Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 65939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
“How are you doing, bud?” I ask.
He wags his tail harder.
“You’ve been knighted,” I tell him. “Henceforth, you’re Sir Ems. You may rise.”
He cocks his head in confusion, but Kendall laughs, which is when Sir Ems becomes aware of her for the first time and showers her feet with as much attention as he usually pays to the butt of the neighbor’s Chihuahua.
“He likes you,” I say.
“He just wants to lick the soup off of me,” she counters.
Huh. “You might be right.” I look down into my dog’s soulful eyes. “Are you hungry?”
Dumb question. Hearing the code word, Sir Ems waddles excitedly to the kitchen.
I sigh. “Can I feed him quickly and then give you the clothes?”
She nods.
We head to the kitchen together. As soon as we enter, she grins and says, “That’s adorable.”
I follow her gaze.
Sir Ems is doing his usual shtick—lying flat on his belly, his short legs stretched out behind him. “That’s called a corgi sploot.”
“Well, feed him. Quick. He looks like he’s starving.”
“Yeah, right. I fed him before I left.”
I open a can of wet food and spoon it into a metal bowl. As Sir Ems attacks it, I lead Kendall to the closet.
“Take whatever you want. You can shower and change in there.” I gesture at the bathroom.
She dubiously eyes the closet and then the bathroom.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “While you do that, I’ll take the dog for a walk.”
Is that relief on her face? It seems a little like disappointment.
“I’ll ring the doorbell when we’re done,” I continue.
“Thank you,” she says.
“Don’t mention it.” I head over to the kitchen, where Sir Ems is already done and looking at me with an expression that says he could go for seconds. And thirds.
“How about we take a walk?” I offer.
This keyword makes him almost as happy as the promise of food. He trots over to the shoe rack, grabs his leash, and drags it over to me, his tail wagging approaching the speed of a helicopter blade.
“All right,” I say. “We’ll be back soon.”
I close the door and do my best not to picture Kendall stripping by my closet.
Or naked in my shower.
Or—
Fuck me.
This is going to be one very uncomfortable walk.
Chapter 7
Kendall
As soon as they leave, I secure myself inside the apartment with the door chain, just in case, then head over to the kitchen and grab a garbage bag along with one of those heavy-duty Ziplocs.
As I walk to the bathroom, I can’t help but take in my surroundings. Between the posters of MMA fighters on the walls and the spartan furniture, the place screams “bachelor pad.” Only the dog accouterments take away from that impression.
When I get to the bathroom, I smile at the lack of lotions, hair conditioners, and bath things, like salts, oils, and bombs. No woman has utilized this bathroom for any length of time—or if she has, Ash must’ve been ruthless at excommunicating any hint of her.
I take the soup-drenched clothes off and stash them in the garbage bag. When I get to my socks, I hide them in the Ziploc, making sure to seal in the smell, and stash them next to the bag with the gym socks. Next, I start the shower and use the handled showerhead to rinse off the parts of me that came into contact with the soup.
As I do so, I’m tempted to direct the spray at my clit until I achieve a happy ending, the way I sometimes do at home. But it doesn’t feel right to do it in someone else’s shower. It would be like Ash stroking his cock in my shower.
Holy shit. Why did I go there? The image makes me want to have my way with the showerhead and then go for seconds with my fingers.
No. I’m not going to abuse Ash’s hospitality like that. It will have to wait until I get home.
Proud of my restraint, I step out of the shower, towel off, and put my underwear back on. Grabbing another towel, I wrap it around myself and return to the closet, where I choose a pair of new-looking sweatpants, a T-shirt with pictures of two corgis in identical positions labeled “sitting” and “standing,” and a gray hoodie.
As I put it on, Ash’s distinctive, yummy smell envelops me, making me wet all over again.
Damn it. I should’ve done the taco handshake in the shower while I had the chance. Or, according to Ash’s argument that tacos are hot dogs, would it be the hot dog handshake? No… that would mean something very different.
Grr. Where is Ash? As soon as he’s back, I can rush home and take care of business there, like a normal person.
The doorbell rings.
Speak of the devil.
I head over to the front door and remove the chain. “Come in.”
Sir Ems enters first, dancing with excitement as if we were best friends who haven’t seen each other in a few years. Ash follows, unhooking his short-legged friend from the leash and giving him a bone to chew.