“Let’s g—" I yelp as I feel little feet on my calf. I look down, and Cliff is backing away from me, his little butt is high in the air, and he wiggles it before lunging at my shoe.
“Dude! Did you just try to climb me?” I say loudly as I back away.
Jocelyn is in hysterics, doubled over and laughing. “Oh. My. God,” she manages. “That raccoon either thinks you are its mom or a tree.” More laughter. I glare at her. “Or it wanted upsies.”
“Not funny. That’s it,” I state as I lean down and toss her over my shoulder, carrying her back to the apartment building while holding her bag in my free hand.
“Put me down!” she protests.
“I’m a tree,” I tease. “I can’t hear you.”
She’s laughing, and her body is now against mine as her breasts bounce against my shoulder. Fuck. I cannot think of her like that.
Pulling myself together, I set her down at the door and discreetly adjust myself so she can’t tell her closeness was making me behave like the Viking she always teases me to be.
“Steak and roasted potatoes,” I answer her previous question.
She purses her lips. “No veggies?”
“Potatoes are veggies,” I declare as I open the door and hold out my hand, motioning her inside.
“Are they?” she questions with a grin.
“You are an annoying PIMA,” I growl as I start up the steps to my apartment.
“Pima?”
I stare at her ass as it sways in front of me, hypnotizing me like a pocket watch dangling from a string.
She starts to turn to see why I haven’t answered. I clear my throat.
“Uh, pain in my ass,” I explain.
She tosses her head back, her curly hair bouncing as she laughs. “You’re hilarious,” she says as she gives me a warm smile.
“I’m something, I guess,” I respond as we step onto the landing and I open my door, letting her walk inside first. She sets her bag down and walks straight into my kitchen. It’s not the first time that I’ve cooked her dinner. I’ve offered her food on a few occasions. She’s a good listener, and I enjoy cooking with her.
She plucks the apron that I have hanging on a hook on the wall and puts it on, expertly tying a bow in front. The strings pulled tight accentuate her tiny waist. My mind momentarily backfires before I force myself to stop ogling my friend.
She’s not once put the moves on me, making it perfectly clear that I’m friend-zoned. Which, I sort of have found refreshing. Normally, I’m used to women trying to put the moves on me. Less so since my football career ended, but it still happens. The only women that I have ever been able to just be friends with have been the ones in this building. And while Jocelyn doesn’t live here, she does work downstairs, so she sort of counts as my building family.
“These?” she asks as she opens my fridge and pulls out two steaks that have been marinating. I should have gotten three. I eat…a lot.
Guess I’ll buy more tomorrow.
“Yep,” I answer as I grab potatoes from the basket on my counter.
“So? What’s eating you?” she asks like a knowing mother.
Sighing, I lean back against my counter. “Just been stewing over family shit,” I admit, surprised about how easy it is to speak to her, and more surprised that I am surprised.
She raises one dark eyebrow. “Go on,” she says as she turns on my stove top and sets my griddle pan on it.
“You know how I don’t really talk to my family, right?” I start, and she nods. “Do you know why?” I ask, curious if the little I’ve confided in my other friends has gotten to her.
“Nope,” she answers while setting the steaks on the pan. They sizzle, and she turns back toward me, waiting for my response.
“Well.” I tap my hip. “This Frankenstein hip is thanks to a tractor accident at my parents’ farm. They have about two hundred acres just outside of the city, where they grow soybeans, corn, some fruit, and do a little goat and cow dairy. Anyhow, my dad hadn’t serviced the tractor; it stalled on an incline and tipped over, pinning me under it and crushing both my right hip and my football career.”
