Hope(less)

Chapter 8

Chapter 8 

As soon as Rachel sufficiently praised Clay for wearing the collar, she went to her room to change. From her room, she asked if I wanted to join her for a girl's night out. She explained she typically didn't stay in too much; when not busy working, her social life called. Still too unsure of our relationship-I didn't want to risk having someone Rachel might be interested in hitting on me-I declined. Thankfully, turning down her invitation didn't seem to bother her. 

While Rachel exceeded my expectations as a roommate, adjusting to Clay's presence was something else entirely. When I woke Tuesday, Rachel was already gone. Clay still lingered at the foot of my bed. 

"Get out," I said as soon as I opened my eyes. He left without complaint. 

I took my time to dress, then went downstairs to check out the basement. Clay followed me. I tried to ignore him as I looked around. There wasn't much to see. The washer and the dryer were right by the steps, and there were a few utility shelves against the walls for storage. 

With nothing else to do, I decided to take advantage of my idle time by sunbathing. I walked back upstairs and went to my room to change. After our talk of the day before, Clay didn't attempt to follow me. 

The second time wearing the suit was a little less nerve-wracking. I didn't stare nervously in the mirror and eye all the pale skin glaring back at me. Instead, I appreciated the vivid coloring on the suit. Rachel had good taste. 

Intent on finding the beach towels Rachel had used, I opened the door and stopped short at the sight of Clay. His huge dog head moved up, then down, as his eyes traveled the length of my body. I flushed, slammed the door, and changed back into shorts and a tank top. I opted to cut the grass, instead. 

Clay sat on the porch and watched me push the mower back and forth. When I moved to the front, he followed. He was never in the way, just always there. After I went back inside to read, he did disappear for a bit. He had apparently taken my complaint about his hygiene seriously and had chosen to shower again. I hoped he would make it a daily routine. 

Since he'd bathed and given me privacy as I asked, I had no reason to complain when I went to my room that night and saw him lying on the foot of the bed. However, when I woke Wednesday morning with him lying next to me, I did complain. Lividly. 

"Now, just hold on," I whispered with a scowl. "You're a dog. Act like one. Fur stays at the foot of the bed." 

He grudgingly moved to his place at the foot of the bed, watching me the whole time. 

"Don't give me your doleful eyes. This is your choice, not mine." As soon as I said that, I recalled his talent for misinterpretation which had caused this co-ed housing in the first place. "Not that you'd get to sleep next to me in your skin either. So, don't even think about it. If you don't like the end of the bed, you can always sleep on the floor." 

* * * * 

After getting the paper, I scoured the classifieds for a beater car and found two promising ads. Both required a long walk. I fetched my bag, tucked the folded newspaper inside, and grabbed the house keys. 

Clay beat me to the door. I scowled down at him. He stared back at me. After a moment, he shook his neck, jangling his tags. Defeated, I clipped on his leash. He negotiated well without using a single word. 

I used my cell to call the number for the first ad. The man sounded a bit brusque as if my planned visit inconvenienced him. Shrugging it off, I led Clay to the address. A rusty car parked on the front lawn with a "for sale" sign affirmed I had the right place. Clay and I walked toward the car.