Chapter 7
SEVEN
Nova
The damned man has stolen my dog again.
Just plucked Steve out of my hold like my little pupper wouldn’t try to bite him again, then had looked nonplussed when Steve had made the attempt.
Tucking my dog under one strong arm.
Walking away.
Walking into the house I am supposed to stay at for the foreseeable future.
With a man who clearly despises me.
And I can’t even leave.
Because apparently, it’s fucking Snowmageddon.
This is the point where I really wish my powers of letting things slide off my back hadn’t been damaged, maybe permanently.
No problem that this man hates me for no reason.
No problem that my best friend arranged for me to stay in his house.
No problem that he’s stolen my dog and my car slid off the road and…
I drop my chin to my chest, suck in a breath, then get out of his SUV, straightening my shoulders, marching into the house.
There’s a storm outside. My car is stuck in a snowbank.
There’s nothing I can do about either of those things.
At least I’m warm and safe—so long as Ella hasn’t arranged for me to be temporarily staying with an ax murderer.
I take the two stairs that lead up into the house, turn the handle, and push inside, warmth immediately surrounding me like a cozy blanket. I exhale, something settling in my belly after the unnerving drive up into these mountains, just because I’m safe and warm and have a roof over my head.
Knowing that I’m not going to walk into the other room and find Ashley and George—
“Woof!”
I blink, shake the image that’s burned into the backs of my eyelids out of my head, and move toward the sound, hustling through the narrow mudroom with deep green cabinets built into the walls.
Hooks and drawers and shelves and solid front doors are pretty much a blur as I hurry into the other room.
If he’s hurting my baby…
The kitchen has me halting for a heartbeat—it’s huge with rich people appliances, as my friend Ella and I always joke—the fridge and dishwasher hidden behind wooden cabinet fronts.
It’s the type of space where I have to search to find the trash can because it’s not white plastic—or, if you are really fancy—a stainless steel can shoved into the corner.
He even has one of those microwaves that’s mounted into the bottom cabinets like a drawer instead of sitting on the counter, and also shoved into a corner, usually surrounded by half-eaten bags of chips and dog treats.
Or maybe that’s just my life.
Because everything in this space is…pristine.
Expensive.
Way too fancy for me.
I reach for the stone countertop, run my fingers across the surface.
It’s sleek, clean, a crisp white that contrasts with the navy-blue cabinets.
But then Steve barks again and I’m startled out of my stupor, tearing my eyes away from the large swathe of shining stone and hurrying out from the massive room.
But I don’t go far before I find it hard to keep my feet moving again.
This time drawn in by a massive family room with a huge fireplace that’s covered in stone from floor to ceiling.
“Woof!”
“Focus,” I whisper, gaze whipping through the room, spotting the hallway on the other side of the enormous space and hurrying toward the sounds of Steve’s outrage.
“Woof! Woof! Woof!”
I turn and look, spot Lake scowling at the end of the hall, just outside an open door.
And he’s shirtless.
Sweet baby Jesus, I’d never seen a man with a body like that—not outside of an underwear ad anyway. It’s like he’s my own private peep show as I move closer. He’s got his hands on his hips, expression brooding, jeans riding low and giving me a glimpse of the tight black waistband of his underwear.
Boxers? Briefs? Or boxer briefs?
Any of those options would be a gift.
Nothing at all would be better.
“Grr!”
Steve darts around him, and I see now that he has something gray in his mouth.
“Give it back,” Lake snaps, bending, and…
Holy fucking shit.
That ass is…
Heaven. Hell. Twin handfuls—and then some—of sin.
“Grr!”
“Give it to me, you little—” His head shoots up and he glares at me over his shoulder. “Want to help me, or are you going to keep staring at my ass?”
Keep staring at his ass.
Hands down.
“Nova!” he barks.
I jerk my head away from said ass and focus on his face—though, in fairness, that’s not much better, even with the beautiful features scrunched up into a fearsome scowl. “Yeah?”
“Want to give me a hand with your asshole of a dog?”
“Steve is not an asshole,” I say, lifting my chin and elbowing my way past him, bending, intending to reach down and scoop up my baby—
Who decides right then…to be an asshole.
He darts away from me, straight in through that open door…and slips beneath the huge bed that takes up most of the far wall.
I sigh, gaze accidentally connecting with Lake’s. He lifts his brows, as if to say, “See? Asshole.”
But I don’t engage, just move into the bedroom, kneel next to the bed, and peek beneath the mattress. “What does he have?”
A long pause.
Then, “My underwear.”
“Boxers, briefs, or boxer briefs?”
Silence, hot and terse, and I want to melt into the hardwood floor right then and there. I actually said that out loud.
Out. Loud.
And because I am a glutton for punishment, my stare can’t stay away from those pretty, pretty hazel eyes.
I get lost in them for several tense moments.
Then he flicks his brows up again, this time as if we’re playing a game of Chicken.
And maybe we are.
“Boxer briefs,” he says, tone a challenge.
Sweet baby Jesus. My favorite.
I can’t stop my gaze from flicking down, from wondering exactly what that ass would look like clad in tight gray fabric. It would definitely put gray sweatpants to shame.
Focus.
On his ass? Or his penis lovingly cupped in skintight cotton?
“Woof!” Steve barks, focusing for me.
Because I know the tone of that bark.
It’s the I’m staying under this bed until I’m good and ready to come out bark.
I bite back a wince and manage to climb to my feet. “It would probably be best if we let him come out on his own,” I say. “Steve has a bit of…an underwear fetish.”
“Don’t we all,” Lake says dryly, walking by me like he hadn’t just made a joke.
He disappears behind another door, the wooden panel shutting with a decisive click.
I sigh, peek back beneath the bed. “Steve, baby. Come out with the mean man’s underwear.”
“Woof!”
Lake is right.
My dog is an asshole.