Page 14 of Puck You Both

Sometimes they add in a good way before leaving.

Patrick has never asked me to lower my volume. He simply looks at me until I run out of momentum, then feeds me.

And then, there’s the Wall Problem.

I have thought about him standing in that doorway approximately nine hundred times since it happened. Nine hundred and one now, because traffic slows and leaves my brain unsupervised for four seconds.

Does that bother me?

Yes.

It bothers me that I didn't know, because I would've put on a better show.

That part I haven't told Patrick. I'm also pretty sure Patrick hasn't stopped thinking about too, although we haven’t discussed that either.

Look at us. Communicating.

Patrick goes back to his email. "The shelter needs updated headshots."

"They can have my roster photo."

"They want one without the black eye."

"Oh, well. That eliminates the whole season."

"And with a shirt."

"Now they're discriminating."

His thumb pauses over the screen. "I'm writing that you'll comply."

"Tell them my body is central to the campaign."

"Your body is central to several complaints."

"Jealousy is ugly on you."

The corner of his mouth twitches, and I want to take a picture of that almost-smile and stare at it until I die.

Not attached, though.

***

THE SHELTER SITS on a narrow Chicago side street, weathered brick, a hand-painted PUCKS FOR PAWS sign over the door, and exactly one open parking spot out front.

Patrick points at it. "No."

"I can fit."

"You cannot."

"Watch me."

"That sentence has never once ended well."

I pull past the space and begin the maneuver. The parking sensors start screaming immediately, which is rude, because I haven't done anything yet. "They're very dramatic."

"You're six inches from that Subaru."