Page 36 of Pretty Broken Wings
“Don’t let her eat that.” Gage waves at the food.
“Why?” I glare at him, still unsure why the dog acted the way she did. Is he starving her?
“Do you want to be up at 2 AM cleaning up the diarrhea?” He arches an eyebrow.
I just frown. Buddy is inching her head toward the food. Reluctantly, I pull the plate of food onto the side arm of the couch. Buddy just repositions, facing me with her tongue out, looking up at me with those milky eyes.
“Is she blind?” I ask.
There’s a silence, and then Gage answers, “Yeah.”
The silence continues, and I look up to see Gage watching me with the most intense look in his eyes. He’s watching me like he’s cataloging every single feature and every movement I make, which he can’t be because he can’t see me. Right?
It’s unsettling. It makes me feel like I have something on my face. I shift, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. What is he looking at?
Finally, Gage grunts, looking down at his plate. “Eat.”
I brush over my face, making sure everything is fine. Nothing seems wrong. He’s not even going to say why he was staring? I want to ask him about it, but I stop myself. You can’t ask a blind person why they were staring.
I glance at the food, but I don’t eat it. First, he invites me over to his house, acts all weird about his dog, and now he’s feeding me some mystery food?
“Eat,” Gage demands as he continues to eat.
“Don’t like spaghetti,” I spit. I do like spaghetti, but he’s being bossy, and it scares me a bit.
It’s clear Buddy likes spaghetti ‘cause she’s started drooling on my leg. Suddenly, I worry that he told me not to let Buddy eat it because he drugged it.
Gage sighs, then gets up. I tense, but Buddy doesn’t. And that’s the only reason I don’t stab Gage. He stops a foot away, handing me his plate. “The food is fine. Switch me.”
I stare at him.
“Listen,” annoyance floods his tone, “I’m paying you to do a job for me. You can’t work if you’re starving. So eat the goddamn spaghetti.” He hands me the plate. Reluctantly, I take it and switch for the one he gave me.
Gage sits back down. The smell of tomato sauce and noodles wafts up and makes my mouth water. I am hungry.
Another drool spot hits my leg.
I send an apologetic look to Buddy, then quietly stick my fork in a meatball. Silently, I bring it to my mouth and chew, and fuck if flavors of tomato sauce, meat, and Italian seasoning don’t explode across my tongue. I think I let out a small sound of appreciation, then sneak a glance at Gage to see if he’s caught me. For a second, I think I see the lines between his brows smooth, but then I blink, and he’s back to angry, and I wonder if I even saw it.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I go home exhausted. The next morning, right before I leave for his house, I get a call from a restricted number. When I pick up, it’s Gage, saying we have another case to prep for and asking to meet at the library today. I’m slightly disappointed I won’t get to see Buddy, but I tell myself it doesn’t matter. This is a job, and I’m just there to get paid.
I’ve never been to the library, but once I get there, it’s nice inside. It’s an old brick building, and the inside is warm and inviting and smells like books. Immediately, I feel comfortable.
There’s a big ‘no phones’ sign as I go further in. I find Gage in one of the private rooms near the back, with papers strewn across the table. His hair looks messed up like he’s already run his fingers through it.
“What’s the case?” I put my purse down and slide in across from him. I packed a small lunch of rice today, if only to keep Gage off my ass.
“Don’t know much. Some divorce case, I think. I’ll need you to read the reports for me.”
I frown. Tomorrow is the trial for the big case we’ve been working on, but who knows how lawyers do things. I sit down to get started.
“Oh, turn your phone off. They get pissy about that in here.”
I shut it down and then get started with the reports. They’re confusing, and this case seems much more complex than the last, with all kinds of different people. As I read, Gage glares up at me, and I can feel it smoldering across my face.
Finally, I put the papers down. “Are you okay?” I thought we made some progress yesterday, being able to work without fighting. Clearly not.
