Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
Nova
Getting my dog to use Mother Nature as his bathroom is a struggle on a normal day.
Squirrels and shadows, wind picking up and sending a plastic bag crinkling across the road. Other dogs. Cars. Bikes. People. Kids. Frisbees. Anything is a distraction.
Add in snow falling rapidly, the flakes gathering into huge piles that are larger than Steve and are shifting in the cold wind that is cutting right through my clothes, and my pupper is not a happy camper.
He looks up at me and whines.
“We can’t go in until you use the potty,” I tell him.
He whines again, puppy eyes going even puppier, but I stand strong on this one. My pooch might be a pain in the butt who is energized by causing trouble, but I refuse to let him get away with using the bathroom anywhere but outside.
He can’t sit or roll over and he’s a terror on a leash who won’t give me his paw, even if I bribe him with a thousand treats, but he hasn’t had an accident inside since he was four months old.
That streak isn’t ending today.
Mostly because I don’t want to see what Lake’s eyes will look like if Steve leaves him that kind of present.
I mean, I kind of do because Lake brings out the devil in me.
But my dog parenting standards can’t be put aside just because I want to bust someone’s chops.
Tempting though, especially when Steve looks at the snow falling and then back at me and whimpers softly.
I shore up my spine, put on my grumpy face, and say, “I’m not budging, love bug. We can stand here and turn into popsicles, but you have to go to the bathroom outside.”
Steve moans, but he finally stops shooting those puppy dog eyes my direction and starts sniffing at the pile of snow.
Eventually, he does his business and shivering, we make our way inside. I stomp my snow off as we go, trying my best to not make a mess inside, considering the man doesn’t have furniture or rugs and apparently uses towels without washing them first.
Speaking of that, I let Steve off his leash and move the towels to the dryer.
Then I walk back into the kitchen.
And…this is where I ran out of steam.
Because the man didn’t have any furniture. Not a rug. Not a couch. Not a corner-mounted dinette set I can curl up in. No furniture in the common areas of the house or in the rooms. No furniture anywhere…except his bedroom.
Well, shit.
I nibble at my lip, decide that I’ll wait for the towels to dry and make myself a nest in front of the fireplace with my clothes and those warm towels.
Steve will cuddle up with me and maybe I can convince the grumpy Lake to let me borrow a pillow.
He has about twenty of them on that giant bed of his.
Okay, great.
Good plan.
I nod to myself, start to take a step forward, and—
“He do his business?”
My head jerks toward the hall, watching Lake walk toward me like he’s the hero in a teen romantic movie, shirtless, muscled, and no way he’s under eighteen or what I’m feeling should send me straight to hell.
Then he’s standing a couple of feet away from me, the overhead lights gilding his skin, turning him into a Greek statue.
I exhale when he stops, bending to scoop up Steve, who’s apparently tabled his aggression toward Lake and starts kissing his chin.
Lake scowls, holds him away. “You were licking up your own vomit not that long ago, dude,” he says. “I don’t want kisses.”
Steve squirms as he tries to get closer.
Likely because he’s now identified Lake as another potential source of food.
Hazel eyes come back to mine, a dark brow lifts. “Yeah,” I say, “he did his business.”
A nod. “Good. Come on.”
He turns, starts walking back across the room, Steve still in his arms. I watch him go for a moment—because, holy hell, the back view is as good as the front—but then I realize he’s walking away from me again with Steve in his arms.
For all that the man calls my dog a demon, he certainly walks off with him a lot.
“Wait,” I say, hurrying after them. “Where are you—”
But Lake’s already at the far end of the hall, walking through the wide door of his bedroom by the time I start making my way to the mouth of the opening.
“I—” I whisper before breaking off with a shake of my head, hurrying after them, walking into the bedroom, and stopping.
Not because Steve is making trouble.
He hasn’t stolen a pair of underwear, hasn’t crawled under the bed.
He’s currently turning circles at the foot of the bed, getting comfortable in that quintessential dog way—spinning around and around, digging in the blankets, spinning some more, and then finally collapsing with a huff.
Lake shakes his head then disappears behind a door while I stand there, flat-footed and on edge, wondering what’s come over him. The last thing I expected is for him to offer me up his bed—and certainly not without a lick of a complaint.
Perhaps Steve is growing on him.
Or, more likely, he feels sorry for me.
I pause, toes digging into the soles of my shoes, not liking that thought at all, hating how it makes me feel, but I don’t have much time to sit in that shame because then Lake is out from behind that door, walking across the room, his arms full of blankets.
“I can’t let you give me your bed,” I say softly.
He stops, frowns. “Who says I’m giving you my bed?”
Now I frown. He’s got blankets in his arms and my dog is settled in his bed and he told me to follow him down the hall.
If I’m not sleeping in his bed then what the hell am I doing standing here?
“I—” My gaze goes from Steve, already snoring, to him, his arms full of blankets, and back to the bed. “No one, I guess,” I whisper.
He tilts his head to the side then shakes it as though I’m the most confounding creature on the planet—and I suppose to him, I am. He drops the armful of blankets and sheets onto the bed and turns to fully face me, frown deepening, hazel eyes sparking.
“You think you’re going to sleep in my bed.”
“I—” I shake my head again. “Never mind. I’ll just grab Steve and—”
“You’re not sleeping in it,” he says.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Reading that loud and clear—”
It’ll be me and my clothes and towels and maybe Steve if I can coax him from the bottom of the bed.
Fine.
Whatever.
I can deal.
I always do.
I start to turn away.
“We’re sharing.”