I can confirm that. Every luscious curve of her body drives me crazy with desire. And it’s not just her body. Or her adorable face. Over the last forty-eight hours, I’ve grown connected to her in ways I never imagined. And it’s not just because her mother’s murder and my hit and run may be connected. Or the fact that she saved my life. It’s more than that. She makes me laugh and lets me be myself. I feel comfortable opening up to her and she listens. And I love how she believes in me despite my own insecurities. Maybe my amnesia has released feelings I previously suppressed.
Katrina rolls her eyes and then kisses Gucci on the head. “Be a good boy for Mommy.”
Afterward, she gives me a peck on my cheek. “Goodbye, darling, I’ve got a plane to catch. See you on Thursday night.”
“Right.” Wrong.
She snaps her fingers at the livery guy. “Chop chop. We don’t want to be late.” She parades out of my living room with the chauffeur trailing behind her.
“Zoey, what are we going to do with this beast?” I ask after I hear their car pull away.
“We’re going to take care of him.” Smiling, she lifts the mutt up to her face. “Hi, sweetie pie. Say hello to your new mommy.”
To my astonishment, the fluffy little dog wags his tail again and laps her face.
“He really likes you.”
Zoey giggles as Gucci continues to lavish her with kisses. I have to admit…it’s so damn cute.
“Mr. Taylor, if you don’t already know, I’m very likeable.”
And very kissable.
Maybe dog sitting will be fun. Just the thing we need to get our minds off of Frank f*ck
ing Donatelli. And my mind off of Katrina.
Gucci follows Zoey everywhere. The little white dog is a boundless bundle of energy and spins circles around the house. At noon, before I head over to the set, Zoey tells me she’s going to walk him.
“Are you going to put on one of his outfits?”
“No way. Gucci’s a boy and all his outfits are pink. Katrina has him totally confused. Poor thing.”
I laugh. My connection to my loveable assistant can’t be denied and grows closer by the minute. She’s like my soul mate. We both come from loving, hard-working middle-class families, have suffered personal tragedies that are strangely related, and share a sense of humor. Plus, a passion for James Bond. There’s nothing I have in common with spoiled “It girl” Katrina, except for the celebrity factor. She and her controlling mother only royally piss me off. Whatever I once felt for her is not coming back. Maybe my accident and amnesia have made me a changed man—changed what attracts me to a woman.
“Gooch, come here,” Zoey calls out, breaking into my thoughts. The high-energy canine scampers up to her.
“Now, sit,” she orders with a firm hand gesture.
I can’t believe my eyes. At her command, the dog instantly sits and patiently lets her attach his leash to his pink rhinestone-studded collar.
“Good boy! Ready for a walk?”
The dog wags his fuzzy little tail and whimpers, knowing what’s in store.
Holding the leash, Zoey heads toward the front door.
“Wait. I’m coming with you. With your concussion, you can’t walk alone.”
And besides a long walk in the fresh air will do us both good given the mind-bending events that have gone down in the last twenty-four hours. I tell her we shouldn’t think or talk about Frank Donatelli. She agrees.
It’s been a long time since I’ve taken a walk in my neighborhood. I live at the top of a long, private winding road. There are no other houses along it. Just dirt, brush, and assorted wildflowers. While I’ve driven up and down this road numerous times since returning home, walking down it makes me really appreciate the beauty. And the beauty of my companion. Her lustrous chestnut hair shimmers beneath the early afternoon sun and her ponytail dances with the Spring-like breeze. Gucci sniffs everything and is enjoying every minute of his walk.
Halfway down the hill, I stop. A rush of déjà vu surges in my head. My eyelids flutter.
“Zo, stop for a minute.”
She does as asked. “What’s the matter?”
I tug at my lower lip in deep thought. “I remember something…I was here. This is where I had my accident.”
She turns to me, her eyes lit up. “Yes! Do you remember it?”
Squeezing my eyes, I search my memory. My mind is a dark abyss.
“No,” I say glumly, snapping my lids open.
Disappointment is etched on Zoey’s face. “It’ll come back to you. I just know it will. Don’t give up.”
Don’t give up. The words knock at the walls of my brain. They were spoken here. I’m positive.
“Zoey, did you say to me: ‘Don’t give up?’”
The expression on her face turns to shock. Her jaw slackens and she stammers out one word. “Y-yes.” She pauses. “Do you remember anything else?”
She looks at me anxiously while I rack my brain. Think, man, think! I finally shake my head no. Then, I remember one more thing. I’ve never thanked her for saving my life.
“Thanks, Zo, for being there for me. I would have been road kill if you hadn’t found me.”
I wonder what it was like for her to find me unconscious in a pool of blood. The little girl who witnessed her mother’s senseless murder and watched her bleed to death before drowning. Her watering eyes are a clue. A few tears escape. I brush them away, and while I savor their warmth on my fingertips, they’re ripping me apart.
“Zo, stop crying”