20. Lilly
CHAPTER 20
LILLY
Colossus runs away.
Hmm. Did he follow Bruce?
A hissing sound draws my attention—and when I turn, all the serenity that I’ve gained during the yoga practice is washed away by a tsunami of hormones.
Bruce is shirtless.
And pants-less.
With beads of sweat pebbling on his rippling muscles.
For Anubis’s sake, even the dog is staring at Bruce as if saying:
He looks more masculine than a pack of boy dogs—and without so much as lifting a leg.
Bruce throws a devastating punch at the poor bag. And another.
Somehow, even the violence twisting his features is hot—so much so I feel unwanted heat pool in my core.
Grr. It’s like this man is actively trying to keep me in a state of perpetual arousal.
Gritting my teeth, I start doing the cat-cow.
Nope. Unlike every other time I’ve done this, I become hyperaware of my pelvic floor muscles—so I switch to the lizard.
Hell’s bells. This pose is even worse, and the happy baby leaves me feeling extremely unhappy. And wanting his baby.
The problem persists when I do the plow, and even when I do a shoulder stand, so I get back on my feet and attempt the eagle—standing on one foot, crossing my arms in front of my body, and hooking my right foot around my left calf.
Oh, no.
With my legs twisted like this, I’ve just put pressure on my oversensitive clit. If I keep the pose for even a second more, I might?—
And it happens. I come in the middle of Bruce’s gym—right in front of him. Holy shit. I’ve always had a hair trigger when it comes to orgasms, but this is a whole other level.
I untangle my legs and thank goodness no moans have escaped my lips—a feat that took an elephantine effort of will.
“Hey, Colossus,” I say, my voice hoarse. “Let’s go learn fetch.”
Bruce pauses his onslaught to say, “His toys are by his bed.”
Great. I’m headed to Bruce’s bedroom.
At least he’s not going to be there.
I exit the gym, but the dog doesn’t follow.
With a sigh, I pick him up. I didn’t think to bring a treat here and thus have nothing to lure him with.
When we’re in Bruce’s bedroom, I take a few toys and resist the strong urge to strip naked, dive into Bruce’s bed, and reach another climax as I luxuriate in his smell on the sheets.
Noticing the toys, Colossus wags his tail.
Good. Now that I’ve got his attention, I take him to my room and toss the first toy—a plush shark that has some motor inside that makes it wag its tail.
The puppy runs after the shark, grabs it, but doesn’t bring it back.
All right. I’m not going to use food for this. He’s eaten too much today already, plus toys are all about fun, so if he doesn’t want to play, I won’t force the issue. What I do instead is pretend that I’m fascinated by his other toy—a small monkey that squeaks.
The gambit works. As soon as he notices how much fun I’m having with the monkey, he walks over to check it out—the shark still in his teeth.
As soon as he’s within reach, I gush praise on him so he knows that walking over pleases me, and then I toss the monkey. Letting go of the shark, he runs after the new toy.
I repeat the whole thing a few more times and then wait to see what he does.
He brings the monkey to me, tail wagging.
“Good boy,” I say as I reach for the toy. “Thank you.”
Not so fast. He doesn’t let go of the toy—which is a common dog behavior. Instead of fetch, he wants to play tug, and why not?
I play tug with him, letting him win a few times. When it’s my turn to win, I toss the toy.
He brings it back.
We’re halfway there already.
We keep playing like that for a while longer, and I watch him for any signs of needing to go potty—a common occurrence after playing. Nope. He simply walks over to my pile of dirty clothes and passes out.
I grin. This used to happen when Roach was a puppy too.
Using the little free time this gives me, I strip off my yoga clothes, rush to the bathroom to freshen up, and dress more presentably—in case I run into anyone during lunch.
No one specific… just anyone.
Once I’m dressed, I start reading The Witcher as I wait for the puppy to wake. Two pages later, my phone rings.
I pick up quickly. “Hello,” I whisper.
“Hello to you too,” Aphrodite says sardonically. “I demand a full status report.”
In order to not wake Colossus, I take the call to the bathroom, where I grudgingly tell my cousin about the kiss.
The squeal on the other end of the phone is so high and loud I half expect the dog to wake up even though he’s in a different room. “I told you so,” Aphrodite says when she catches her breath. “Now remember, ovulation can last from twelve to forty-eight hours, so you’re still in that window—and will be until tomorrow.”
“He’s pretending the kiss didn’t happen,” I say with an eyeroll. “Not that I’d let him anywhere near my eggs in any case.”
“Sure, sure, sure. Nothing will happen—just like that kiss didn’t.”
I squeeze the phone tighter. “That’s different.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I can somehow hear that she’s got a stupid grin on her face. “Just use a condom when it ‘doesn’t happen.’ Or not—all depending on the plans you do not have.”
“Is there a term that’s similar to fratricide, but for when you kill your cousin?” I ask.
“Hey, I’m on your side here,” she says. “Newsflash: we’re talking about a hot billionaire who also seems to be a good kisser.”
“When did I tell you that he’s a great kisser?”
“Never,” she says. “But what you just said proves it.”
My phone rings with a video call from my mom.
“I’ve got to go,” I say. “Mom is calling.”
“Oh, yeah,” Aphrodite says sheepishly. “That’s why I was calling. There is a tiny chance I might’ve told my mom about your new job… and you know how our moms are.”
“Bye,” I snap angrily and pick up Mom’s call.
She and Dad are both on the other end, making this look suspiciously like a family meeting.
“I was just about to tell you,” I say in lieu of a hello.
“About your live-in job?” Mom asks pointedly.
“Right, that. Everything happened so fast that?—”
“You had time to tell Aphrodite,” Mom says. “And she told the biggest gossip of the family.”
Now isn’t really the time to question who should have that particular title, but here’s a hint: she’s the person most upset she wasn’t the first to know something juicy.
“Tell us about the man who hired you,” Dad demands.
Mom turns to him. “That’s sexist. No one said the rich employer was a man.”
Dad sighs. “Tell us about the person who hired you.”
Okay. I guess this will be like ripping off a Band-Aid. “Bruce Roxford.”
I wince, expecting condemnation, but the expressions on both of their faces are blank.
“He owns that evil bank,” I say.
They look even blanker.
I tell them the actual name of the bank in question. “You know,” I add. “The place where you had your mortgage.”
“Ah,” Mom says.
“That’s good,” Dad says.
Huh? That’s good? “Shouldn’t you be a lot more upset? His bank took your house.”
Mom shrugs. “That was unfortunate, but it wasn’t personal.”
It was for me.
“Besides,” Dad says. “They were actually pretty nice to us, before the eviction at least.”
“An oxymoron,” I say with an eyeroll.
“Young lady,” Mom says sternly. “Don’t call your father names.”
“Dad isn’t the oxymoron. The phrase ‘nice to us before the eviction’ is.”
“But they were nice,” Mom says. “First, they gave us a deferment, then a forbearance.”
I gape at them. “Why is this the first time I’m hearing any of this?”
Mom and Dad exchange glances. Eventually, she says, “Anytime the darn mortgage was mentioned back then, you’d try to give us all your money.”
“And go on rants about how unfair life is,” Dad adds.
I could’ve sworn my rants were about their bank, not life in general, but if that’s how they remember it, who am I to argue?
“So… you’re totally fine with me working for Bruce Roxford?”
Mom winks at me. “Sure. Working.”
“Yes. Training his dog. What did Aphrodite say?”
Mom glances at Dad. “Not in mixed company.”
Gah! If she doesn’t want Dad to hear, there had to be a mention of ovulation, along with how hot Bruce is.
Colossus pitter-patters into the bathroom and stretches in front of me, like a cat.
“There he is,” I say gratefully, angling the camera down. “My charge.”
“So cute!” Mom squeals.
“Too small,” Dad grumbles, but I know if he were here, he’d cuddle Colossus just as much as he did Roach back in the day.
Colossus starts to sniff around in a suspicious manner that I instantly recognize. “Mom, Dad, I have to run,” I say. “He’s looking for a bathroom.”
“You’re in a bathroom,” Mom says.
“Yeah, that won’t help him.” I grab the little guy before he can have an accident. Dogs don’t normally go when they’re in your arms, though it would suck to be proven wrong this time. “Bye.”
They wave goodbye, and we all hang up.
Once Colossus and I are outside, he starts making his masterpeeses all the way down the gorgeous path. Then, like déjà vu, the same exact attractive woman in high heels walks toward us. I think her name is Gertrude.
There’s a key difference in this encounter, however. Gertrude has a leash in her hand with a tiny Yorkshire terrier on the other end of it.
“You have a dog?” I ask her from a distance.
She nods. “Mr. Roxford’s assistant has rented dogs for everyone so that Colossus can socialize with them.”
Wow. Talk about throwing money at problems. Where do you even “rent” dogs? Probably from someone rich, as this Yorkie looks like a specimen with a pedigree.
Time to socialize. I check my pockets and realize I don’t have any treats.
Oh, well. It’s not like the little Yorkie would hand them to Colossus anyway.
Turns out, Colossus loves Yorkies, or at least this one, because he’s wagging his tail and sniffing her almost instantly. He even tries to play chase.
“Very cute,” Gertrude says.
I have to agree, and this encounter is only the beginning. The next person from the local branch has a mini poodle—and Colossus loves him as much as the Yorkie. Same goes for the shih tzu that follows, and the pug after that.
“Maybe you didn’t need me for this after all,” I tell Colossus after another successful socialization encounter with a very calm German shepherd, a.k.a. dog number twenty. “You’re very friendly with dogs.”
Colossus looks up at me, the panting from all the excitement twisting his lips in that signature Chihuahua grin.
If human butts smelled as good as dog ones, I would’ve liked humans from the get-go as well. Now give me a cookie, please! It’s been a hundred years since the last one.
“You know, I’m feeling a little peckish myself,” I say and check the time.
Sure enough, it’s almost lunchtime.
Now in sync in terms of our basic needs, we make a sharp U-turn and return to the mansion. Once Colossus is unleashed, he runs somewhere—probably to the kitchen.
I head over there and find Bruce eating.
He looks at me coolly. “Hello.”
I look around. “Is the dog here?”
“He’s supposed to be with you.” And just like that, the coolness in his gaze turns into an arctic chill.
I open my mouth to explain that he ran ahead, perhaps to get one of his toys from my room, but the puppy shows up at that very moment.
Fuck me.
Based on what he has in his mouth, I was half right. He did run to my room to get something. It just wasn’t his toy.
It was my panties.