Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 30528 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30528 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
“He doesn’t hate you,” I say. “You know, when I was a kid, we had a shepherd mix. The little shit chewed the legs off every table in the house and pissed on my pillow every morning for a month, and we still became the best of friends.”
She snorts, then blushes, embarrassed to be laughing in the middle of her meltdown. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I say, and let the puppy slobber all over my neck. He noses into the crook of my arm, hiccups, then goes limp. The whimpering dies down, then finally, miraculously, he falls completely quiet. “It’s just the transition. He’ll get used to it.” I say it because it’s true, but also because I want to fix things for her. Fix anything. Just to see her smile.
She lets out a shaky breath, nods, and then—very softly—reaches out and strokes the puppy’s head. Her fingers graze mine, and the heat between us makes the hair on my arms stand up.
“Thank you,” she says, voice small but clear. “You didn’t have to—”
I shake my head. “It’s nothing.”
She looks at me, really looks, and for the first time since I moved in, I feel like she’s seeing me for who I am. Not the grumpy bastard from 2H, but a person. Maybe even a friend. Maybe even more. Fuck. I’m losing my mind.
I look away, embarrassed, and take in the rest of her place.
There’s a lava lamp on the side table, slow globs floating up and down. There’s a pink velvet blanket draped over the couch, and a row of tiny ceramic foxes lined up on a shelf above the TV. Everything about the place is Iris—messy and bright, but somehow warm as hell.
The puppy snuffles and sighs, dead asleep in my arms. Iris hovers uncertainly, twisting a lock of hair around her finger.
“Should I… put him back in the crate?” she asks.
I nod, but gently, like I’m dealing with a bomb that could go off at any second. “Let’s try it.”
We tiptoe to the bedroom. Iris is nervous, radiating stress like a Wi-Fi signal. Her hands tremble as she opens the crate, but I’ve got the puppy tucked against my chest like a world-class football. I lower him in, bracing for a meltdown, but Buster just snuffles, turns a circle, and face plants on the blanket. He’s out cold. No drama. No beagle banshee wail.
We both just stand there. Staring. Like we’ve witnessed a legit miracle.
I turn to Iris, keeping my voice low. “Get some sleep. I’ll sit with him a while, just in case.”
She blinks, blue eyes wide and stunned. “You’d do that?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Somebody’s gotta have puppy duty.” I nod like it’s nothing, but the truth is, I want to. I want to watch over her. I want her to be able to rest while I attempt to figure out what the fuck is going on with me. Because the second I thought she was with another guy, something in me went berserk.
Not just jealous. Like, full-blown, Hulk-smash, rip-the-hinges-off-the-door crazy. The idea of any man making her cry out like that? No fucking way. It short-circuited every rational brain cell I had and left nothing but raw, primitive need. Mine. She’s mine. Even if I’m too much of a disaster to admit it out loud.
I’m done pretending. No other man will ever touch her except me.
Even if it kills me, I’ll get over my shit. Because there’s no way in hell I’m letting her slip away.
“Okay,” she whispers, and crawls into bed. I snag a chair from the corner and plant myself near the crate, close enough to hear the puppy’s every breath.
For a while, it’s silent. I sit there, hyperaware of the fact that she’s just a few feet away, curled up in her sheets, trusting me to keep things safe. Fuck. Things have really turned sideways, but I couldn’t be happier. Because for the first time since I moved in, the gnawing, edge-of-a-knife tension in my chest is just… gone. Poof. Like somebody cracked open a window and let out years of stale, recycled air. The second I decided, really decided, that Iris is mine, every muscle in my body unclenched, tension bleeding out until all that’s left is this wild, bone-deep relief.
I watch the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her shoulders as she drifts off. Her breathing slows, lips part, one hand tucked under her cheek like a little kid. She’s softer now, stripped of all the frantic energy she wears like armor during the day. In the yellowish glow of the lamp, she looks almost too delicate for this world.
There’s no more fighting it. No more pretending I don’t want her, or that I don’t care who she brings home or whether she’s safe. My only job now is to take care of her. Keep her, protect her.