshman year in college. While Dante was tall, muscular, and as Italian as they came, Cully was petite, slender, and unavoidably Irish. It should have been a disaster of historic proportions. Dante was a sports enthusiast, a journalist, a no-bullshit, practical, bullets-and-nails kind of guy, while Cully was the most sought-after costume designer for every drama outfit for two hundred miles. His specialty was period pieces, and he was brilliant, creative, and worked his ass off to make sure any decent director would have a cast who looked fabulous.
They didn’t seem to fit, but if anybody besides Dante gave Cully shit for being flighty or flaky, they’d have to deal with a dangerously angry Dante, and if Dante rubbed the wrong person the wrong way, Cully would be right there, charming and adorable, making nice with the person who held Dante’s grade or his job or his story in the palm of an irritated hand.
They shouldn’t have been friends—or they should have been lovers—and they’d fit together oh-so perfectly.