“You don’t mind, do you?” He asks, grabbing a spoon and dipping it in his cup before holding the phone in front of me. “I don’t want to be late for my call.”
I check the time on the wall clock. There’s still at least thirty minutes before we have to leave for the precinct as I’ve been asked to come in late today—something to do with overtime that I’m supposed to discuss with the chief around 3 this afternoon. If I go now, it might be awkward, especially knowing that it’sbeenawkward for the last couple of days.
One can’t simply have a hard on against your ass for two hours without it becoming weird in the following days. Maybe it wouldn’t beasweird if I could actually stop thinking about it. Dreaming about it. Fuckingfantasizingabout it.
Which Ihaveto. It’s got to stop.
I can’t be thinking about my brother’s best friend cock digging into myrear all the damn time. It’s not healthy for my poor brain, nor practical for my constantly soaked underwear.
But if I don’t go now, he might be looking for it. What if there’s an emergency and he needs to make a call? It’s already 11a.m, he might not remember he forgot itherein the first place. There’s a chance he had other appointments before or after coming here.
With a groan I turn around, snatching the phone from Jack’s hand. I grab my purse on the way to the door and drag my mumbling self the few feet separating the two houses.
I force myself to knock confidently and wait. One second. Two. Three. Ten.
I’m still counting in my head when the door opens and I’m almost shoved backward by a furry streak, only saved by an arm suddenly holding my waist.
The furry streak comes back, bumping against my legs and pushing me forward against the body attached to the saving arm.
And I yelp.
Yelp. Like a fucking damsel in distress.
“Go back inside, Matcha,” he scolds, now holding me with both arms. I feel the fur brushing my legs again before disappearing inside the house. “You okay?” Nate asks me, his voice now softer.
“I’m—”going to die if I don’t put some distance between us,“fine. I didn’t know you had a—” I lean to the side, watching the dog sit behind him, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, tail sweeping behind him happily. “A dog?”
Wait. I know that dog. It’s the Australian Shepherd I saw on that day I was running in the heat wave. The dog that was also the drawing that I still haven’t named. The drawing he looked at when Jack re-introduced us. Which means, Nate might have been the man I was ogling on that day, while rememberinghimfor the first time in ages.
“He’s not my dog,” Nate chuckles, the sound and air hitting my temple causing shivers to run down my spine. “I watch him three times a week for a patient of mine.”
Oh. That’s good. Maybe it wasn’t him playing fetch shirtless in the park. Maybe it was his owner.
The dog tilts his head to the side, studying us.
“Why are you here, Prudence?” Nate asks in a low voice, forcing my attention back on him.
Which is a bad move on my part. As I snap my face back towards him, my eyes land on his parted lips before lifting slowly to his eyes.
Curiosity. Surprise. Satisfaction?
I twist in his arms and he exhales a stuttering breath, letting me go.
“Your phone,” I say, lifting it slowly, still enraptured by the color of his eyes, the shape of his lips, his intoxicating smell.The memory of— “Hum,” I clear my throat, taking a careful step back. “Jack asked me to bring it back to you.”
He studies me, his eyes narrowing, jaw twitching.
“How thoughtful of him.”
My throat bobs.
From the corner of my eye, I see Matcha standing up and jumping, yapping with excitement towards us.
“Hey, my boy! Come here! Come here!”
On the street in front of the house, a cab has just parked. An old man calls for the dog from the back seat, his door open.
“Thank you for watching him,” he tells Nate as the dog rushes to join him. “We’re leaving for Florida in two days. Staying for a couple of months with family.”
