Colleen Collins - Tongue-tied

Robin held the cat close, and for a moment, Johnny hated that cute, furry creature. So close to Robin’s silky, flower-scented skin, cuddled and cooed over.

Getting what Johnny wanted, bad.

A twittering sound came from somewhere behind Robin. She looked over her shoulder, then back to Johnny. “I—I have a bird.”

He waited for her to say more, but she didn’t. Instead, after a funny little shrug of her shoulders, she blinked rapidly—yet despite her nervous gestures, he swore he read that look in her eyes. Swore she wanted to ask him inside.

“G’night,” Robin mouthed and shut the door.

Well, he couldn’t have sworn that was going to happen.

Johnny remained standing on her doorstep for what seemed a small eternity, half tempted to meow pathetically like Otto in the hope Robin would reopen the door and take pity on him.

Right. I know how to read and play people. I’m standing outside a woman’s apartment in the middle of the night, contemplating doing animal impersonations so she’ll open the door. He heaved a lungful of cool air, willing the chilled air to temper his fierce physical need. Willing himself to get his head on straight even if his body was out of control. It’s sweet Robin Lee, he reminded himself.Take a step back, buddy. Take it easy. Get to know her better before you jump her bones. Maybe he’d call her over the next few days. They’d visit. He’d talk to her…well, try to. Ask to see some of her writing. Ask to see pictures of her family.

The sound of a car cruising down the street reminded Johnny about the light-rail. He flicked his wrist, checked the time. The rail had stopped running a good hour ago. He needed to find a taxi or bus so he didn’t end up walking all the way back to Cherry Creek. With tremendous effort, he turned and headed down the stairs, remembering how Robin had clutched that poor cat so hard, its eyes were damn near bulging.

Johnny chuckled under his breath, recalling the image. And what had her last words been? “I have a bird.” He crammed his hands in his jacket pockets, fighting the urge to laugh out loud. He’d stood on his share of ladies’ doorsteps, but never had one of them said that before closing the door.

“I have a bird,” he whispered under his breath, hunching against the cool evening breezes, relishing a passing scent of lavender. “I want one, too,” he murmured. “A Robin.”

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