Chapter Twenty-Four Max #2
Georgie looked distraught, up to their elbows in dogs and drool. “Peanut butter, Max. Peanut butter happened.”
Tricia was no better, pulling Champ back by his collar and kicking the Kong away with her foot. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Max winced, searching the rest of the crowded room. “I was—”
“Working in the cat enclosures since it messes with my allergies.” Keely’s hand brushed his hip as she stepped up next to him. She rearranged her hair in its claw clip—purple today—and warmth hit him square in the chest. “But I still don’t get what’s wrong with peanut butter?”
“Nothing in theory,” he murmured. He needed an antacid.
Which had everything to do with the greasy rest stop pizza and nothing to do with Keely’s fingers grazing his waist. “But Biscuit loves peanut butter. So much that it gets everywhere. His paws, his neck, his back. I’ve even found it on his. . . unmentionables before.”
She grimaced, letting out a disgusted laugh. “No wonder he had a boner.”
“We’ll have to give him a bath,” Tricia said. Her ire manifested in twin lines between her eyebrows. “It’s looking like a two-person job.”
“I can do it,” Keely volunteered, then looked at him. Excitement glowed in her eyes. “Help me?”
How was he supposed to say no to that?
They led Biscuit to the back room, where a few metal basin tubs jutted from the walls. Everything was tile, with drains in the floor for easy clean-up.
“Thanks for covering,” Max said, once he was sure the running water would cover his voice from any eavesdropping. “It probably would have been okay, but I’d rather not risk Tricia’s wrath, especially on bath day.”
“How often does this happen?” Keely unclipped Biscuit’s collar, giving him scratches on his neck while Max adjusted the water temperature. “Bulldogs and boxers are short-haired, so I’d think it’s more often, right? Or is it different since he’s a mix of the two?”
“No, it’s more or less the same. He gets a bath whenever we can spare the volunteers. Typically every four months or so, but it should be every three, maybe once a month in the summer. The dogs with thicker coats—”
“Like German shepherds?” she asked as Max turned on the spray nozzle.
He nodded. “And goldens. Those breeds need more brushing than they do bathing.”
Keely gawked. “You’re telling me I could have volunteered to brush happy dogs all day?”
“Isn’t that what you do anyway?”
With an eye roll, she stood and adjusted her claw clip. “I’m wondering if the shelter would get more volunteers if they advertised it instead of the ominous ‘other responsibilities as instructed.’ ”
“But then there’d be no one to clean up the shit.”
Her nose wrinkled. “I haven’t had to clean up that much.”
He took the door off the tub and kicked the ramp into place. “Up you go, bud.”
Biscuit whimpered, butt planted firmly on the floor.
“Let’s be a good boy,” Keely tried in her brightest voice, and a hot flash went up Max’s spine. It always got so warm in here when the bath ran. “I thought he liked shiny things.”
Biscuit, still covered in peanut butter, just sat and stared at them.
“He does, but he’s scared of the ramp.” Groaning, Max bent down and scooped him up. He grunted under the weight and shifted it to his knees. Coach would kill him if he pulled a muscle.
Once Biscuit was in the tub, Keely slid the door in place. Max slipped the harness on.
They worked in tandem, Keely keeping the dog occupied with neck scratches, cleaning at his face gently, while Max did the muscle work on his back half.
“Dude,” Max said. “There are better ways to pull a lady than putting peanut butter on your tail.”
Keely choked out a laugh. “I don’t know. It might do it for me.”
Now was Max’s turn to splutter. “Seriously? You have a thing for food play?”
“I said ‘might.’ ” She was rudely pretty with embarrassment glowing on her cheeks, turning her face into a watercolor of reds and pinks. “Besides, don’t us humans usually go for whipped cream instead?”
He grunted. “Asking the wrong person.” He had half a mind to squirt shampoo in his eye to erase the images flitting through them at warp speed. Down, boy.
“This isn’t working.” He grabbed the scrub gloves from the shelf above the tub and pulled them on. He clapped them together like a soccer goalie, and Keely hid a giggle behind her shoulder.
It still took two more rounds of shampoo to get everything out of Biscuit’s coat. The only sounds were the running water, Biscuit’s tail occasionally thumping the side of the tub, and Keely’s soft hum of a song Max didn’t recognize. Her tongue poked from her mouth in concentration.
Ready for the conditioning coat, he turned the water down slightly. Sweat prickled at the back of his neck, so after he peeled the gloves off, he pulled up the hem of his hoodie.
His shirt started to go with it, and warm, humid air hit his stomach before he tugged it down.
“What are you doing?” Keely asked faintly.
He tossed the hoodie to a side table and smirked. “Just got a little warm.”
She nodded, then went back to scrubbing around Biscuit’s neck and ears with that same vigor. He had to be squeaky clean by now. She bit her lip, not meeting Max’s eyes.
Was she thinking about the last time he’d been shirtless around her with water involved?
Gah. He needed to shove all thoughts of the locker room firmly from his mind. And set them on fire, for good measure.
He lowered the water temperature again, running it over the pulse point in his wrist to cool his raging blood.
Another, worse idea formed. They were meant to be civil now.
Friends, or at least friendly. She’d covered for him today, after all.
But he couldn’t resist. Part of him wondered if that had to do with Keely, the bright flush of color that crawled up her neck whenever he riled her up, and how he saw it behind his eyelids when he tried to sleep each night.
He jerked his hand.
“Max,” she gasped, rearing back as the water he’d flicked dripped down and disappeared beneath the neck of her shirt. She pulled the fabric away from her body. “Stop, it’s so cold!”
He looked away, but his gaze crept back. Always. Inevitably.
He couldn’t not look at her.
Which is how he saw her intention from a mile away when she lunged over, gathering a cupped handful of water and sloshing it in his direction.
“Whoa,” he spluttered, licking some of the water off his mouth. He pulled the nozzle from its holster. “You’re gonna pay for that.”
She held up her hands, panic tightening her features. “Wait, no, I’m sorry—”
“Tough luck, buttercup.” And he pressed the trigger. Biscuit barked happily, struggling against the confines of his harness to chase the spray.
Max wasn’t a complete jerk. He managed to avoid Keely’s face and. . . chest, but her waist was fair game, and he only sprayed in short spurts so she wouldn’t get totally—
“Oh my God, Max, I’m so wet,” she whimpered.
All of Max’s retorts died on his tongue.
“Keely,” he rasped, dropping the hose in the tub. Her lips parted. “Please don’t say things like that to me.”
The water squirted from the nozzle in a fountain, one Biscuit happily nipped and barked at. But Max only focused on Keely as she backtracked to see what, exactly, she’d said.
One of her eyebrows inched upward. “Or what?”
Max took another step.
“What. Is. Happening. In. Here?” Tricia’s tone was direct, harsh, and even Max flinched.
He waited to see if Keely would offer an explanation. He figured she’d want to be in control of the situation seconds away from careening off a cliff.
She stayed quiet, and Tricia’s eyebrow only kept inching up her forehead.
“We were—” Max started, then tried again. “I was—”
“Max.” Tricia shifted her weight, letting out a heavy sigh. “We really don’t have time for messing around today. If you’re just going to goof off—”
“It was my fault,” Keely blurted. “I started it.”
Tricia’s brows flew up under her daisy-patterned bandana.
“Regardless of whose fault it was, you both know better.” Disbelief wove through her words, and Max bit his cheek and nodded.
Beside him, Keely did the same. Tricia pointed at the floor, where they both stood in small puddles. “Clean this up.”
Keely and Max waited for the door to close before they shared a look and burst into hushed, breathless laughter.
Biscuit barked again.