“Rehearsed?” He crosses his arms. “What are you saying?”
I lower my voice, because we aren’t exactly alone for this incredibly awkward moment. “Nothing,” I say. “I’m not saying anything. Let’s talk tomorrow. I need to get on the road.”
“You’re sure you can’t stay the night with me?”
“I’m afraid I’ll hit that storm that’s coming in, and I have a birthday party at It’s Clay Time in the morning.”
I’ve been really good about being a responsible employee at these work events since the last time. And even if I called in, I have my tax interview with Dune right afterwards, so there’s really no way.
We still kiss goodbye, but it’s weird now. It’s going to be a long drive home in more ways than one.
Eight
Sometimes I feel like my life isn’t real and I’m living in a cartoon. At any moment, an anvil is going to drop from the blue sky, landing on me, squashing me into the grass beneath my sneakers.
“Are you sure this is a good time?” I ask Dune as he leads us past the row of shiny motorcycles parked at Pres’s house onto the wide front porch I love so much.
“Nothing is certain except death and taxes,” he answers. “That’s a motto I try to live by.”
I’m fairly certain I might die before Dune finishes squaring up my IRS obligations. We arrived to find out it’s picnic day in biker land and although it was nice catching up with Dune’s people and partaking in a few deviled eggs for old time’s sake, Coco was not happy to see me again. My presence has sent her into a feline frenzy of passive-aggressive behavior. She stalks our quartet through the spacious living room with a scowl on her misshapen face, no doubt plotting how to claw out my eyes.
As we pass a massive painting of the skull MC logo hanging above the fireplace, Austin glances over at me with a look that says he doesn’t want to be here. Ever since we arrived, he’s been on edge, stuck to my side as if he needs to be ready to protect me at any moment.
“We can reschedule if you need to get back to your picnic,” he says to Dune’s leather-vested back. “They really wanted you for that knife-throwing contest.”
“No, it’s cool,” Dune says, leading us down a tiled hallway into a large office with a gigantic mahogany desk. “Still haven’t won my house back so we can do business here in Pres’s office.” He arranges padded chairs in front of the desk.
“That’s unfortunate about your house,” I say, alarmed he’s still homeless a year later.
“It’s fine,” he says. “I got his boat in a different bet, so we’ll settle it soon.”
Charlotte looks fascinated as she says, “The biggest thing I ever wagered was ten dollars on whether my husband could burp the tune to Star Wars. You guys are really fearless about betting on homes and boats.”
Dune laughs. “I’m a big fan of Star Wars. To quote Yoda… ‘Fear is the path to the Dark Side. Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering.’”
Huh. That quote resonates with me. Yoda is wise. Perhaps that’s why I’m languishing in anguish, because I’m subconsciously letting fear guide my decisions. Could it be that simple? I say I’m being brave and trying new things, but if I think about it, and admit it to myself, I’m always led by fear of the unknown in the end. I make a mental note to put Star Wars on the movie rotation.
Dune motions for us to sit. “Since there’re three of you, I think that’s a sign you’re all going to get refunds.”
“Let’s hope,” I say. Because I need a cash infusion. Whether it’s for hiring an employee to help me from drowning in clay or for a down payment on an apartment in New Mexico, I cannot say.
“Last year filing solo!” Charlotte announces, taking a seat. “This time next year, I’ll have a goddamn dependent. I always assumed I’d be claiming a dog, not a kid.”
“Pregnant, huh?” Dune asks, dropping down into the executive leather chair, looking not at all like an accountant in his biker vest and tattoos. “Congratulations. Wish I could claim my baby on my taxes.”
Speaking of Coco, she is still giving me withering death glares from the corner of the room as Dune spreads out tax forms and our folders we supplied. Wearing the bow I sent her, even. Ingrate. She saunters over to us and rubs her abundant white fur against Austin’s leg.
“Hey, there…um…kitty?” Austin says.
Her round eyes bore into me as she pounces into Austin’s lap, rubbing against his chest and nuzzling his chin with her snaggletoothed mouth. Oh my God. Is she…is she marking him as her territory as some sort of revenge against me?
“Huh, she never does that,” Dune says, confirming my theory. “I’m usually the only man she loves on. Interesting she’s acting like that with you.”
Very.
Austin reaches out a hand, seems to think better of it and pulls it back, before ultimately giving in to pet her. She screeches lovingly and settles into his lap, pricking his jeans with her claws, taunting me.
“She seems to like you,” I say, not taking my eyes off of her, lest she fly onto my face. “Didn’t know you were good with cats.”
“Cat people are a special breed.” Dune turns to tap on the computer positioned at an angle on the desk. “Anyone can get a dog to like them, but a cat is more selective.”
Austin whispers to me, “This is why I’m the pussy whisperer.”
I’ve never heard Austin say the word pussy before and now I want to hear it again, a million times, over and over, but this is probably not the time or place. “You did not just say that.”
He licks his lips. “Don’t make me prove it.”
My eyes are probably the size of Coco’s as I stare back at him.
“Let’s start with you, Austin,” Dune says.
He asks him a question about a deduction and while they’re deep in tax discussion, Charlotte texts me from the next seat over.
What’s going on with you and Austin? He was very handsy outside and did I just hear him whisper the p-word?
In a stealth return text, I recap the whole entire situation for Charlotte, to which she sends at least twenty shocked emojis.
Chloe! What the?
I start typing my response, but it’s a juggling routine since Dune is doing all three of us at once, so we’re interrupted.
“Okay, Charlotte. What’s this item?”
She leans forward to answer, and Austin whispers in my ear again, standing the hair at the nape of my neck on end. “You look pretty today.”
A blush warms my face from his compliment just as Dune moves to my folder.
“I’m damn proud of you, Chloe.” he says. “You even listed everything with a heading of All My Expenses. You killed it this year. And this spreadsheet you printed,” he lets out a low whistle, “fucking phenomenal.”
Austin’s brows pull together as Dune continues to praise me. “Thank you. You taught me everything I know about spreadsheets.”
He looks up at me, piercing me with a stare. “That I did. If you need a refresher course, just let me know.”