I make it there.
My eyes flip up involuntarily, seeing a familiar shadow beyond the glass.
Damn!
My stride slows, my lips part. The silhouette of the tall physique is perfect. I can make out every edge of the body, telling me it’s naked. No clothes, just sharp, crisp, clear outlines.
My steps eventually come to a stop, my neck craned upward, and I fall into a trance. Not even the smugness he’ll flaunt knocks away the desire to stare.
Then something happens, and it throws me off balance. Literally. My legs wobble as his hand touches the glass and he moves forward, bringing himself out of the shadows. My heart begins to race as I gaze up at him standing in his boxers, his face unadorned by his glasses. And his scorn. He looks sleepy. Like he just woke up.
‘Morning,’ he mouths.
My head tilts, my brow bunching, and he smiles a little at my surprise before looking over his shoulder and moving back into the shadows.
My eyes drop. Morning? Was he being nice? ‘He’s a fucking enigma,’ I say to myself, hurrying for the door and swiping my card through the reader. Marching down the corridor towards the library, I try to wrestle the mental image of him virtually naked from my mind. ‘Morning?’ I mutter, frowning. ‘Morn—’ Something gets tangled between my legs, and I throw my coffee cup in the air so I can grab something to save myself. ‘Shit,’ I cry, grappling at the wall and knocking a René Magritte painting askew, coffee spraying the wall. I gasp my horror, quickly straighten it up, and snatch a tissue from my bag to wipe up the coffee. Jesus Christ.
My eyes fly to my feet when the sounds of whimpering registers, finding a big ball of fur cowering. ‘Oh God, Winston.’ I drop to the floor. ‘I’m sorry, boy.’ He whimpers and whines, backing away from me. ‘C’mon,’ I whisper, trying to earn his trust again. He likes me. Mrs Potts said so, and weeks of petting him has only brought us closer. Oh God, don’t hate me.
I remain on my knees, my bum resting on my heels, and pat my lap, clucking and cooing. He eventually takes a cautious step towards me. The elation this tiny action brings overwhelms me. ‘That’s it. Come on.’ He takes another step, and I shuffle forward a tiny bit, extending my hand to him. He sniffs warily, then takes one more step, so I reach up to his ear. But he doesn’t let me rub behind it. Instead, he rolls on to his back and lets his tongue flop from his mouth, panting. I laugh loudly and make a real good job of apologising, scratching his belly until his back leg starts to twitch. ‘You like that?’ I ask, like he might reply. ‘Oh, yes, you do.’ I speed up my back-and-forth scratching, laughing harder when his whole body seems to go into spasm. ‘C’mon,’ I say, stopping when my fingers start to burn with the friction. ‘I’ve got to get some work done.’ I stand, delighted when Winston flips on to his paws and sits at my feet, looking at me all gooey-eyed. ‘You wanna come with me?’ He answers by trotting past me towards the library, and my eyes follow his path until he reaches the doors and drops to his arse again, looking at me. ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’ He lets out a deep bark, and I smile, gathering up my coffee cup and joining him by the doors. ‘Want to compare notes on Michelangelo and Raphael?’
His answer this time is a growl.
‘Oh, okay. Not a fan?’
He growls again, deeper this time, and is up on all four paws in a heartbeat, his attention pointed down the corridor.
I follow his stare, frowning. ‘What is it, boy?’
He starts backing away, his head dropped, his growl now bordering on a snarl. Every instinct tells me to back away with him, so I do, looking down the corridor at nothing. ‘What’s there, Winston?’
Then there’s the sound of naked feet padding on the floor, and my back straightens when I realise where they’re coming from. The curved staircase.
Becker.
I freeze, wondering why Winston is showing such aggressiveness at the impending arrival of his owner. His hackles are raised, and now his teeth are being flashed, too. Holy shit, the cute pup looks downright vicious. ‘Shhhh.’ I try to pacify him, crouching down, wondering what the hell has got into him.
I don’t have to wonder for long.