Chapter 12
TWELVE
Lake
I scowl.
Does she seriously think I’m going to get pissed about giving the mutt a few scraps of chicken?
I yank the plate from her hand, stomp over to the pan and scoop some more onto it. Then I reach into the cabinet, grab out a bowl, and pick through the pasta for some chicken to feed the damned demon dog.
He snuffles at my feet, clearly knowing where the food is and being impatient about it. I look down, clock those rolls on his back and neck, and decide to throw in some broccoli too.
Dog needs some greens, some exercise, and some manners.
I can help with the first tonight.
Tomorrow, I can haul his fat ass to Nova’s car and get him his damned food.
Narrowing my eyes at him in a silent warning to eat his vegetables, I set the bowl on the floor then walk back over to Nova, shoving the plate at her. “Eat as much as you want.”
She has tits and ass, but her face is drawn, her collarbones jut out above the slouchy neck of her sweatshirt. Plus, I lifted her, carried her into the house. She’s light as a fucking feather.
She looks—and feels—like she hasn’t had enough food in…maybe ever.
And fuck that.
The pan is full enough. There’s plenty of food in my house. We’re not about to go full Donnor party. She can have seconds. Hell, even the demon dog can too.
I shake my head, fill up my own plate for a second time, and glare at her until she starts eating again.
“Were you just nice to me?” she asks softly.
My eyes flick up, catch on those damned collarbones again. “No,” I mutter.
We fall silent—well, silent except for the sound of the dog’s slurping and our forks hitting the ceramic and the soft sigh she lets out when her plate is clear.
Somehow mine is too, so when she reaches out, says, “You cooked, I’ll do the dishes,” I let her take the plate and walk away from me.
“Who’s in the picture?” I blurt.
Like a fucking idiot.
She freezes, the plates hovering over the sink for a moment before she sets them in the basin and turns on the water, almost drowning her out when she says, “My ex-boyfriend and my sister.”
There’s way too much information in that short sentence, in those few words.
They’re screaming out for someone to ask more about them—for me to ask since I’m the only one here. But I can’t bring myself to actually form the words.
Then I don’t need to.
“I found them together in my bed,” she whispers.
I blink. Because that is pretty much the last thing I expect her to say.
“Yesterday afternoon.”
I blink again.
Okay, I stand corrected. That is pretty much the last thing I expect her to say.
“I went home early because I got fired—”
Fuck.
“And there they were, naked and having such a good time that they didn’t notice me.
” All the while, the water is running and Nova is scrubbing at the dishes and her shoulders are going higher and higher, creeping toward her ears.
“The lease wasn’t in my name,” she whispers and I have to move closer to hear the rest of her words, “so I went back this morning, packed my stuff, and left.” She turns her head to the side.
“There’s no point staying where I’m not w-welcome. ”
It’s that break in her voice that does it.
I reach past her, turn off the water, and do something supremely stupid.
I pull her into my arms and I hug her.
She sniffs but doesn’t do as I half expect—doesn’t burst into tears, doesn’t collapse against me, doesn’t do the typical M.O.
of a hysterical woman. She just stands there in the circle of my arms for eight seconds (exactly eight because I’m counting) and then she awkwardly pats my back once before stepping away, head turned to the side, eyes diverted. “Right,” she says. “That was weird—”
I scowl, nape going hot, stomach twisting.
“And unexpectedly nice.” She clears her throat, keeps her gaze turned away as my scowl deepens. “Thanks.” Her voice drops. “I’ll just finish the dishes and—”
A yawn.
Getting late.
Thank God.
The sooner this night is over the better.
Because it means she’s another moment closer to getting the fuck out of my house, leaving me to my peaceful existence that’s devoid of women—which means it’s also devoid of the trouble and drama and bullshit they like to sprinkle into my life.
I have friends who are happily paired off, and once I thought that might be my future too.
But I’ve learned.
That shit isn’t real.
There are always hooks and barbed wire and concrete shoes and fucking angst.
My mom taught me. Olivia—
Well, she could have taught my mom more than a few things.
Luckily, I learned that fun little tidbit about her in time. And just like with hockey, I fix shit and never repeat my mistakes.
Never.
Olivia’s gone.
My mom lives on the opposite coast—thus, is relegated to occasional phone calls and surprise visits.
So, my friends can enjoy their delusions of grandeur when it comes to happily ever afters and fidelity and relationships that last longer than a viral TikTok.
I’ll enjoy my peace—
“Woof!”
However much of it I can carve out, anyway. I glare at the tiny demon, but instead of growling at me or attempting to gnaw off my ankle for a second time, he just sniffs at my foot and licks my sock.
Apparently, the key to the tiny demon’s heart is food.
He’s still ugly.
And an asshole.
I grab the rest of the dishes, help her load them into the dishwasher and then stand there awkwardly as she dries her hands on a paper towel. “Do you have a leash?” I ask when she flicks her eyes to mine and away for the fourth time.
Her brows draw together. “Why?” she asks suspiciously.
“The demon has to go out and do dog stuff before bed, doesn’t he?”
Her expression clears. “Oh,” she whispers. “Right. It’s—” She moves to a duffle that’s full of toys and extracts a leash and harness, clipping both on Steve with no small amount of effort. Apparently, the little asshole likes his walks.
“If you go through the garage,” I tell her, “there’s a side door that has a covered pathway where he can do his business.”
She frowns up at me.
“What?” I ask shortly.
“You’re being nice again,” she mutters, “and I don’t like it.”
Wow.
“You’ve known me all of a couple of hours.”
“Yeah,” she says. “And I think that’s told me enough.”
Jesus Christ.
“Just walk the dog or don’t,” I growl. “But I’m not cleaning it up if the demon shits or pisses in my house.”
Her deep green eyes on mine. “That’s more like the Lake I know.” She scoops up the end of Steve’s leash, turns away. “Come on, baby,” she croons.
And she walks out the door.
Swear to God, the tiny demon sticks his tongue out at me as he prances through the door behind her.