The conversation becomes background noise when I notice the same small dog coming my way. His little front paws lift on the edge of my recliner and he sniffs my thigh, before slipping down and walking to the end of the chair. After a second he jumps on top, bringing sand all over my feet—fuck!—and lays down, placing his head on my calf.
I stare at the tiny creature in disbelief, hating the feel of damp, dirty fur on my skin. In addition to the sand.
“Looks like Banner digs you, big guy.” Mel is beaming so sweetly at me that I can’t find the courage to gently, but firmly kick the dog off my chair and my body. But I would much prefer to have Mel between my legs right now. He’s only a couple of feet from me, and I want him closer. I want to pull him halfway onto my body and feel him breathing softly against my neck again. I wonder if I’m more affectionate with all men or just with Mel—since I’ve never really cared for PDA. Until now.
I find myself once more regretting the keep-it-hush-hushrule. Mel’s crazy hair is making my fingers tingle with the need to run through the silky strands. Not to fix, but to mess them even more while I fist them to keep his head where I want, on my…
“That’s weird. He’s usually wary and defensive around people. It took him a month to trust us,” Garret offers. Who? Oh, the dog. Right.
I shrug, focusing on the unwanted living blanket on my feet. Maybe the tiny dog simply doesn’t want to lie on the scorching sand. And I’m conveniently close. I can’t fault him for that.
“He just needs to find the right owner.” Mel aims a weird look my way. “Just like Alfred did.”
Garret snorts at his friend’s words.
“What’s the story with the cheeky bird?” I ask, tossing a bottle of water and a pack of cashew nuts Mel’s way. “Did you put on sunscreen?” I ask him, noticing how dark his nose is turning. I start looking around for his straw hat. When I find it under my chair, I pass him that, too. The sun is very strong at this hour, and Mel should be careful.
He nods and exchanges a quick glance with Garret before looking down at his crossed legs. He seems uncomfortable. Maybe he thinks Garret could find out about us? Because while Mel always flirts with me, I don’t usually fully acknowledge him. And today I invited him over and now I’m concerned about his wellbeing. But friends do that, right? We could be friends as far as Garret knows.
“Alfred’s owner died of a heart attack. They found the body the next day,” Mel replies. “Alfred was on top of him…”
“Eating his owner’s eyeball,” Garret interjects.
“What?” I ask, surprised by the creepy turn the conversation has taken.
“Would you stop saying that to everybody! And stop watching those horror movies, as well.” Mel chides, tossing a handful of nuts at him. The dogs at our feet go crazy, jumping up to dig their nose in the sand to eat them.
“Never.” Garret flips him off, giggling.
“As I was saying, Alfred was on top of the corpse, screaming like a banshee for help. A neighbor heard him and called the cops. The guy didn’t have a next of kin, so he was left at the shelter. He didn’t speak for six months. At least that’s what Nell told me.”
“It’s true. I was already volunteering at Paws and Growls, and I remember feeling sorry for the silent bird. Who would have thought he’d turn into such an Elton John.” Garret snorts again. His dark skin glistening under the sun. He’s wearing a black t-shirt even though it’s one hundred and four degrees out on the beach today. He keeps pulling the drenched fabric away from his sweaty torso with no intention of taking it off. And I can guess why. Because I’ve been in his shoes before. Well, I was four times as big as him. But being overweight, in a society with fucked-up standards, and especially around fit people, can really make you feel ashamed. And it shouldn’t. I have to admit that I feel better and healthier since I exercise and am more careful about what I eat. But if dieting and going to the gym make you feel miserable, what’s the point? Accepting yourself and your limits is what’s important. And if you can stretch those limits a tiny bit, too, good for you.
“I remember the first day at the shelter,” Mel says with a small smile on his lips. “I was cleaning the floor between cages, singing ‘It’s a Hard Knock Life.’” He pauses, glaring at Garret’s loud laugh.But really, that song, Pixie?“When Alfred suddenly yelledyou’re a bloody idjot.”
“He spotted you straight away.”
Mel throws more nuts, hitting his friend on the forehead.
“Ouch!”
Even I smile at his precise aim.
“One look and I was hooked.” Mel’s intense gaze zeroes in on me. And I know he’s not talking about the bird anymore. I shift slightly on the recliner, feeling hot all of a sudden and not because of the summer heat. Banner raises his head and after a quick glance around, he goes back to napping on my overheated leg. Ah. Yesterday I’d have run to take a shower, after thoroughly cleaning the recliner. Today? I endure it, like an annoying fly gliding around.Interesting.Still, now that I remember I can’t stop thinking about the sweaty fur touching me. The dirt sinking into my skin.No, I can’t do it.
I slowly move my leg till my foot is on the hot sand. The dog’s head drops on the chair, but he doesn’t move otherwise.
I slide my sandals on and grab the shirt I left on the back of the chair. When my eyes fall on Mel, he’s staring darkly at my pecs while gnawing at his lips. I want to suck on his plump mouth till it turns swollen. He finally looks up at my face, and I give him an intense gaze before heading toward the house, shrugging into the shirt as I go.
I hear a wolf whistle and when I turn, Mel is smirking smugly. Eyes on my ass. He’s such a pixie.
Earning a couple of hisses from the cats while stomping my feet on the welcome mat to get rid of the sand, I open and quickly close the back door. Can’t have those furry creatures roaming around my house. Just the thought almost makes me break out in a cold sweat.
In the kitchen, I wash my hands and grab the plates of chips, olives, and chicken sandwiches that I’ve prepared earlier. I hope Mel will like them. Lime sauce, lettuce, mango, and grilled chicken between two slices of a crunchy baguette. Perfection.
My mind wanders while I painstakingly set the food on the tray.
Remembering his fuck-me eyes and the smirk on his face makes me want to haul him over my shoulder and disappear into my bedroom. Wouldn’t ever think I have any cavemen tendencies. The possessiveness and attentiveness I feel for Mel are very unusual for me. And the attraction is damn explosive.
