Commitment (22 page)

By the time he emerged from the bathroom, Fred had roused himself to greet him in the hallway. Tom nodded and followed the cat’s bobbing tail toward the kitchen. He shot a glance in the direction of Fred’s food dish. “I’m betting she already fed you.”

The cat stared up at him, employing a mixture of innocence and implied threat to state his case. His own stomach gave a sympathetic grumble. Tom sighed. “Tell you what… If I can find something for me to eat, I might be persuaded to find a little something for you too.”

He opened a cabinet door and found only neatly stacked plates and glasses. Fred wound between his ankles, nudging him to the left. More than capable of taking a hint, Tom worked his way down the row of cabinets. He found enough canned soup and cat food to ensure her survival should a freak hurricane blow up on Lake Michigan. He ignored feline cries of protest and moved to the next cabinet. “Me then you, fat cat.”

The interior of the next cabinet could have been a depiction of the aftermath of said hurricane. Every package, box, and bag on the shelves appeared to be just shy of total decimation. An empty granola bar box tumbled to the counter. He found one half-eaten victim wrapped in a foil shroud and stuffed between a box of elbow macaroni and a jar of pasta sauce. A torn bag of store-brand spaghetti disgorged its contents onto the flowered shelf paper. Tom shuddered and quickly gathered the dried noodles, stuffing them back into the shredded cellophane. “Your girl is a slob,” he informed Fred.

Tipping his head back, Tom scanned the upper shelf with a wary gaze. “Ah ha! Score!” He lunged for the box tucked at the back of the cabinet, shaking it to check the content level as he rocked back on his heels. A satisfied smile curved his lips. He tore open the flaps and wriggled his fingers through the crumpled plastic sleeve and hit pay dirt. He extracted a handful of chocolate-y cereal. “Cocoa Puffs.
Gotta
love a girl who loves Cocoa Puffs.”

Fred meowed piteously, his tail swishing around his haunches. Tom popped a puff into his mouth and found they were only slightly stale. He emptied the rest of the cereal clutched in his palm into his mouth and munched as he moved to the refrigerator.

“What are the odds…” He skimmed the contents of the fridge and found no milk. “I didn’t think they’d be very good.” The door slammed shut. Tom freed another handful of cocoa-goodness from the box and let one puff plop to the floor. The cat lunged then drew up short, giving the morsel an experimental lick and nibble. “They’re good. Trust me.”

His orange friend wasn’t impressed. Shoveling the rest of the handful into his mouth, he set the box aside. He opened the cabinet of canned goods and selected the seafood medley. “Will this do?” Fred danced a tango around his ankles, so Tom took that as a yes. He found the can opener and studied the contraption until he could figure out the mechanics then went to work. After a full rotation, the can dropped to the counter, seemingly untouched.

“Huh.” He scowled at the can, trying to figure out where he went wrong. In his excitement, Fred kicked the tango into a tarantella and was inching dangerously close to segueing into a jitterbug. “I’m
workin
’ on it, buddy.” He picked up the can and the lid lifted slightly. “Whoa.” He shot the can opener a glance. “Is this thing magic?” he asked his feline friend, prying the loosened lid from the can with his thumbnail.

Fred’s meows grew more vocal. Tom stooped to empty the contents into the dish bearing the cat’s name. “There. Breakfast is served, your majesty.” He was rewarded with a firm head butt and the tickle of a serpentine tail twisting around his calf. “Aw, you’re welcome.”

Tom hiked the waistband of his boxer-briefs as he straightened. After chucking the can into the trash, he moved to the sink to wash his hands. “This is probably the only time we’ll get away with this, you know. If she notices there’s a can missing, I can only play dumb once.”

Snagging the box of Cocoa Puffs, he left the finicky feline to his meal and wandered into the living room. He trickled another handful into his mouth and glanced around, chewing slowly. His briefcase leaned against the front of the couch, and his suit coat lay draped over the arm. A red chenille throw covered in orange and white fur graced an ancient ottoman with no matching chair. Every table, nook, and cranny was jam packed with framed photos and figurines. Scattered among them was the evidence of what appeared to be an extensive collection of cheesy tourist trap souvenirs.

He moved through the room, picking up a thimble from Tulsa and a picture frame touting Lake Geneva. Tom squinted at the photo, stretching his arm until the faces swam into focus. A smile twitched his lips when he recognized a very young Maggie sandwiched between his sister-in-law, Tracy, and their third roommate, a photographer named
Shel
. He repositioned the frame precisely on the dust-free spot and turned to scan the room.

Tucking the cereal box under his arm, he gathered the discarded cardboard containers with the remnants of their dinner and snagged his empty beer bottle from the end table. Fred was still savoring his second breakfast when he dumped the lot into the trashcan. He shook his head and gathered another fistful of cereal as he made his way back to the living room.

The agreement he’d drawn up lay forgotten on the couch cushion. He dropped down next to the crumpled pages, reaching blindly to set the cereal box on the end table as he gathered the sheaf of papers. A picture frame toppled and he jumped. The box fell to the floor, scattering sugarcoated puffs of cocoa.

“Crap!”

Tom snatched the box from the floor and propped it against the couch. The picture frame lay face-down on the table. He winced as he lifted it, expecting to find a spider web of shattered glass. Instead he found a grainy photograph of a little red-haired girl in a pink party dress clutching a fairy wand.

He grabbed the frame, stretching his arm to find that magic spot where focus came into play. Frustrated, he dove for his briefcase, groping for the reading glasses few people ever saw him wear. Sliding the glasses onto his nose, he tipped his head back and devoured the suddenly sharp details of the photo.

The dress was pink, but the froth of fluff beneath the skirt was white. Little Maggie’s delighted smile outshone the sparkling star affixed to the tip of the magic wand. An older woman wearing a rhinestone tiara beamed her approval. A younger woman, her face partially obscured by rich waves of deep auburn hair, looked on with a tolerant smile. The man in the photograph had his back to the camera and his head bent. His fair hair tumbled forward as he waited on bended knee, as if waiting for the touch of the fairy princess’ wand.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs made him jump. Tom hurriedly set the frame on the end table, unable to spare a glance to see if he hit the mark. He gathered the printed pages of his proposed custody agreement from his lap, flipping them right side up just as the apartment door opened.

Maggie slipped inside. “Oh. You’re still here.”

He looked up, meeting her gaze over the wire rims of his glasses. His fingers clenched the pages and he stifled a wince, trying to resist the urge to yank the frames from his face. “Oh. Yeah. I just woke up.”

“Lazy bum.” She circled the end of the couch then drew up short, her eyebrows taking flight.

He glanced down. Heat seared his cheeks when he realized he was sitting on her couch practically naked. Maggie laughed and dropped onto the far cushion. “Wow. Not often I walk into my apartment and find a half naked man.” He scowled, and her laugh slowed to a throaty chuckle. “I think I like it, though. Maybe if I keep you barefoot, you’ll get me pregnant.”

Tom mustered up as much cool as a guy caught lounging around in his underpants could manage and stretched his arm across the back of the couch. “I don’t have a lot of experience in getting girls knocked up, but I’m pretty sure my feet won’t have much to do with it.”

Her grin turned soft. The lines of her mouth melted into the same indulgent curve the older woman wore in the photograph. “You look good in the glasses.”

Cool be damned, he snatched them from his face, folding the temples into the palm of his hand. “Why aren’t you downstairs?”

“My ten-thirty cancelled. I came up to see if you made the bed before you left.”

He grinned. “Not yet. You
wanna
get back in it?”

Maggie heaved a put-upon sigh. “Yes, but I can’t. I have to rip someone’s pubic hair out in twenty minutes.”

His grimace made her laugh, and Tom decided there and then if getting completely grossed out was what it took to elicit that tinkling giggle, he’d let her tell him war stories all day long. “You’re a sadist.”

Running her hand over his arm and caressing his shoulder, she cooed, “And you keep volunteering to be my victim.”

“Do I really have hair on my back?”

Maggie smiled. “You didn’t notice me petting you?”

“Seriously….”

“Everyone has hair on their backs, Tom. Even women,” she added in a whisper. “The average human body can have over five million hair follicles.”

“I’m asking you, as a professional, friend, lover, whatever… Am I turning into a Yeti?”

“Not yet…
eee
,” she answered with a grin.

“You’re a funny girl.”

Maggie scooted closer, her hand gliding up the side of his neck then cupping the back of his head. Her fingers sank into his hair. He almost purred when her nails scratched his scalp. “You’re a pretty boy,” she whispered, drawing near.

Her breath tickled his lips, and Tom became acutely aware that he was anything but minty-fresh. He tried to turn his head, but she held firm. “I haven’t been a boy for a long time.”

“Pretty,” she murmured, her lips brushing his. The glancing blow of a kiss made him suck in a breath. “Smooth…” Her hand slid to his shoulder again. Those nimble fingers kneaded the knot of muscle until he relaxed into her touch. “Hard in all the right places.” Her mouth grazed his jaw, damp and soft…so soft. As if reading his mind, she nipped at his ear lobe. “Soft in the most delicious spots.”

“Let’s go back to bed.” The words rushed from his mouth as the last of the oxygen caged in his lungs made a break for it.

“We can’t…Remember?”

“You’re killing me.”

She nuzzled his neck, cuddling against his side like a kitten. “Can’t have that… I still have plans for you.”

“You never answered me—do these plans include a plastic cup?” His voice came out rough and gravelly.

“Now that would be a waste, wouldn’t it?”

“I think so.”

He curled his arm around her and nearly managed to coax her into his lap. She resisted, breathy chuckles mixing with the soft kisses she trailed along his throat. The jumbled ponytail she wore snaked down her back. A sly smile curved her lips. She raked her fingernails along the inside of his bare thigh and he almost came off the couch. Hell, he almost came in his pants.

In a flash he had her flat on her back, pinned against the couch cushions. She laughed that throaty, full-bodied laugh that rippled through his blood. Her lustrous curls trailed over the edge of the cushion. Tom snaked one hand under her head and started to pull the cloth-covered elastic from her mane.

“What are you doing?” she laughed. “I have to go back to work.”

He shook his head and tossed the band onto the coffee table. “Not for a few more minutes.”

Straddling her thigh, he pushed up, pulling her with him. She clung to his shoulders for balance and he took full advantage, plunging both hands into the mass of auburn curls and letting his fingers filter through to the ends.

“Are you busy tonight?” he asked, his voice low and husky with suppressed need.

“No.”

He started at her scalp again, letting the slippery, silky waves spill over his wrists and tickle his forearms. She moaned softly and he smiled. “
Wanna
go to a movie or something?”

Maggie blinked. “Are you asking me on a date?”

Tom couldn’t help but laugh. “Jeez, Maggie, don’t act so surprised. I’ve only spent the last two weeks trying to get you to spend a little time with me.”

Her sheepish chuckle gave him vindication. The pink blush rising in her cheeks signified hope. “A movie?”

“Maybe pizza then a movie?” he asked, feeling compelled to push while luck seemed to be running his way. Maggie nodded slowly and his fingers clenched the ends of her hair, hanging onto the moment. “Pick you up at about six?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Tom sealed the deal with a sweet, lingering kiss. “Okay,” he breathed, reaching for the hair band again.