Free Tough Enough by M. Leighton Page A

is raised, but she’s not sliding the bite of pie onto her tongue. She’s stopped dead, mid-bite. Frozen. When I see her eyes, I don’t have to ask why she stopped. The wide, hurt orbs are burning right through me.

THIRTEEN
    Katie
    All afternoon I thought if I could just get home I’d feel better. I thought once I got away from work, away from where it seems I’m surrounded by thoughts and memories of Rogan, that I’d find a little peace. But I was wrong. Now that I’m here, I’m too restless to sit still.
    So is that why he didn’t invite me to lunch today? He gave up and decided to go back to more . . . fruitful orchards? Because I feel
sure
Victoria is as fruitful as they come.
    What an asshole!
    I pace the living room floor, Dozer’s head moving back and forth with me, like he’s watching a ping-pong tournament. “I knew better, Dozer. I knew better than to believe that he might actually like me. What was I thinking?”
    He lets out a short purr at his name, his big yellow eyes riveted to mine.
    “You wanna get out of here? How ’bout a walk? We haven’tbeen to the park in three days. That’s a travesty!” Normally, I walk Dozer every evening if it’s not raining.
    Dozer jumps down off the arm of the couch and trots over to me, as though in answer to my question. It seems he’s in favor of a trip to the park. No doubt he’s missed it, too.
    I get his leash and my purse and head for the door, hoping that maybe the distraction of a public place will help my poor brain find some rest.
    I scoop up Dozer and turn to lock the knob. My eyes fall on the empty wineglass sitting on the table just inside the door. With a rebellious sniff, I slam the door shut, leaving it right where I left it when I got home. Rogan can kiss our little game and any promises I might’ve made him good-bye. He doesn’t need the attentions of a simple girl like
me
when he’s still getting
more than enough
from Victoria.
    I both seethe and ache just thinking about seeing him at the diner with her. And then I feel just stupid. Stupid for believing that he could be interested in me. Stupid for letting him charm me out of my good sense. And to think that I was actually starting to feel
excited
about him, about going to work and getting to spend some time with him each morning.
    What an idiot!
I chastise, wishing that I hadn’t let down my guard with him at all. I guess I just didn’t give him enough credit. He’s a more talented actor than I suspected. He almost had me convinced.
    Ten minutes later, Dozer is hooked up to his leash, darting happily from bush to tree, eyes wide and ears alert for any dogs in the vicinity. I pay little attention to the odd looks that get thrown my way when people see me walking my
cat
on a leash. I’m used to them. I realize it’s far from conventional to walk a cat in a dog park (or anywhere else for that matter), but I’d seen it done before, so I thought I’d try it. Turns out it’s the perfect fix for a cat like Dozer, one who grew up indoors, but likes the outdoors.
    Despite the much-needed break of the dog park, though, I can’t seem to shake the grip of this . . .
funk
that’s had a hold on me all afternoon. I’m trailing along behind my cat, my mind wandering everywhere but here, when a small terrier of some sort zooms past me. Dozer jumps up and whirls around, ears flat, teeth bared, hissing and ready to defend himself. I gasp, but just before the little dog can get a chunk of his nose clawed, he reaches the end of his leash. He comes to an unwilling stop with a strangled yelp. Heavy footsteps race up behind me, and I wonder briefly what kind of owner can’t control a forty-pound terrier.
    Then I hear a disturbingly familiar voice. It brings chills to the nape of my neck before I can remind myself that I’m
not
affected, that I’m done with him.
    I maneuver myself in front of the now-stopped dog to sweep Dozer up into my arms, my hackles as prickly as his, and I spin to face