4
I came out smiling and feeling relaxed. I noticed Agent Rockwall had made himself at home, sitting on my sofa with his shoes off and his feet crossed on my coffee table. My home was cozy and cute; my mother made sure of that. She didn’t want me getting too homesick or depressed so she would visit often and help me decorate my house and buy furniture. I loved it when she visited. We had the best time shopping and she always left me home cooked meals for the week.
My dog was on the sofa with Rockwall, loving all the attention he was getting from him. He was such a big, spoiled puppy I couldn’t help but smile when I looked at him. I went to my refrigerator and got out two beers and two waters. I looked for paper plates and napkins for the pizza. I noticed Rockwall had put the pizza on the kitchen table but I wanted to watch the game and eat so I took everything to the living room in two trips. I opened both beers and handed one to Agent Rockwall. He took it but hesitated a bit before grabbing it. I suspected he shouldn’t be drinking alcohol but didn’t want to be rude.
“It’s okay to say no thank you if you can’t drink. I’m still going to have one. Or two.” I winked at him.
“You’re making it very hard to say no, you know. I mean you have pizza, beer, and a football game on, for heaven’s sake!” His tone was teasing. “How’s a man supposed to think straight? And on top of that, there’s this pretty cool dog laying its head on my lap, not really bugging me. Good job, by the way, on his grooming—he doesn’t smell like dog and his fur has got to be the softest fur I’ve ever touched on a dog.” He started petting Samson again.
“Thanks! I put doggy cologne on him and I try to brush him a couple times a week. I love him.” I sighed.
“Isabel, on a more serious note, there’s a few rules I have to go over with you,” he said while still petting Samson.
“Yes, of course, there are a few things I need to talk to you about as well.” I was watching the TV, only half listening to him. I heard him talking but wasn’t really listening to what he was saying. I gave him a slice of pizza and water. He must have taken it because it wasn’t in my hands anymore. I was eating and drinking my beer, trying my best to come across as if I were hanging on every word he said. The Cowboys just scored. I tried not to react too much so he would think I was still paying attention. I didn’t think I was very convincing, however. I heard him yelling my name.
“Isabel! Isabel! Do you understand what I just told you?” He lightly took my chin in his fingers and turned my head towards him.
“Huh? Oh, yes, I understand,” I lied. I hadn’t heard a thing he just said. “So, Special Agent Rockwall, am I allowed to know your first name?” I asked.
He smiled, nodding, “It’s Joshua…Josh.”
I gave him a playful smile. “Nice to meet you, Josh.” There was an awkward silence. He was staring at me again. I was glad Samson was between us because it looked like he was leaning in closer to me. He lifted his hand and gently rubbed the corner of my mouth with his thumb.
“You have some pizza sauce,” he said, licking the sauce off his thumb. What? Did he really just do that? I blinked at him.
Shaking my head with confusion, I took a sip of my beer and got up to get more napkins. As I was leaving the kitchen, I noticed some of my mail on the floor by the back door. Hm, maybe it got knocked off the table while Agent Davis was here. I picked it up and placed it on the kitchen table, turning the light off on my way out.
I went back to the living room and sat on the sofa with Josh. It was a long game but the Cowboys were winning. We were in the fourth quarter and the Cowboys were only ahead by three. Four minutes left in the game—anything could happen. I looked over at Josh and he had fallen asleep on my sofa. Ha! Some babysitter: he was fast asleep and not a care in the world. He looked so tranquil, so striking in his blue shirt and dark dress pants. I had a Greek god lightly snoring, sprawled out on my sofa. Just looking at him brought a smile to my face. He could make any woman’s heart skip a beat with his perfectly sculpted face, blue eyes, blond hair, his six-foot two-inch stature and two hundred pounds of solid muscle. He implied he was temporarily staying with me but he never left to get his things. He looked comfortable enough on my sofa—his sleeves rolled up and his tie off. His arms were crossed against his chest. I wondered if he was cold. Should I cover him? Better not, I don’t want to disturb him.
Samson’s ears perked up and he trotted to the basement door. He was growling softly. Oh no. Please don’t let it be another mouse.
I followed him, saying, “Good boy.” I was petting his head. I opened the door and turned on the light. He ran
