QUINN
The next dayI arrive at Jack’s house to an eerie stillness that isn’t typical for a weekday morning. The usual sounds of him up and about preparing to leave for work are absent when I enter through the front door.
I make my way to the laundry room first, plagued by a sense of anxious dread that I can’t shake. Part of my routine is to take care of Kronk before I switch over to nanny duties, but the dog crate that we agreed to keep in here is empty.
I open the back door and quickly scan the yard. My perusal pauses when my eyes land on where I left Kronk’s food and water bowls a few days ago. The utilitarian setup has been replaced with a white oak dog feeding station shaped like a fucking bone. His silver bowls are nestled in their respective openings and I have to do a double take because, for the love of all things canine, there is a literal battery-operated clip-on fan attached to the edge. Despite how ridiculously heartwarming this would be any other time, the yard is also empty, and a lump forms in my throat.
I suck in a deep breath and try to center myself; I am overreacting, this is just my anxiety. Jack probably took Kronk for a walk, it’s fine. Not something he has done before that Iknow of, but it is the only explanation I can think of that doesn’t make me want to cry.
I can’t settle until I know for sure, so I race quietly up the stairs and peek into Sienna’s room to find her still asleep in her crib. That helps none at all because Jack wouldn’t have left her alone to walk Kronk, so there’s a solid chance that Kronk somehow figured his way out of the fence. My heart beats wildly at the possibility of that.
It likely goes beyond a comfortable level of propriety, but I close Sienna’s door and make my way to the end of the long hallway where I know Jack’s bedroom is. I’m in such a panic I forget to knock and realize a second too late that he could be naked or something in here, fresh out of the shower since itistime for him to leave for work soon.
That’s not what I find.
Jack is sprawled out on top of his big, poofy comforter, Kronk laying on his arm with his head on a freaking pillow. There is a puddle of drool by his snout, and neither of them stirs.
My dog is apparently not a very good guard dog. That coupled with the fact he’s never met a stranger he didn’t consider his best friend should probably be cause for concern.
I am not sure who I am more jealous of; Jack because he is sleeping with my dog—which is something I have never been able to do—or Kronk because he’s pressed against Jack’s hard, shirtless body.
My gaze wanders over the shelves of books that line the walls. Most catch my attention with their bland titles, centered around criminal psychology, serial homicide, and other macabre subject matter. Probably not bland for someone who doesn't study those types of things day in and day out, but very fitting given Jack’s profession.
I can’t help but wonder if he ever reads for pleasure and if he does, what type of books he’s interested in. It’s probably notwerewolf erotica, but I’m sure we have other things in common. Maybe Poe? I am versatile like that.
The sound of Sienna’s morning babbles fills the room through the monitor on his nightstand, and my eyes are drawn to the thing next to it that looks suspiciously like a sex toy. This suspicion is confirmed by the bottle of lube next tothat, and I did not need to know what type of assistance my professor uses when he strokes his cock.
This is not an image I need in my head, and I am going to replace it with something more savory.
As soon as I think of what that might be that would suffice.
Sienna’s cute baby sounds are more than enough to wake him. He is bleary-eyed as he attempts to sit up in bed and realizes Kronk is still passed out on his arm. He spots me witnessing their entanglement and is momentarily surprised.
“I thought you’d be up by now and panicked when I couldn’t find Kronk. I’m sorry, I’ll just—” I start to step out, but at the sound of his name Kronk pops up and hops off the bed to come to my side.
Jack rubs his eyes, then gives me a sleepy, sheepish look. “I felt so bad for him sleeping in that crate, all uncomfy with no pillow.”
Jack loves hard, which is a scary thing because I’m growing attracted to more than just his looks. “He can’t have a pillow because he will eat it.”
“I know, I know. But he didn’t try to eat mine, so that’s a plus.” He slings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands, his corded hamstrings pulling my eyes directly to them because he’s only wearing boxers.
This is not helping me to stop imagining him touching himself.
Kronk tippy taps around my feet, signaling that he’s ready to go outside. “I’m going to let him out and I’ll grab Sienna.”
“Thanks, I’ve overslept.”
I would probably oversleep too snuggled up to this warm fuzzy boy. I scratch the top of Kronk’s head and turn to leave, but he has other plans.
He hops back up on the bed and off the other side, snatching the stroker from Jack’s nightstand and trotting back over to me with it like he wants to play fetch.
In his defense, it reallydoeslook like a dog toy. Maybe not one that Kronk has ever owned, since I usually buy him horse toys—those are the only ones he doesn’t destroy right away. But still, it definitely resembles a dog toy.
Jack panics, following quickly behind him, and when I instinctively go to snatch it from Kronk’s jaws, he grabs my bicep to try and stop me.
A sudden jolt of pain courses through my arm, causing a prickling sensation that lingers. I recoil from him, wondering why it hurts so much. I have a small raised scar near my shoulder from when I had a lipoma removed as a child. I don’t remember the surgery because it was very minor and so long ago. It has always been irritating, but never painful.
I try to hide the fact that anything is amiss because I don’t want him to feel bad for accidentally hurting me in his panic—it’s not like he grabbed me all that hard—but he isn’t paying attention anyway because now he’s playing tug of war with my dog and his sex toy is the rope.
