Chapter 8
CASH
Ididn’t get much sleep, but it wasn’t because of nightmares for once.
It was because of Dog. I hadn’t gotten to keep him after all, and it left an ache in my chest that had no right being there.
And I knew it was stupid, but it still hurt.
I’d known the chances of me keeping the dog were slim, but I’d gone ahead and let myself hope anyway, and now I was paying the price.
I tried to remember that the universe mostly got things right.
I’d seen the way that Mason lit up around Dog, and I figured that while I’d wanted Dog, maybe Mason needed him, more than I did.
I knew Mason would take good care of him, and he’d said I could go and visit.
It wasn’t as much comfort as I’d hoped, but I clung to it anyway.
I found myself thinking about Mason, and how he’d said Dog wasn’t the only one who enjoyed my company. And that led to thinking about Mason and the way he’d looked at me in the treatment room—like he’d wanted to kiss me, maybe.
And how I’d maybe wanted him to.
Which was confusing as hell because kissing guys wasn’t a thing I did. Kissing anyone wasn’t a thing I did. It was like horse riding, or maybe like Grandma Jane with knitting—I knew lots of people enjoyed it, but it wasn’t for me.
Except, maybe it was? I didn’t know anymore. I just knew that with Mason, things felt different. Like he was someone I could trust, and that made it okay to think about kissing him. I didn’t care that he was a guy either, which was another surprise my body had decided to spring on me.
Round and round my thoughts went, my brain chasing its tail like Dog had chased that ugly sweater thing, until I gave up and went and crawled into bed with Chase.
He didn’t even wake up, just shuffled over to make room.
Lee wasn’t there, so at least I wasn’t invading their private time.
But Chase’s presence didn’t settle me the way it normally did, and by the time his alarm went off, I’d barely slept.
He nudged me with his elbow when he woke up. “You okay? Nightmares?”
I debated whether to tell him what had kept me awake. In the end, though, I shook my head and said, “Was thinking about Dog, that’s all.”
He pulled me into a hug. “That wasn’t gonna happen, Cash. You were never getting that dog.”
“I know,” I said, hating the way my voice cracked as losing Dog hit me all over again.
“And you rescued him from assholes, so that’s good, right?” Chase reminded me. It didn’t help, but I appreciated that he was at least trying to be positive, even if he sucked at it.
“I know,” I said again, and I did know. A part of me knew that Mason keeping Dog was the best thing for Dog.
Mason was a vet, so it was the perfect solution.
Dog would always have the best care. But there was another selfish part of me, one that I hadn’t even known had survived this long until it was hurting so much, that was upset because Mason keeping Dog wasn’t the best thing for me.
It wasn’t just disappointment. It was, I thought, a type of grief.
Not for Dog and Mason, who were good for each other and who would be happy together, but for me, and for the dreams I’d had of keeping Dog.
And there were no easy answers with grief, except learning to live with it while you worked through it.
I’d add it to all the other shit I had to work through, I guessed.
I sighed against Chase’s chest and he squeezed me tight before pushing me gently away. “I gotta go shower.”
I stayed in bed a while longer, and when I went into the kitchen, Chase was pouring the last of the Lucky Charms into a bowl. He added milk and pushed it silently toward me across the table. I gave him a shaky smile. “Thanks.”
He shrugged like it was no big deal, even though just yesterday morning he’d made me promise not to empty the carton. I started eating, and he scruffed my hair as he walked past. “I gotta go. You picking up coffee for you and your hot vet?”
“He’s not hot,” I said, too quickly, and did my best to ignore the blush I could feel spreading up my throat—or why I might be blushing. “He’s nice, that’s all.”
Chase looked at me through narrowed eyes. I waited for him to give me shit—he could be a real dick sometimes—or ask me awkward questions like why are you blushing, Cash? But instead he hummed and said, “Okay. You still want coffee, though, right?”
I nodded and kept my eyes fixed on my empty bowl until he left for work.
I had my own shower and got dressed in my work scrubs and headed to Gobble de Goose.
Chase gave me a couple of apple Danishes along with the sealed reusable cups that had appeared the day after Lee had seen me balancing a cup tray while riding my dirt bike.
I put everything in my backpack and rode the rest of the way to Mason’s.
I knocked on the door and there was no answer, but when I tried the handle, it was unlocked and the door swung open with a creak.
I hadn’t even had time to step inside when there was the rapid clicking of claws and a small brown blur shot past me as Dog raced out into the street.
Seconds later, Mason came flying out and thundered down the front steps.
I stood frozen for a second, then dropped my backpack and joined the chase.
Even though Mason had a head start, I moved faster and I soon ran past him.
Dog stopped running and stood there with a dumb doggy smile on his face when he got about three houses up the street, and I thought I had him.
But when I was almost close enough to grab him, he took off again.
He did the same thing four or five times, tail wagging joyfully every time.
He was clearly having the time of his life playing what he thought was the best game ever.
I was having a lot less fun. By the time he got tired of running and I caught him, we were halfway to Main Street and I was well and truly out of breath.
Dog panted happily in my arms when I scooped him up, the little asshole.
“It’s official. Dog’s a thief,” Mason said, jogging to a stop next to me—which was when I noticed two things. One, Dog had a phone charger in his mouth, with loops of cable hanging out in a drool-covered tangle.
And two, Mason was shirtless.
He was wearing a pair of sleep pants that rode low on his hips and nothing else, and my breath caught.
Mason’s chest was heaving from running after Dog, and drops of sweat glistened in the dip of his collarbones as his muscles rose and fell.
He had a smattering of chest hair, dark to match the hair on his head, and the sight stirred a hunger in me that was new and unfamiliar.
I dragged my gaze away and ducked my head, focusing all my attention on rescuing the charger from Dog’s mouth so I didn’t do something dumb like reaching out and tracing a fingertip over Mason’s chest and abs, even though I really, really wanted to.
I’d seen plenty of hot guys before—I lived with Wilder and he was a stripper—but I’d never really been attracted to anyone.
Not like this. But it was different with Mason.
It was like my body knew that he was safe, and so it had decided that he was attractive, and now that I knew he wasn’t straight, I couldn’t stop thinking about what it might be like to kiss him.
Wanting to kiss him. And it was confusing as hell, and a bit scary too, but I didn’t want the feeling to stop. I just wasn’t sure what to do about it.
“Cash? You okay?” Mason asked, running a hand through his hair. The loose strands gleamed in the early morning sunlight, giving him a soft halo.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak in case I said something like can I kiss you?
Mason gave me a searching look before nodding at Dog. “I wonder what it is about phone chargers that this little guy likes so much?”
I shrugged and watched as Mason wiped the cord on his sleep pants, dragging the fabric up against his dick. It wasn’t intentional, I was pretty sure, but my face burned when that was where my gaze landed.
“Maybe because I’m so interested in it,” he said thoughtfully, not even a hint of tension in his tone to suggest he’d seen me looking. He wound the cord around his fingers. “Shit, now the adrenaline’s worn off, it’s cooler than I thought.”
We headed back to the house. I lagged behind for a few steps until I realized I was staring at his ass and the way the muscles in Mason’s back moved. Then I hurried to keep pace with him, fixing my gaze firmly on the sidewalk so it didn’t get me in any trouble.
When we got back to the house, Mason went upstairs to shower.
I sat on the back step and threw a ball for Dog and drank my coffee. The travel cups had saved them after I’d unthinkingly dumped my backpack down to chase Dog. I threw the ball a few times before I noticed Dog was limping.
When I heard the shower turn off, I stood at the bottom of the stairs with Dog in my arms. “Mason?”
My voice didn’t carry. I guessed it was lucky the house wasn’t burning down or something.
But it was only a couple of minutes before Mason appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed in his scrubs.
His hair was pulled into his usual bun, and he had fresh Band-Aids on yesterday’s goose-related injuries.
“Mason?”
He heard me this time.
“What’s up?” he asked as he headed down the stairs.
“Dog’s limping,” I said.
Mason held out his arms when he reached the bottom of the stairs, and I hefted Dog over to him. Mason scooted him into the treatment room, flicking on the lights.
“There we go,” he said, reaching for a pair of tweezers while he cradled Dog in the crook of his arm. “Someone got a burr between his hairy hobbit toes.”
Dog didn’t even flinch when Mason pulled the burr out. I wasn’t sure he even noticed.