Home at last. Robin juggled a stack of mail and a bag of last-minute groceries — dog treats, dog food, milk, a bottle of Malbec and some Twinkies — as she struggled to find her apartment key on an overfull key chain. Quite honestly, she didn’t know what half the keys were for. They probably opened old mailboxes, storage lockers, gym padlocks, etc. She could never bring herself to throw any of them out because she knew as soon as she tossed one, she’d wind up needing it the next day and would be summarily screwed.
A door opened just down the hall. A gigantic man stepped out and stood still while sixty-five pounds of whining white-and-black whirlwind shot past him into the hallway, ears flapping and claws digging into carpet.
Emma jumped up, almost knocking Robin over. Groceries spilled on the floor. Robin grabbed for the milk, but the plastic quart container bounced on the carpet without breaking and rolled to a stop.
Robin cupped her hands around Emma’s floppy ears and dug her fingers in just enough to shake the dog’s head. Wild-eyed, Emma’s tongue lolled — her body seemed to want to go in five directions at once.
“Baby girl! I missed you,” Robin said. She pushed the dog away, then knelt to pick up the groceries — a strategic mistake. Emma jumped again to kiss Robin’s face. The dog’s paws hit Robin’s shoulders, knocking the kneeling woman on her behind. Emma’s feet pranced as she launched rapid-fire kisses on Robin’s face.
“Easy, girl,” Robin said, laughing at the dog’s desperate intensity.
Suddenly Emma’s weight was gone. Robin looked up to see Big Max holding the sixty-five-pound dog in his left arm, big hand scooped under Emma’s butt, her head at his shoulder. Emma’s tail thumped against Max’s leg.
“Goodness gracious, girl,” Max said. “That dog just kicked your ass.”
Robin nodded. She put the groceries back in the bag and gathered up the scattered mail.
“Thanks, Max. Thanks for everything.”
“Don’t worry about it, honey. I’ll watch this little thing any old day.”
Emma just sat there, totally comfortable and relaxed cradled in Max’s huge arm. Huge wasn’t really the word for his arms — gigantic might be more appropriate. Max looked like an effeminate version of a roided-out professional wrestler. Big arms, thick legs, huge barrel chest (which was waxed, of course). The head on top of his beer keg of a neck sported deep laugh lines. A blond goatee formed a dainty point, and the same-color hair sat on his forehead in a moussed swirl.
One glance told you Max was gay, and that was always somewhat of a bitter feeling — the man was a Grade-A hunk. He made for a very interesting neighbor: dog lover, well versed on local politics, worked nights as a bouncer and was trying to break into erotic films. Not a run-of-the-mill guy by any stretch of the imagination.
That was Robin’s best friend: a gorgeous, badass, gay pornstar-to-be.
“Hey,” Robin said. “How did your audition go at Kink-dot-com?”
Max smiled. “Pretty good,” he said. “Were you asking because you’re a polite sweetheart, or do you want to know the gory details of my shoot?”
Robin laughed and blushed. “The former. Not sure I could handle the details.”
“Ah, you modest Canadian girls.”
A second dog came out of Max’s apartment. This one made Emma look tiny — ninety pounds of pit bull with gray fur, white feet, and the sweetest face you could ever see.
Without missing a beat, Max reached down with his right arm and scooped up the pit bull. He cradled one hundred fifty-five pounds of dog like a couple of feather pillows.
“Hello there, Billy,” Robin said. She gave the pit bull a kiss on the nose. Billy’s thick tail swirled in an uncoordinated circle.
Max leaned toward her, breaking the three-foot cushion. His eyes narrowed as he stared at a spot just below Robin’s eyes.
“Honey, look at those circles. That job is going to be the death of you.”
Robin put the mail in the grocery bag (why she hadn’t done that to start with, she had no idea) and finally found her apartment key. She opened the door and walked into her entryway. Max followed her in, still carrying the dogs.
“Tell me about it,” she said. “You should have seen the poor kid they brought in today.”
“Bad?”
“Beyond bad.” Robin set the bag down on her dining room table. “His arm was … wait, are you asking because you’re a polite sweetheart, or because you want the gory details? Because these details are actually gory.”
Max set both dogs down, then waved his hands palms-out. “Oh, I’m just being polite. I like to watch CSI because it’s fake, but your stories make my balls head for high water. Is the case important?”
“It is to me.”
Max smiled, a left-corner-of-the-mouth-curling-up thing that Robin could only hope they put on the covers of his posters, or web pages, or whatever they used to advertise porn.
“I see,” he said. “And would Mister I Dress All in Black be involved?”
Robin felt her face flush. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. I can see it in your eyes. Maybe you should invite him over to discuss the case. You haven’t been laid since he moved out.”
“Max! That’s none of your business. And how do you know I haven’t been laid? Maybe I’m a regular trollop.”
Max reached up a big fist, rapped his knuckles against the wall that separated their two apartments. “These things are pretty thin. I’d know if you were knocking boots. I certainly knew every time that you and Bryan were … shall we say … discussing a case.”
A swirl of thoughts stopped Robin cold: embarrassment at Max having heard her with Bryan; memories of Bryan making love to her; echoes of the happiness they shared in this very apartment; still-fresh memories of the arguments, of her yelling at Bryan while he just stared back, infuriatingly calm and maddeningly distant. The yelling … Max had to have heard as well.
“The Man in Black and I are finished,” Robin said. “And I’m too busy to worry about sex right now.”
The big man shrugged. “My mom told me there’s two things you should never be too busy to do.”
“Pay taxes and vacuum the carpet?”
“No,” Max said. “You’re never too busy to pet a puppy, and never too busy to make love.”
“Your mom told you that?”
He nodded. “Sure. Before I came out, I mean. Now she focuses mostly on the puppy part. Look, there’s nothing wrong with getting a booty call from an ex. You should have Bryan go old-school fifties-movies on you. You know, shake you around a bit, maybe a little slap or two, then the ravaging.”
Robin rolled her eyes. “He’s not like that, Max. He’s a softie.”
Max laughed and shook his head. “Honey, Bryan may be a gentleman, but he’s no softie. He has a mean streak in him a mile wide.”
Bryan was standoffish, sure, but mean? Nobody besides her — and maybe Pookie — seemed to know the real man. Or maybe everyone did know him, and it was Robin who was clueless. “You’ve only met Bryan a couple of times,” she said. “How can you tell that about him?”
“It’s my job to tell. I’m a bouncer, remember? Your little Johnny Cash is not someone I’d want to meet in a back alley.”
“You outweigh him by at least fifty pounds, Max.”
“Size isn’t everything. Outside of porn, I mean. I like my teeth right where they are, so I’ve learned to watch out for guys like Bryan.”
What a ridiculous concept. Max was so … well, big. Bryan was lean and strong, sure, but was he mean enough to take on a bruiser like Max? It didn’t matter. She didn’t want to think about Bryan Clauser anymore.
“Thanks for watching Emma, Maxie. I owe you dinner.”
“Seven,” he said.
“Seven what?”
“Seven dinners. That’s only for the past three months.”
“Seven? Really?”
Max nodded. “I don’t mean to tell you how to run your life, honey, but Emma is starting to like me more than she likes you.”
“Oh no she is not!”
Max smiled, then walked toward the door. Emma trotted along after him.
“Emma! Where are you going?”
Emma stopped and looked at Robin, then looked back at Max.
Max shrugged at Emma. “Don’t worry, boo-boo, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon.”
He shut the door behind him. Emma stared at the door, then let out a little whine.
Robin clapped her hands once to get the dog’s attention. “Emma baby, do you want treats?” The dog came running.
Maybe Bryan Clauser didn’t love Robin, but Emma sure did — and if Robin had to buy that love with dog treats, that was just fine. A treat, maybe two (or three, or four), and then it was time for bed.