Not That Kind of Girl (7 page)

He started walking, the phone to his ear.

“Everything is going to be all right, Roxie,” he told her. “I’ll be back by morning. We’ll figure this out together.”

“But … you mean you’re not leaving town?” She sounded incredulous. “You’re going to help me?”

“Yes. I’ll help you.”

What came next was clearly a stretch for Roxie. She’d become a little rusty at it, no doubt. But she managed to fix her mouth around those two little words and then say them out loud—
to a man,
no less. To Eli.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome,” he said.

Chapter 5

Roxanne sat at an outdoor table at the Starbucks on Diamond Heights, waiting for Eli Gallagher to show. Not that he was late. She was early. Roxie’s plan was to appear relaxed and businesslike from the get-go, so she’d given herself a little extra time to accomplish that. She wanted Eli Gallagher to come down the sidewalk and see her sitting with perfect posture, legs crossed casually, sipping on her café au lait with an air of dignified nonchalance.

To aid in this, she’d taken extra care with her appearance that morning, following a grooming routine much like the one she relied on back when she covered criminal courts for the
Herald,
back when she was forced to leave the house every day to do her job, back when her livelihood required regular, actual, face-to-face human contact. So that morning she’d applied a tasteful amount of makeup and straightened her long hair into a sleek but casual style. She’d chosen a pair of peep-toe heels, charcoal gray dress slacks with a scarf belt, and a tailored blouse in a pale lilac color. She wore modest silver hoops in her ears and an heirloom marcasite ring on her left hand.

The goal was get an immediate positive reaction from Eli. She wanted him to see her and say something to himself along the lines of,
That woman sure has it together!
She’d even settle for,
She certainly looks sophisticated and lovely today.

Roxanne reached for her cardboard-wrapped coffee cup and took a large slurp. Ha! Who was she kidding? She’d be lucky if the guy didn’t stop dead in his tracks and then run away in horror. She knew better than to think that a little lip gloss and under-eye concealer would hide the fact that she hadn’t slept for two nights in a row. Instead of sleeping, she’d been crying and blowing her nose, eating caramel corn and cheese puffs while dividing her zombielike attention between a cable shopping network’s “Cavalcade of Beauty” clearance special and the 2,351 Google results that appeared when she typed the words “Eli Gallagher, dog whisperer” into her laptop.

How was she supposed to sleep? Lilith wasn’t with her. For the first time in nearly a year, Roxanne had been spending the night completely, utterly, and pathetically
alone,
all while her sweet girl was locked up in dog prison, unjustly accused. Sleep hadn’t even been an option.

Roxanne sighed deeply. She put down her cup. She could do this. She could deal with Gallagher. As much as it pained her, she would do whatever it took to save her dog. Whatever he said to do, she’d do it. She owed Lilith that.

Besides, Roxie Bloom had never been short on balls. She’d interviewed mass murderers on death row. She’d coaxed scoops out of the most uptight assistant DAs. She’d waited in parking garages at night to corner hesitant sources. She’d been on the scene for child pornography arrests, foiled bomb plots, and murder-suicide investigations. Surely, she could ask one measly cowboy for a hand with dog training!

All it would take was a little self-discipline. She would put aside her own anger and hurt and graciously accept Gallagher for who he was—an animal handler known for miraculously turning around even the most aggressive dogs. She’d just forget all the rest—the way her body caught fire the first time she saw him, the pain of his rejection, how she couldn’t stop thinking about him, how that single kiss at the paddock two days ago had contained enough electricity to light up the city of San Francisco for a month …

“Excuse me.”

Roxie nearly rocketed from her chair, the deep voice scared her so much. “Uh. Sure. No problem.” She scooted in a bit for the college kid trying to pass between tables. She realized her heart was pounding and her palms were sweaty.

No more caffeine today, she decided.

She checked her phone. Fifteen minutes to go. She let her eyes roam, scanning the morning neighborhood crowd. She noticed an elderly couple holding hands as they took a slow walk. She saw a happy, laughing man and woman pushing a stroller with a happy, laughing toddler occupant. She saw a middle-aged married couple a few tables away, chatting cheerfully.

She knew it was an exaggeration, but right at that moment she felt as if she were the only single person in San Francisco. It had been so long since she’d been part of a couple that she’d forgotten what it felt like.

Had she really held hands with Raymond on the street like that? Had she looked up into his eyes and laughed? Had they had cheerful conversations? Had there really been good times before it all went to shit?

Of course. It had been good with Raymond—right up until the Night of the Cigar.

She’d been such a stupid, stupid girl.

Roxie smiled tightly, recalling a conversation she’d had at that very same Starbucks table eight months before. Bea, Josie, and herself had sat here, eyes wide and faces flushed, as Ginger described her hot-and-heavy hookup with Lucio Montevez, the famous nature photographer. With a perfectly straight face, Ginger assured everyone she was starting menopause and was no longer fertile. What a crock! What a layer cake of delusional thinking! Because not only was Ginger not going through menopause, she was already pregnant as she spoke those words, but just didn’t know it.

Then, Josie had served up her own delusion du jour, insisting that a woman could, indeed, find great sex and a great relationship all with the same man. She’d assured Ginger, “If it could happen for me, it could happen for you or Roxie or any woman!”

Roxie recalled how, in her mind, she’d battled with her options: should she cut Josie some slack, seeing that she’d only just returned from her honeymoon and was drunk on love, or should she do everyone a favor and tell them the truth, for God’s sake?

Since Bea was still reeling from Ginger’s kissing-and-telling, Roxie knew it was up to her to spread the gospel of reality. “In my experience, the hotter the sex, the harder the fall,” she’d told them. “You can’t have great sex and a great relationship with the same man. You’re going to have to settle for one or the other. It’s a universal law.”

Ooh,
had Josie been mad! In fact, it was the only real argument she’d ever had with her best friend. They’d gotten over it, in time. Roxie supposed that friends sometimes had to agree to disagree.

Still, to this day, Josie was sure she’d caught the brass ring with Rick. Ginger still felt the same about Lucio. So Roxanne prayed her friends were right but waited in the wings to offer them solace, just in case.

“Is this seat taken?”

Roxie allowed a self-satisfied smile to spread across her face. She felt smug, and so very grateful she hadn’t jumped out of her seat at the sound of that voice. She turned and looked up. “Hello, Eli. Thanks for coming.”

He pulled out the chair across from her. He tipped his hat back a bit and leveled his gaze, studying her. “Rough couple nights, huh?” he asked.

Roxanne laughed, somehow relieved to get that out of the way. She stared down into her cup. “Well, truthfully, yes. When I wasn’t busy reading about you online, I was ordering crap I don’t need from the cable shopping channel.”

She heard his chuckle and decided to meet his eye once more.
Holy shit, that man is gorgeous,
was all that went through her mind.

“Buy anything for me?”

She laughed again, thinking,
How the hell am I supposed to pretend that I haven’t spent the last nine months picturing this guy naked?
“Do you have any need for a vibrating eyelash curler?” she asked.

“Not in the foreseeable future.”

“How about a holiday nail care collection featuring twenty-five festive polish colors and a year’s supply of emery boards?”

“Can’t say that I do,” he said, pursing his lips while the lines around his eyes crinkled in amusement. “What else you got?”

Roxanne leaned back into her chair and crossed her arms over her chest, sighing deeply. “What I got, Eli, is one incredibly fucked-up dog.”

He nodded kindly, and in that deep-velvet-mellow voice of his he said, “It kind of looks that way, Roxie Bloom.” She watched him take a slow, deep breath. “Did you bring a copy of her records?”

“Yup.” Roxie reached in the bag at her feet and pulled out a manila envelope. “Everything’s in there—the report from the rescue group, her adoption papers, all her shot records and vet visits. I even enclosed the letters I got from the dog trainers who kicked her out of class.”

“Wonderful. Thank you.” Eli pulled the papers out and glanced at them quickly before he shoved them back inside the envelope sleeve and slid it back across the table.

“You don’t want to keep them? You’re not going to read them?” Roxanne asked, puzzled.

“Nope. Just wanted to make sure she was up to date on her shots.”

“Hmmph,” Roxie said, thinking that all he had to do was ask her for that information, for God’s sake. Maybe he didn’t trust her to tell the truth.
Men.

Why does this particular man have to be so drop-dead hot?

“Now, before we get started, there’s one thing I need to ask you.”

Roxie felt her eyes go wide. “Of course,” she said, her head spinning with the possibilities. What did he want to know? she wondered.
Are you seeing anyone? Do you know how wrong I was to turn you down for lunch? Do you think you could orgasm at just the sound of my voice?
(
Why, yes, Eli! I believe I could!
)

“How do you picture your ideal relationship with Lilith?” was his question.

“Huh?”

“Lilith,” he repeated. “Your dog. Picture the perfect relationship with Lilith. What do you see?”

“Oh.” Roxanne flipped her hair over her shoulder, slightly embarrassed that her imagination had roamed so far off topic. That had been a good question, and it just so happened that she’d asked herself that very thing many times over.

“I want us to enjoy each other’s company,” she said, her voice confident. “I want Lilith to stay calm and feel safe, no matter where we go, what we do, or who we’re with. I don’t want to worry that she might growl, lunge, froth at the mouth, or bite again.
I just want to have fun with my dog.
”

Eli blinked a few times, then unleashed one of those supernova smiles that seemed to appear for no reason, without any effort. Roxanne had never seen anyone—man or woman—produce such a white-toothed, full-faced smile of joy without it looking fake. Where did that smile of his come from? she wondered. Why did she find it so engaging? And why did it feel so fascinatingly familiar?

“Good answer. Now tell me why,” he said.

“Why what?” Roxie sat up straighter.

“The ideal relationship you just described with your dog—why do you want that?”

She smiled a little, enjoying the way this conversation challenged her. She might have known the answer to Eli’s first question, but that was where her introspection had ended. “You know, I’m not sure why, exactly. Give me a minute to think about that, okay?”

“Of course.”

Roxie closed her eyes. She was prepared to reach deep down into her heart for some kind of sensible reply, but, as it turned out, a deep reach wasn’t necessary. The answer was lurking right below the surface. But as the words formed in her mind, she was hit with a wall of emotion. Loss. Longing. Sadness. She tried to stop it, but tears began to well behind her eyelids. It took a moment before she could speak.

“Because we both need some peace,” she whispered. Even though her eyes were tightly closed, the tears threatened to drop onto her cheeks. “I don’t want to fight anymore. I’m exhausted. All I want is to love my dog and have her be happy.” She opened her eyes and smiled at him. “I want to get rid of the garbage so there’s room for happiness.”

When her words got no response from Eli, Roxie figured she’d made a fool of herself with her blubbering. With a nervous laugh, she swiped at her cheeks. “I must sound like Wayne Dyer on crack or something.”

That’s when the strangest thing happened. Roxie was treated to a slide show of emotions playing on Eli’s face. First, he looked stunned. Next, he seemed slightly amused. Then, he looked downright proud of her.

The rest happened quite fast—his smile softened and his green eyes darkened. His breathing slowed and his jaw twitched. And Roxanne swore she could feel him ripping her clothes off with his eyes. Her whole body began to tremble.

Okay, perhaps the part about undressing her with his eyes was wishful thinking, but still, something extremely
powerful
had just passed between them, and not a single word had been spoken. It made their barnyard kiss seem like a snippet of static electricity.

She tilted her head and stared at him, befuddled. He was the most unusual man she’d ever met, and the effect he had on her was stranger still. He had a calm charisma. He was dominant and masculine but gentle. And the combination of those traits seemed to soothe Roxie and stimulate her at the same time. She couldn’t put a name to it, but whatever was going on between them seemed like a chemical reaction of sorts, a collision of Eli’s assured maleness and Roxie’s mishmash of longing and anger and need.

They studied each other for a moment, then Eli sprang up from his seat.

“Let’s walk,” he said, nearly tossing aside his wrought-iron chair as he moved from the table.

Roxanne smiled, relieved that the unnaturally serene Eli Gallagher could be made uncomfortable. She took her time disposing of her coffee cup, then caught up with him at the curb. His back remained to her.

“So, where are we headed?” she asked, trying to sound casual.