“Cool.” Jorge sounded amused. “Later.”
“Later, man,” Axl said and disconnected, eyes still to the picture.
They’d been on leave.
They’d taken it in the Keys.
Beach bar.
A babe in a bikini top and short sarong who had a thing for Jordan took that shot of them.
Three inches taller than him, Jordan had been fucking around, got Axl in a headlock.
They were both pretty significantly drunk and laughing.
During that vacation, they’d sprung for separate rooms.
It had been a good call.
That night, Jordan had tagged the girl in the sarong.
Axl had spent the night, and the rest of his leave, hooking up with a tall blonde who gave shit head and he’d discovered had fake tits. But it wasn’t a bust because she was seriously funny and she was a local, so she knew all the best restaurants.
Call him crazy, but he’d take laughs, good food and good company during a vacation fling over good head and real tits any day.
Every once in a while, she still texted him. Mostly hilarious memes and gifs and pictures of the funny faces made by the baby she had with her now husband.
So yeah.
Definitely worth sloppy blowjobs.
Sarong girl had only lasted the night.
Jordan had fucked his way through the Keys, stating, “One day, I’ll find the right one. And then playtime will be done. Since I want a lot of kids, I’m gonna have to get on that. So I don’t got a lot of time to have this kind of fun. Which means I gotta get what I can while I can get it.”
Jordan had been wrong, he didn’t find the right one.
But he was also right, he didn’t have a lot of time.
So it was good he took what he could get.
And had fun while it lasted.
Axl had pulled out the photos yesterday, their Sunday, and shown them to Hattie.
And he’d laughed when he’d told her about their time in the Keys.
Today, she’d found a frame and put Jordan—the real Jordan, the one he needed to remember, the one he got drunk with and laughed with and caroused with, the one who knew he’d be faithful to his wife and make a lot of kids—that Jordan was now in his house.
There was also Hattie’s note on the dresser, and when Axl could tear his eyes from the picture, and his mind from the memories, he picked it up.
Honey,
I’m at the studio.
Can you meet me there?
xx-Hattie
He felt a frisson trace up the back of his neck.
Because she didn’t text that or give him a call.
She put that note by that picture on her dresser.
And wanted him at her studio.
He dropped the note on the dresser, took another look at the picture in the frame, and calling good-bye to Cleo, who had no reply, he went back out to his Jeep and drove to her studio.
Her Rogue was parked outside of it.
She was starting week two of her time off from Smithie’s. There had been a lot going on before, with life, his mom and dad, another meet with her mom and boyfriend (that went a lot better, thankfully), Lottie’s bachelorette party, Mo’s bachelor party, and the wedding a week ago where Axl got to spend all day with her wearing that amazing bridesmaid dress celebrating their two friends getting hitched.
But when she could get there, she was in her studio a lot.
Including the last week, when she was up with him at six or earlier, and they kissed in the garage before getting in their respective cars and taking off for their days.
His meaning he’d go to work, and hers meaning she’d go to her art (his house, by the way, had become their default, and her two drawers were filled, his extra closet half filled—he dug her space, especially her bedroom, but his place had Pac-Man).
Sundays were the only days she took off.
Sadie had transferred several pieces to her back room in prep for the show that was happening in a few weeks, so Hattie had more room to create.
Axl hadn’t been there since the day she got her show.
He knocked twice before he went in.
The first thing he saw was scuttling across the floor.
Two balls of fluff with black faces, curled tails, one with black-tipped brown fur on her body, the other had a creamier coat, both had white chests.
His mom’s Pekingese.
Making up for lost time, and lost opportunities to spoil pets, Mom didn’t get one puppy, she got two. A sister and brother.
His mom had named them Molly and Wellington, or Welly.
Hattie called them Floof One (Molly) and Floof Two (Welly).
They jumped around his boots, so obviously he had no choice but to pick them both up and give them a squeeze.
He got puppy breath in his face and puppy saliva on his jaw as he walked in, wondering why his mother’s dogs were in Hattie’s studio and wondering where Hattie was in her studio.