Our Complication

If you can tell me why that didn’t sound like a complete non sequitur, let me know. “Black is in fact my real last name. My real first name is Nicholas. But there was already a Nick Black in the union, so I started going by Cole in homage to Cole Porter. Since I had black hair, when I had hair, everybody assumed the whole thing was a punny stage name, and it was memorable, which was advantageous.”

He nodded. “I can see how it would be.” Then he kissed me.

“Jesus Christ,” I said about ten minutes later, from my position up against a tree. “Maybe we skip the coffee.”

He laughed against my mouth, rocking his hips, rubbing his erection against mine to delicious effect. “I usually need a little chemical assistance this time of day.”

“Uh, not noticeably so, pal.”

“Come on.”

“Yeah, any second now, if you keep doing that.” He kissed me again, open-mouthed, deep and a little toothy. I made a hungry sound, briefly chasing his mouth when he stood away. Licked my lips, enjoying the burn from late-in-the-day stubble. Put up absolutely zero resistance when he let the hand planted on the tree slide over my shoulder and down my arm to my wrist, closing his fingers around it for a very hot second before linking them with mine. God, that was sexy. Then he tugged, ever so lightly. I fell into step beside him.

My house was dark, because I kept forgetting it was now my responsibility to turn on a light before I went out. Byron’s house had a porch light, and some of those stake lights outlining the paver path from sidewalk to porch, and a lamp on behind the drapery over the big picture window. Drapery that shivered as two triangular ears appeared above the windowsill. “Is that a cat?”

“My dog Katzenjammer,” he said. “Half Pomeranian, half Schipperke. I could have called her Pom Pom or Skipper, either would have been very descriptive, but within two hours it was clear that this tiny evil genius floof needed a warning label.”

“Tiny evil genius floof,” I said yearningly, already seduced. I’ve always liked dogs and never had one of my own, so I was a sucker for other people’s pets. “I can’t wait to meet her. Does she try to run out the door when you open it?”

“No, though she will try to swarm up your leg and kiss you half to death, then hypnotize you into locating and delivering treats.”

I laughed. “Does she need to be walked or whatever? Because I was hoping we could continue that conversation we were having up against the tree.”

Byron was unlocking his front door. “She takes herself out to the backyard through her doggie door. Once she’s satisfied that I’m in for the night, she’ll settle down.”

I followed him through the door. We were duly swarmed (and, in my case, inspected) by an adorable pitch-black floof. Within ten minutes, we were up the stairs, out of our clothes, and getting much better acquainted on Byron’s king-size bed.