“What are you looking so hard for in there?” he asked curiously.
I turned around and looked at him after closing the fridge door.
“I’m looking for something that’s not healthy,” I admitted. “After yesterday, I need something that has carbs in it.”
He grinned.
“I have a stash of candy bars above the stove.” He paused. “But they’re dark chocolate, so not as bad as they could be.”
I grimaced. “I don’t have any at my house. We started that eight hundred gram challenge a couple of days ago, and it was my stupid idea. I need to be eating the veggies and fruits, but I’d rather carve out my own eyeball with a spoon.”
“Gruesome,” he chuckled. “And the eight hundred gram challenge is a good idea. It went over well last time we did it at the gym.”
The eight hundred gram challenge was simple. Every day, you tried to get eight hundred grams of fruits and veggies. That simple.
Well, simple in thought, not so simple in execution.
“Do you ever get eight hundred grams?” I asked curiously.
He shook his head. “Nope. I’ve tried, but I don’t eat enough. When I do have time to eat, it’s enough to get my protein and carbs in to fuel my workouts and my day. I get about five hundred, though, if I put my mind to it.”
I was the same.
I looked at my watch. “I need to get a shower before we go. Do you need anything before I leave?”
“You’re going home to eat, aren’t you?” he asked.
My lips tipped up at the corners.
“Maybe,” I admitted.
“Can I go with you?” he requested. “For some reason, nothing healthy sounds all that good to me, either.”
I looked at him for a second and realized that he was one hundred percent serious. “Fine, but no judging me, okay?”
He winked and came out of his lean against the counter to walk slowly toward the door. “Come on, Lion.”
Lion dutifully gave up her food bowl to follow her master.
I watched as he started to walk toward the door, slow and steady. He didn’t even look like he’d been shot.
He looked like he was just sore from a workout. As long as you didn’t look behind the bandage, that was.
“You coming or what?” he called over his shoulder.
I jumped and hurried toward the door and him, grabbing my keys as I went.
I’d at least been smart enough to grab those as I was leaving in a hurry yesterday from the gym. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to get into my house.
As we exited his place, I found it very weird being at home when I would normally already have been at school for over an hour.
When I’d started this job at the school as a substitute, it’d been on a temporary basis.
When it’d turned into full time, I had no clue how much I would enjoy it. And hate it.
It was stressful, rewarding, time consuming, and fun. What it was not was boring.
But right now, not being there, I definitely wasn’t bored.
I was excited.
When I closed Croft’s door, he was already halfway down his front walk, heading straight for mine.
I hurried to catch up, then passed him about halfway up my walk to open my front door.
He looked around curiously once we got inside.
He’d seen it the night of the almost-break-in, I was sure, but he was studying it as if he hadn’t.
“It looks exactly like mine,” he admitted. “Only opposite.”
That was true. Where my house was in a backward L shape, his was in a right ways L. The only thing different was the fact that I only had a carport and he had a garage.
“I know,” I said. “It was weird being in yours last night, too. It’s even painted the same colors as mine. Obviously, they got a two-for-one deal on the paint when they were building these.”
The houses themselves were all owned by the same person. The entire cul-de-sac we lived on, in fact.
Though the other four houses on the block had the same overall design, they didn’t have the same interior and exterior floor plans. Nor did they have the same paint colors.
He walked/shuffled behind me into the kitchen.
His eyes missed nothing.
Not the pots in the sink from my dinner two nights ago. Not the taco seasoning that I’d left out on the counter from my trip to the store.
Not even the box of bagels that I should’ve probably thrown away two days ago.
His eyes went to the cat food that I had on the counter, and his eyes narrowed.
“You have a cat?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No.”
He looked once again at the food. “Then why do you have cat food?”
I grinned at him and opened my back door, showing off the empty food bowl.
“Watch,” I ordered.
So he watched as I picked up the bag of cat food, walked to the back door, and bent down.
“Oh, pick up your dog?” I suggested.
He did just that, only grimacing slightly when he stood up.
I immediately felt bad but went ahead and filled the food bowl up.
Then I waited.
It didn’t take long.
Waddling out of the trees came my Francis.
“This,” I cooed as he came. “Is Francis.”
Croft stayed silent for long seconds as Francis came right up to me and started to eat out of the food bowl.
Francis didn’t take long to eat. He was a fast, fat boy.
And when he was done, he waddled right back into the woods behind my house.
Grinning, I stood up and turned around, only to find Croft standing right next to me.
“Oh,” I cried, jerking back so I didn’t accidentally run into him and hurt him.
“You have a pet raccoon,” he mused.
“I do,” I confirmed. “Kind of. I found him one night on the side of the road. I thought he was dead, honestly. When I went to check my mail, he lifted his little head off the road and looked at me with these sad little eyes. I helped him onto the grass, then brought food and water to him in case. The next morning, he wasn’t by the road anymore, but on my porch. Then the next day, he was at my back porch. Ever since, he’s just been hanging out.”
“Wow,” he shook his head as he looked over my shoulder at where Francis had disappeared. “Just wow.”
I snickered and pressed my hand against his abs so I could close the door.
The moment my skin came in contact with his, my heart started beating double-time.
When he moved, he handed me the dog, and I put her on the floor for him.
When I stood back up, it was to once again find him supremely close to me and crowding my space.
I didn’t push away, even though I started to feel trapped.
“I don’t know anybody that has a pet raccoon.”
I snickered and pressed my hand lightly against his shoulder, right under his wound.
Still cool to the touch.
“Me neither,” I admitted. “What do you want for breakfast?”
He reluctantly stepped back, and my hand dropped from his shoulder.
“What do you have?” he wondered.
Once again he stepped back, and I felt like I was missing half of my soul when he did.
Damn, but the man made my heart warm.
As well as other things…
“Umm,” I said as I slipped past him, my backside brushing his leg. “I think that I have every flavor of Pop-Tart imaginable. I also have cereal, powdered donuts in those little to-go bags, and some oatmeal.”