But before I have a chance to satisfy the urge, Chloe blinks away the tears and checks the contents of the saucepan. “So, how’s the couch working for you? I really feel bad taking your bed.” She dumps the parsley into the pot.
“Don’t be.”
“I can sleep on the couch. I fit it better.”
“Yes, but you’re the guest.”
She returns the lid to the saucepan. “More like your fake girlfriend who’s here for protection from the bad guys. That’s hardly a guest.”
“It’s really okay.”
“How about we alternate nights? You get your bed tonight, and I get the couch.” She has that tone I recognized from Isabelle. It’s her don’t-even-bother-trying-to-argue tone.
I ignored it. “Look, tell you what, once I grow tired of sleeping on the couch, I’ll let you know.”
She opens her mouth.
“I’ve made my decision,” I say before she can object.
“God, are you always this stubborn?”
“I like getting my own way.”
“I can see that.” She looks over at the living room, and a small frown furrows her brow. “Where’s Whiskey?”
I follow her gaze and quickly scan the area. “Good question.” A scowl takes up residence in my tone.
We both search the living room.
It doesn’t take long to find him; you just need to follow the trail of stuffing spewed across the hardwood floor.
He and what was once a couch cushion are having a wrestling match in the foyer, and the cushion isn’t coming out the winner.
“No, Whiskey,” I say in a firm tone.
He ignores me, attempting to get his teeth into cushion again. He chomps onto the corner and drags it backward, almost colliding with the side table.
“Whiskey, drop.”
Again, he ignores me, and I grunt.
Chloe laughs softly next to me. I scowl at her, which makes her laugh harder.
She bites her lower lip, holding in her laugh. “Sorry,” she whispers, attempting to arrange her face in a serious expression but failing spectacularly.
She walks over to the puppy. “No, Whiskey.” She disengages what’s left of the cushion from his mouth. “We don’t chew on pillows.”
Whiskey barks at the cushion as she takes it away and hands me the drooled-on remnants. “I hope this didn’t have any sentimental value.”
“I’ll live,” I grumble, throwing the little troublemaker a stern glare.
Grinning a puppy smile, he wags his tail, not at all threatened by my expression.
15
Chloe
A playerfrom the opposite team slams into Landon, sandwiching my fake boyfriend between the plexiglass and himself.
