32. A Dog’s Life
32
A DOG’S LIFE
Milo
The problem with balcony fantasies is this—people walk by on the street below.
Exhibitionism is totally cool, but it’s not my thing, nor is it Veronica’s.
But if there are life hacks for making wine ice cubes, then there are life hacks for balcony banging.
It’s called—wait for it—a chair. I snag one from the kitchen table, haul it to the balcony, and pull her into my lap. That’ll obscure us from the street. I unzip my shorts while she yanks off her panties. After I slide on a condom, she sinks onto me.
I sizzle. She feels so good.
Then, I feel electric when she gasps and leans her head back.
“Yes, I knew it,” she whispers. “I already love balcony sex with Mister Sexy Pants.”
“You are easy to please.” I laugh, then lean in to kiss the hollow of her throat. Her orange blossom scent makes me dizzy, and the heat of her makes me high.
She ropes her arms around my neck, finding a rhythm as she rides me.
I can’t believe I nearly lost her. Threading my fingers through her hair, I tug her face close to mine. “Don’t want to give you up,” I tell her.
“Then don’t,” she counters as she rises up then sinks back down. My legs shake with lust. My head swims with happiness.
We rock and thrust under the fading sun as New York rolls on by beyond the balcony.
Here, above the city, we come back together.
After, she eats the grilled cheese and avocado panini I made for her, moaning in a foodgasm at the kitchen table. “Tell me about the ride,” she says in between bites.
“It was great aside from the part where I was completely miserable and ornery, thinking I lost you. I spent the first day in the saddle contemplating what a dumbass I was to let you go and what a ’fraidy cat I was to allow my ex to control my dating life,” I say.
“Aww, that’s so sweet,” she teases, then dabs at the corner of her mouth with a gingham napkin.
“Yes, it was sweet being an ogre. My friends knocked some sense into me, and I realized I needed to start a list of my own.”
Her eyebrows rise in intrigue. “Keep going. I love lists.”
I tap my temple. “I keep it up here, but it’s basically a list of things you like and how I can give them to you in and out of bed,” I say, gesturing to the vanishing sandwich. “Like that. That’s the first thing.”
“I very much approve,” she says. “What else is on it?”
I park my chin in my hand. “Take you out on a proper date tomorrow night. And this weekend too. Maybe even get you cake.”
“Mmm. I do like cake,” she says, then takes another bite of the sandwich.
“Buying you . . . gifties ,” I say, in my dirtiest tone.
“Yep. You’re a keeper,” she says, finishing her sandwich, then wiping her hands. “But I’m working on a list too.”
I curl my fingers, beckoning for her to share. She grabs her laptop from the edge of the table, flips it open, then clicks on her mouse. She gives me a soft, almost shy look. “I started it right before you showed up at my balcony. I didn’t get far, but it’s a top-five list of what makes a great partner,” she says, then shows me a file.
She’s only written a few lines, but they restore my faith in romance. As I read her words, Find the person who will encourage your dreams. The one who’ll believe in you, even when you don’t believe in yourself, I don’t think dating leads to disasters anymore.
It led me to her.
“C’mere,” I whisper.
She stands, moves around the table, and joins me, sitting on my lap once again. I nuzzle her neck. “I’m so glad you tossed glitter on me,” I murmur.
She laughs. “I did not toss it on you. The glitter threw up on your beard.”
I rub my whiskers against her jawline. “Whatever you say.”
She swats my shoulder. “And to think I was going to tell you the rest of my list.”
I lift my face and adopt a sweet smile. “Tell me.”
Her vulnerable eyes meet mine. “I wrote this in my head the other morning. It’s what I wanted to say to you then. Find the person who fixes your broken cabinet, kisses your tears, and lifts your spirits. Also, ideally, the one who fucks you just the way you want. ”
Yup. My radar is working again. Everything beeps for her. I kiss her deeply, feeling calm and settled. She’s where I’m meant to be.
But I also have a dog to walk. When we separate, I suggest we meet on the street with the four-legged beasts.
After I grab my pup from my home and meet her outside, we walk through the neighborhood under a starry sky. “So, what did you do while I was off banging my head against the brick wall of my . . . head?”
She laughs, then nudges me. “Started a business.”
“Oh, just that?” I tease, then realize there was a touch of pride in her tone. When I read her face—vulnerable and serious—I drop the teasing. “Wow. I can’t wait to hear everything.”
“It’s called Date Night for One . . .”
Twenty minutes later I’m toasting with champagne at the bar where we had our first date. “Congratulations. It’s so you, Veronica. It’s perfect,” I say.
She clinks back. “Thank you. And I’ll stick around Bikes and Blooms until you find another manager. I’ll miss it. I truly enjoyed working with you, but I think this new business is my heart.”
“I think so too. And I followed mine with the shop. You should follow yours. I’ll find someone to replace you,” I say earnestly.
No one can replace her, but I don’t say that. She should be free to pursue her dreams with no worries.
Her business is a genius idea.
Just like she had brilliant suggestions at the shop.
Which makes me think . . .
“What if you offered the subscription box at the store too? Let’s be honest. Sex and flowers do go together.”
Her eyes sparkle. “I would love that. And when you start, it can be National Battery Day.”
I laugh, then toast to her once more. When we’re done, I take her home, and we cross off another item on her list as we get under the covers.
Well, she didn’t include two dogs watching us sixty-nine, but a dog’s gotta do what a dog’s gotta do.