Page 23 of Maverick

Most nights I'm up until midnight, sometimes later. And I'm back at the office by eight. My life is busy, and I'll admit that I have too many demands on my time. I don't need more complications. I need a sweet, understanding woman who is happy to spend a lot of time on her own.

As soon as I think it, I realize I'm kidding myself. I don't want that kind of relationship. The kind where I barely see my partner and come home to polite sex before rolling over and ignoring each other for the rest of the night. I want to be obsessed with my woman, craving her, thinking about her all the time.

Cadence could be that for me. Hell, screw 'could be', she is. I'm heading to forty, and I've never felt this kind of pull for a woman.

And it's not like I haven't met plenty of women. I've dated, I've fucked around, I've flirted with women in clubs and at work.

It was fun. But none of it came even close to what I'm feeling now.

This obsessive focus is a lot.

The streetlights flick on, lighting up the space between us. My heart is pounding like a jackhammer. Fuck Nick's plan. Fuck slow and easy. I'm not waiting another second to make my intentions clear.

I take a deep breath, ready to lay it all out there. "Cadence, I need you to know that I would never?—"

Before I can finish, Terry squats down right between us and takes a massive dump on the pavement. The little bastard has impeccable timing.

Cadence chuckles, completely unfazed. She pulls a little sheet of plastic off the roll and hands it to me, a teasing glint in her eyes. "Your turn, boss."

I stare at the small rectangle of plastic in my hand, then at the steaming pile of shit. I've never had a dog. I've never picked up poop with my bare hands. Not on purpose, anyway. But I'll be damned if I back down now, not in front of her.

I crouch down, trying to figure out the best angle of attack. I make a few awkward attempts, the plastic flapping uselessly in the breeze. The smell is enough to make my eyes water.

Cadence clears her throat. "You might want to open it."

Open it? Wha– "Right. I knew that." It takes some work, but eventually that sucker pops open, and I slide my hand inside. Trying not to breathe, I reach down and manage to get my fingers around the shit. But I'm not prepared for the warmth. It's like holding a freshly baked turd muffin. Instinctively, I chuckit, needing it out of my hand immediately. The shit sails through the air and splats against a nearby light post, leaving a streak of brown. I'm left standing there, the poopy bag still on my hand.

I gag, my stomach doing somersaults. That was so much worse than I expected. Meanwhile, Cadence is bent over, howling with laughter. Tears stream down her face as she clutches her stomach.

"Oh my god," she gasps between fits of giggles. "The look on your face!"

I straighten up, trying to maintain some shred of dignity. "I meant to do that."

She snorts. "Sure you did, hotshot."

It bubbles up, the embarrassment morphing into something not unexpected, but still so uncool. I giggle. Then instinctively go to slap my hand over my mouth, and nearly slap myself with the poopy bag, gag, then I giggle again in relief at the near miss.

Ever since I can remember, I've gotten stuck in this spiral. As a kid, it would happen when someone hurt themselves, or the girls at the club would kiss me on the cheek. The giggles would start, then I'd get anxious about the giggles, and more would start.

I learned how to manage it as I got older. It's not like I'll have a giggle fit at a funeral…wait, it depends on what kind of funeral. A clown funeral, with everyone showing up in full clown makeup? That would do it. Especially if the deceased was buried in his clown shoes and they had to custom make the casket just to fit the fucking shoes.

Oh hell. Here I go. My other curse? A goofy sense of humor that kicks in at the worst possible moment.

I try to hold them in. Turning my back, holding the hand with the bag straight in front of me, I breathe, trying to calm myself down.

"I've never seen anyone throw poop like that. It's damned uncivilized of you. It's okay though. I won't tell anyone." Her laughter breaks again on the last words, and I tighten all my stomach muscles, trying to calm myself down.

I want to date this woman. Thinking I'm a shit throwing immature asshole is not going to give her the impression I'm looking for. When I finally have it together, I turn around and meet those shining eyes.

"I'm sorry about that. I didn't…I wasn't….it's just, it was warm," I stutter out.

She snorts, and props her hand on her rounded hip. "Yep. Body temperature, since you know, it was just…inside."

"Right. That logic is logical."

Her grin grows as she trails her eyes along my face, then slowly it fades into something else. Something I would like to think is longing. She sighs and shakes her head minutely.

"I'll get it." She turns and heads for the lamppost, and I rush over there, tugging the dog after me. Luckily, he seems thrilled to go to the post, lifting his leg and peeing on all sides of the post.

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