CHAPTER 7
Bailey
“I’m not sure how much more of an expert on this I’m going to be than you,” I tell Palmer as I hold open the door to the Sunflower State Humane Society. “The last time I was in a humane society was well over fifteen years ago when my sisters and I talked our mom into adopting our family dog, CK.”
“CK?”
“CK,” I confirm with a nod. We stroll casually past the cat rooms with kittens tackling each other behind the glass.
Palmer tilts her head at me, confused. “Why CK?”
I don’t even try to stop the laughter that bubbles up. “Because he looked like the motherfucking Crypt Keeper.”
Palmer’s laughter matches my own. She bumps her shoulder against mine and grabs my arm as her silent laughter wracks her whole body. It makes it impossible not to laugh just as hard as her.
“He was the ugliest dog I’ve ever seen,” I cough out as tears streak down my cheeks, making us dissolve into another fit of snorting and wheezing.
It takes a couple of minutes for the two of us to regain our composure, and by the time we do, our faces are both red from the exertion of trying to stay quiet and our cheeks hurt from smiling.
Palmer runs her fingers under her eyes. “Oh, my god.” She giggles. “Please tell me you were nice to him.”
Rubbing my arm over my face, I say, “Well, yeah. I didn’t say I didn’t love him. I just said he was really fucking ugly.” That sends us both over the edge again until we are approached by a very skeptical-looking shelter volunteer.
“Hi… Can I, um, help you all?” Her name tag reads Zoey, and her face reads as if she’s contemplating whether she should call someone to escort us out or not.
Wiping her eyes again, Palmer answers, “Yes, I’m so sorry. He was just making me laugh.” She gives me a little shove with her elbow. “I’m here to adopt a dog.”
Zoey seems to relax. “Oh, okay! Come this way.”
We follow her in the direction of a cacophony of barking.
“Did you have someone in mind?” she asks.
Palmer pauses and looks at me. Right. She’s never done this before.
“No,” I chime in. “We just wanted to look at the options and see if anyone would be a good fit.”
Nodding enthusiastically, Zoey says, “Well, then we’re in the right place!
Right through here, we’ve got all our adoptable dogs.
” She gestures at the giant room filled with kennels through the doors behind her.
“If you find one you’d like to do a meet and greet with, let me know, and we can start that process. Sound good?”
“Yep.” Palmer nods seriously.
“Okay then! I’ll be here if you need me.” Zoey opens the door, and the barking gets louder.
I follow Palmer in, and when the door closes behind us, it’s just us and the dogs.
“Okay… so what do we do now?”
I gesture toward the kennels. “You walk around and see if there’s any dogs you want to meet. If there are, we tell Zoey, and she makes it happen.”
Palmer looks at me uncertainly. “So, we just—” She gestures out at the room.
“Yep.”
“Okay then. Here goes nothing.”
We spend the next thirty minutes slowly walking around to each of the pens.
Palmer kneels down to talk to the dogs and reads each of their bio sheets, becoming righteously indignant for the dogs who were dropped off because their humans were moving or having a baby or any other number of reasons that don’t justify getting rid of a pet.
“It’s not their fault! They didn’t choose to move or have a baby. Their owners should’ve known better. That’s not fair.”
I nod in agreement. “Unfortunately, not everyone believes that.”
She crosses her arms petulantly and continues walking. “Which makes them fucking stupid.”
I don’t disagree with her.
As we approach the second-to-last kennel, I’m fairly certain which dogs she’s interested in. There had been a couple of mixed-breed puppies that she spent a little extra time with and a young pitbull she had fawned over.
We stop in front of what appears to be an empty kennel, and I keep walking onto the next one. Palmer squats down in front of it and gasps.
“What?”
“Come here, pretty girl,” Palmer croons. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Moving to look over her shoulder, I see her talking to a large dog cowering in the back of the kennel.
Gray fur hangs loosely over the dog’s protruding ribs and vertebrae.
Its body trembles and what’s left of its cropped ears lay flat against its big, blocky head.
Despite her skin-and-bones appearance, the information sheet says that she weighs just over eighty-five pounds.
She’s going to be massive once she puts on a little weight.
I glance up at the bio sheet as Palmer smooches to try and bring her closer.
“Her name is Gertrude, and she’s a purebred Cane Corso from what they can tell.
They think she’s probably four or five years old.
She was rescued from a puppy mill operation in Oklahoma and is very timid around pretty much anyone.
” Looking at the bottom of the sheet, I read, “They aren’t sure how she will be in a home.
They put her in a couple of foster homes, but she was so scared the entire time she just hid in a corner and refused to move. ”
Palmer stands up, resolute. “She’s the one.”
“Are you sure, Palmer?” I point at the bio. “They don’t think she’ll be able to be successful in a home.”
She juts her chin out at me in a look I recognize from my sisters that means she’s not going to change her mind. I put my hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll go get Zoey.”
* * *
After filling out some paperwork and running checks to ensure Palmer is a safe person to adopt a dog, we find ourselves in one of the big glass meeting rooms, waiting on them to bring Gertrude in.
Palmer’s knee bounces anxiously, and I put my hand on it. “You good?”
Her brows knit together as she stares down at my hand. “Yeah, I just… I really want this to work, you know?”
“I get it.” I pull my hand off, even though I really want to slide it farther up her thigh.
“What if she doesn’t like me?”
I ponder for a moment before responding. “Well, I suppose you won’t know until you try, right? And in this case, I think the risk is worth the reward.”
Palmer nods wordlessly as we spot Zoey coming around the corner of the hallway. She opens the door, and the dog creeps around the frame, just her nose then the rest of her body following. Her nub of a tail doesn’t wag, and her nails don’t clack on the enamel floor. She’s silent.
While I’m studying the dog, I don’t notice Palmer sliding from the bench onto the floor. She sits with her legs crisscrossed and her palms face up for the dog to see.
“Come here, sweet girl. I’m not going to hurt you.”
The dog studies Palmer, then ever-so-slowly tiptoes over toward her. She stops to smell Palmer’s hand, giving it a couple small licks. “Hi, Gertrude.”
Her voice is so soft I have to strain to hear her.
“Although you don’t look like much of a Gertrude, do you?” Palmer strokes her hands along the sides of the dog’s face. “You look like more of a Mouse.”
The dog picks its head up rapidly and swipes its tongue up her face. Palmer giggles, and the dog licks some more.
“Mouse it is then.” She’s scratching the dog’s neck when she steps between Palmer’s legs and plops down as if she’s a lap dog.
Palmer doesn’t blink an eye, just plants a kiss on the top of her big, blocky head. “I knew you were the one.”
The dog pants in return, her tongue lolling out and an honest-to-God smile on her face.
Zoey pipes up from the corner, “Well, I think that’s that! If you all want to come with me real quick, we can go to the desk and fill out the final paperwork?”
“You ready to go?” Palmer asks the animal in her lap.
It hops up and sits, waiting for her to get up then falls into step next to Palmer. She doesn’t really acknowledge me, but the fact the dog isn’t trying to bite me bodes well, considering her background.
Zoey’s nails clack away at the ancient computer used to complete adoptions. Mouse curls up contentedly around Palmer’s feet.
“Mm hmm,” Zoey says, nodding her head. “I just need your husband’s information, and we can wrap this up.”
Both Palmer and I try to correct her.
“Oh, no. He’s—
“I’m not her husband. We—”
As she recognizes her mistake, Zoey apologizes. “I just thought you all were together because of the laughing and the whole getting a dog together thing.”
“I get it,” Palmer says. “But no, not my husband. Bailey’s just a friend who’s here to help me through this process.” She sends a warm smile my way. “Just friends.”
I nod, indicating she’s right.
“My bad!” Zoey says, her cheeks reddening. “So then, Ms. Jade, I just need you to finish up these few sheets, and we’ll be ready to get you going!”
Palmer takes the pen she offers then holds out the leash to me. “Can you…?”
I take the leash from her hand, doing my best not to jostle it so as not to disturb the dog on the other end. She bends over the counter to write, and I can’t help but stare.
Fuck, she’s beautiful.
All I can think about is how badly I want to run my thumb over the lip she keeps toying with between her teeth. I wonder what that lip would feel like pressed against my own and grazing between my teeth. What kind of moan would she make then? Would she arch her body into mine?
I need to stop.
I look around the office, trying to stare at anything but the ample cleavage showing as she bends forward to write. What is this woman doing to me? And does she know that she’s doing it?
I had enjoyed making her blush at the diner. So much so, that I had kept doing it. I liked it when she got flustered. But getting flustered myself is not my favorite thing in the world, especially not when I’ve got to try and act like a functioning human being.
To distract myself, I ask about the going home kit that is advertised. Zoey informs me that it comes with a bag of dog food, a toy, and a dog bed.
“What about a kennel?” I ask.
She tells me those must be purchased separately, so I pull out my wallet and hand her my card. Palmer protests, but I tell her it’s a gift for Mouse, not for her. At the sound of her new name, the dog picks up her head and studies me before laying it back down.
Palmer signs the last piece of paperwork, and Zoeys says, “One last thing!” She pulls out a box of collars and matching leashes. “Take your pick.”
Palmer sorts through them and settles on a sky-blue set. Holding it against Mouse’s fur, she analyzes it for a minute then nods. “Yep. This one.”
“Okay,” Zoey says. “All done! If you need anything, please call the shelter and we are happy to help!”
“Thank you.” Palmer smiles then glances at Mouse then me. “Let’s go home.”
* * *
“Let me clip this in and… done!” I step back to admire my handiwork. Mouse sniffs the kennel and snorts in approval. “Glad you like it,” I murmur.
“Thank you again for your help, Bailey. Can I get you a drink?”
I follow Palmer and Mouse toward the kitchen.
“A water would be awesome.” Sweat drips down my back, dampening my undershirt.
I had taken my ACU coat off and set it in the dining room when we had first gotten back to the house; for some reason, Palmer’s preferred setting for the heater is Hell, and if I was going to sweat, at least my coat wouldn’t be soaked when I was done.
Palmer hands me a cold, water bottle from over the refrigerator door. “Do you want a flavor packet or anything? I’ve got several different ones because sometimes water just—”
“Tastes weird?” I finish.
Her eyes widen in agreement. “Exactly! Some people say I’m nuts.”
“Not at all. They’re nuts for not agreeing.”
“That is precisely what I said.” She turns and bends over the cabinet, digging toward the back.
The fabric of her shorts rides up, and I am right back to where I was this morning: staring at her ass. Mouse sits directly behind Palmer, glaring at me.
“If she didn’t have such a nice ass, I wouldn’t stare at it,” I convey telepathically.
The dog says nothing in response, which is good because I would’ve worried about my mental state if she had.
When Palmer continues to dig, going up on her toes to search the next shelf up, all I can picture is bending her forward on the counter and burying my face in her pussy, lapping at her sweet wetness until her legs give out and the only thing keeping her upright is the countertop beneath her.
Fuuuuuck, not again.
For the second time today, I find myself thinking about how to conceal the erection straining against my pants.
As Palmer turns back toward me, flavor packet in hand, I elect to lean forward and press my hips against the center island.
Not the most comfortable solution, but also really the only one.
“Thank you.” I take it, attempting to coach my face into a neutral expression despite the competing desire and discomfort in my crotch.
Taking my eyes off of her, I tap the flavor packet into the bottle, shake for a few seconds, then take a swig.
This is a flavor I haven’t tried before, and I really like it.
I need to ask her what it is when I’m done.
I’m mid-swallow when Palmer announces, “I’m going to have a ho phase.”