“Manly pride,” she says, brushing past me again and trailing her fingers across my chest on her way to the kitchen. “Much better than that last borderline dorm you were living in.”
I stay put. The less I give her, the sooner she’ll leave. “It was an apartment.” A mid-price apartment I shared with two roommates while we all worked and saved. Not a borderline dorm.
“Whatever. This is at least better than that.” She walks out of the kitchen. “And how about upstairs?”
I step back and wave her up. “Feel free.”
She climbs the stairs, making sure she puts some extra sway in her hips. I roll my eyes. I follow her up, running into her just as she’s stepping into my office. “I spend a lot of time here,” I tell her. “Probably more than my bedroom. Maybe as much as at the firm. I work a lot.”
“Wow,” she says, sounding amused. “It’s lucky you have any time for Savannah.”
“Samantha,” I say, correcting her even though I’m positive she remembers Sami’s name. “And yes, she’s about the only thing I make time for outside of work.”
“Mmm.” She makes the noncommittal sound as she walks past me to my bedroom.
I wait, fighting a smile, and there it is, a sharp gasp.
“Josh? What is this?”
I stroll into the room. She’s staring at Bernice, whose tank sits on a bench next to my bathroom door. Presley is backed against the foot of my bed at the far corner, as opposite as she can get from the snake.
“Who, Bernice?”
“Yes.” She practically hisses it, which feels appropriate.
“You like her? I figure part of maturing is taking care of other living things.”
“Most people get a dog.” She eyes the tank like it’s harboring something nasty, not just a three-foot pet boa.
“Snakes make great pets.” I only have Bernice for five more weeks before she goes back to her owner, but I’m not going to clarify. “Boas don’t even bite.” I reach into the tank to pick Bernice up, sure it’ll send Presley straight out of my house. “As long as you feed them regularly—”
Wait, whendidI feed Bernice last? I don’t think she’s due for a meal for another day or two, but—
“Ah, dammit!” I yell as Bernice sinks her fangs into me to let me know that she is, in fact, hungry.
“Aaaaah!” Presley screams, and I swear, she looks like she’s about to faint.
I can’t do anything about that because I’ve got a boa fastened to the meaty part of my hand, her jaws clasped below the base of my thumb. Rubbing alcohol will make them let go because they hate the smell, but I don’t have any.
“Pres, stop screaming,” I grit out. “Boas aren’t venomous. Do you have any hand sanitizer?”
She doesn’t stop screaming.
“I mean it,” I yell loud enough to be heard over her shrieks. “Calm down. I’m fine. Pres! Seriously, stop!” She subsides to a whimper. “Hand sanitizer?”
She gives me a blank stare before she digs in her purse and hands me a small bottle. Lemonade scented. I hope Bernice can still smell the alcohol as I squeeze a small drop on her snout. She lets go after a couple of seconds, and I finally get her back into the tank with her lid secure.
My hand throbs where she punctured the skin, and I turn to find Presley shrunken into the corner. “Pres, it’s okay. I’m okay. Bernice is back in her tank.”
She takes a deep, shaky breath. “Why would you have a snake?”
Is she seriously blaming me for getting bitten?
Well, okay, itismy fault; I obviously needed to feed Bernice sooner. But still, not what I want to hear when I’m standing there with sharp pains in my hand.
“I’m calling 911,” she says, digging into her purse for her phone.
“No,” I tell her. “I’m fine. I’ll go to a walk-in clinic to get this looked at. Ambulances are expensive.”
