I played along while she told me all about how much she wanted a pet. As if I didn’t know. As if I hadn’t almost caved hundreds of times and surprised her with a damn kitten, bunny, puppy, anything she wanted.
But I didn’t.
And now?
Fuck me.
I had a damn dog for a roommate.
“Do you want anything to eat?” It was the third time Della had asked within a two-hour period and I hadn’t meant to snap at her, but I’d had a bad day and didn’t want to be bothered. I’d told her to leave me alone and get her fucking dog away from me because it’d been driving me nuts all day demanding attention.
Truthfully, he hadn’t been that bad. He’d had an accident in the morning, and I’d caught him gnawing on one of the kitchen chairs. Did I care? Hardly. I cleaned up his mess, scolded him, and gave him a toy to chew on instead. But the day had been trying with clients that continuously pissed me off and another email had dropped about a different partnership with somebody even less enthusing than Richard Pratt.
I could have apologized to her sooner, but I knew it would be better to put space between us. She cooked something for herself based on the smell of spice wafting into my office, and I was sure she’d gone to walk the dog when the door opened and closed sometime later. Now? The quiet hum of the television greeted me as I walked into the den to see her cross-legged on the couch with a sketchpad on her lap, the dog by her side, and a show about aliens on the TV screen.
Immediately, she looked up at me. “I’m sorry if Ramsay shouldn’t be on the furniture, but he seemed a little off and he calmed right down when he settled there.”
Of course, he would. Anybody would if they got to be next to her for even a second. I didn’t relay that information to her though. “It doesn’t matter to me.” If I’d still had the leather couch that Mariska bought, maybe I would have given a shit given how hyper the dog was. Then again, would I have really cared if he ripped the cushions? No. Not if it meant pissing my ex-wife off in some way. Not that it mattered, considering she’d taken the furniture set that she was adamant about picking out when we moved in, along with a few other pieces—art, mostly. It was the only way she and Della had gotten along. They both enjoyed going to exhibits in the city, especially new ones that were limited time, so they could talk about whatever the hell method was used or where they felt something would go in the house.
“You’re angry,” she murmured, moving the pad off her lap. Today she donned basic jeans and a gray shirt that’s collar showed a little too much cleavage from the deep V.
“I’m not.”
“You’re glowering.” Was I?
“Thinking about Mariska.” It was all it took for understanding to cross her face. She reached over and ran a hand down the dog’s back. Ramsay stretched out beside her in satisfaction.
“Did she call you?”
“What?”
Her brows went up. “Did you hear from Mariska? I mean, it’d make sense if that’s why you’re in a bad mood. If I were in your shoes, I probably would be too.”
Rounding the couch, I sighed as I dropped onto a cushion opposite of her. The dog was in the middle, acting as a barrier to leave plenty of space between us. “I hope you never have to be in my shoes someday to understand.”
“How so?”
The chuckle escaped me quietly. “Being divorced and bitter doesn’t exactly make people want to be around you.”
“Do you want people to be around you?”
I turned my head to look at her, her eyes trained on me like she was trying to figure out my answer before I said it. “Most days? No.”
Her lips twitched.
“But even assholes like me enjoy having company from time to time,” I added, voice even. I didn’t tell her what company I wanted, but she seemed to draw her own conclusions with a muffled noise climbing from her throat.
“Is that your way of apologizing?”
I lifted a shoulder.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said next, making me sigh again. Before I could tell her she didn’t, she added, “Are you lonely? Is that why you want company?”
The way her words rushed past her lips made me think she hadn’t really