So Good (An Alpha Dogs Novel)

by Nicola Rendell

  She’d said I was heaven when I was making her come. But no way. She was.

  20

  Rosie

  Things weren’t awkward anymore. We stood next to one another in the bathroom, brushing our teeth, staring at each other’s reflection in the mirror. I was in my nightie, a little soft pink cotton number I’d had forever, and he was in his lobster boxers. He reached over and gave my tush a pat, and a sudden cheek-pinching came over me, so powerful and so overwhelming that it made me dribble toothpaste foam out onto my chin. I wiped it away as fast as I could, trying to keep some semblance of sexiness intact.

  “What?” he asked around his toothbrush.

  I managed to close my mouth in time to stop any more foaming. I bit down on the oscillating brush, making the motor grind briefly before I unclenched my jaw and moved to my molars. I shook my head to say nothing.

  But he understood. I knew he did. Because he winked.

  He never winked. Never. He was a scowler and a brooder, and even sometimes a belly-laugher if I got his funny bone just right, but not once in my life had he ever winked at me. And I loved it. Like a brand-new secret language I never knew we could speak.

  In my teeny bathroom, with the Batman flower on the ceiling, everything was in sync. I spat out my toothpaste and rinsed, and then washed my face as he spat out his toothpaste and rinsed his brush in the tap. I watched him with one of my hand towels pressed to my face, so I was looking over the top of the terry cloth fold. “I like this a lot,” I said, my voice muffled by the towel.

  He swished his mouthwash and spat into the sink. He rinsed his mouth out with a handful of water. “Fuck. So do I.”

  “A lot, a lot,” I said, still into the towel.

  He wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah. Times a thousand.”

  Together, for the first time ever, we crawled into bed like a couple. Last night we’d been in bed, but this was different. This was a simple ritual that felt as important as any of the rest of the magic. We’d gotten Julia situated in her cat basket on the other side of the room, and she was out cold. I’d conceded on one tiny cube of SPAM, and now she was acting like a junkie who was sleeping off her fix. I slipped my legs under the sheets and felt Max’s weight depress his half of the bed. I tried to memorize everything about him so I could fill my dreams with him before I turned off the lamp—his chest, his thighs, his treasure trail, his face—but just as I was putting my fingertips to the ridged knob on the lamp, he said, “Rosie. C’mon.”

  I swallowed hard. My thighs were still wobbly. I didn’t even know if I could do it again. I hadn’t come that hard in years, and certainly not twice in one day. But, glancing down at the covers, I knew I was more than willing to try. “Animal,” I said. “Bring it.”

  He made a snap with his tongue, like he was annoyed. “I’m not talking about that—but so help me God, I won’t be able to stop myself in the night, so get ready.”

  “’Kay,” I said, through a sort of sultry gasp. I was so used to his voice, but I wasn’t used to the way he was talking to me now. Get ready. “I’m yours for the taking.”

  He answered that with a low and vulgar, “Fuuuuuuck,” that made my toes curl. “But that’s not what I’m asking. What I want to know is where’s Peter Rabbit?”

  No. I would not do this. I survived last night without him, I could do it again. Having to wear my bite guard was going to be awkward enough. Peter Rabbit was out of the question. “I outgrew him years ago. Same year I finished with the headgear.”

  Max glared and pouted in this manly, dreamy way. “Bullshit.”

  For a long second, we stared at one another. His breathing was regular and steady. Mine was accompanied by a slight whistle from one of my nostrils.

  “Ante up, beautiful. Where is he?”

  I figured I could continue on the too sexy for Peter Rabbit path for a while, but truth be told, I wasn’t totally sure I could sleep another night without him. I’d never slept without him. I even stuck him in my carry-on when I traveled so he didn’t get shipped off to some far-away airport, leaving me to a night of tossing and turning while I pretended my pillow was Peter Rabbit, which it most definitely was not.

  Or, I could just come clean. I had no intention of this being the last night he stayed with me, and I had no idea how I was going to keep it a secret. I couldn’t exactly sneak the occasional snuggle when I was unconscious. I had visions of waking up with both Peter Rabbit and Julia on my face. Oh, the romance.

  But it seemed it wasn’t going to be my decision to make. Max narrowed his eyes and plunged his hand down behind the mattress, between the bed and the wall. I made a halfhearted attempt to stop him but got swept away in the glint of his eyes in this dim light and the girth of his forearms. Max emerged victorious, with Peter Rabbit in hand. Missing an ear. Missing a leg. Threadbare.

  I felt an embarrassed hot blush creep up on my cheeks. I mean, what thirty-four-year-old woman sleeps with a stuffed animal, for God’s sake?

  “Do you think it’s silly?” I asked, glancing down at Peter.

  “I think everything about you is perfect, down to this rabbit,” he said and tucked it in next to me. “There.” He leaned over to kiss me as he reached across me to turn off the light.

  Darkness fell over the room, and the warmth of his thigh pressed against mine. “Thank you. For everything. All the time.”

  His hand gripped mine hard. It said you’re welcome and thank you and this is all so freaking joyful there are no words. For a minute, maybe more, we just lay there, side by side, hand in hand, until finally Max rolled toward me, said, “You be the little spoon,” and pulled the sheets up over us.

  21

  Max

  I was still the big spoon the next morning. In my arms, Rosie was tucked up in a little ball. My body curved along hers, and my chin was just above her shoulder. I pulled her into me, banking 50/50 that my morning wood would wake her up. Kind of hoped it did, kind of hoped it didn’t. But she was sound asleep, deep in a dream so intense I could see the worry on her face. Peter Rabbit was smashed between her body and her arm, his ear folded down over his face. I watched her for a while, as the sun came up, and as Julia stretched and tugged at the carpet with her claws. I thought about the things I didn’t know about Rosie—what she dreamed about, what she wanted, what she hoped to have in the future. So much shit we’d never really had to discuss. Plans. Big ideas. Fears.

  Life. I wanted to know what she wanted out of life.

  I knew all about the little stuff that filled up the days. What annoyed her, what made her laugh. But the big stuff, the movie poster version of her future? I thought I knew. But I wasn’t sure.

  Project one: Figure all that out. Everything. Every last detail that was Rosie Madden. Everything that made the sweetheart tick.

  But also on the docket, I realized as my stomach growled, was project two: Breakfast. The growling was pretty intense, loud enough to make Julia’s ears move. No way was I letting it wake up Rosie. So I got out of bed and pulled on my boxers, adjusting my balls, and making sure the stallion stayed in the barn. She really was making an animal out of me. My usual morning wood was nothing compared to this. But I tucked my cock under my waistband and pulled myself together. As I opened the bedroom door, Julia made a kamikaze dive for freedom, but I picked her up in the nick of time. She hadn’t met Cupcake yet, and I figured that introduction was best made in a more strategic way than her thumping down the stairs and attaching herself to the dog crate like something out of a cartoon. So I gave her a good scratch on her back, lulling her into docile slowness, and slipped from the bedroom. As I headed down the hallway, I heard her thump her nose against the door and let out a low and disappointed grunt.

  Even before I saw her, I knew Cupcake was having a drink of water, using the water bottle I’d installed in her crate—the sort of thing that looked designed for the world’s biggest hamster. I heard the gentle rolling of the ball bearing in the tube, and the sound of her lapping up
the droplets. But as soon as the last stair squeaked under my foot, she stopped. I came around the sofa, and she started spinning circles in her crate, her claws scratching the plastic as she pushed her blankets aside.

  “Heyyyy!” I whispered, getting down on my knees. She launched herself at the crate door, licking the metal, and then tumbled out into my lap when I opened the latch. She scrambled up my knees and climbed as high as she could onto my chest. I bent down for a whole smattering of dog kisses. Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss. Even up the nostrils. OMG, OMG, OMG!

  “You need to go out, little lady,” I told her. She rolled onto her back in my lap, and I gave her a tiny raspberry on her stomach, which just made her go into crazier wiggles and squirms. I scooped her up and cradled her with one arm as I stood. “You think you’ll be okay off your leash?” I asked her. I even waited. For an answer.

  I really was just so freaking whipped.

  She did look like she was thinking about it, like she was listening hard for a word she knew. I set her down on the rug and asked, “Wanna go for a walk?”

  And she exploded in a crazy two-legged dance, like one of those poodles on YouTube that dances around in a tutu.

  But before I ventured out there with her unleashed, I wanted to be sure. I told her to sit, and she did. I told her to stay and then turned my back on her to start the hot water kettle. She didn’t move a muscle. She made a huffing whine, the way Rosie did when the ice cream shop was out of pistachio. Come onnnnnnnnnn.

  Still, though, it was risky. Cupcake had gotten away from her owners somehow, and it seemed like I’d be the worst foster dad in the world if I put her in danger in the Maine woods, too. So rather than chance it, I grabbed her harness. I put her on the arm of the couch, and I suited her up, maneuvering one funny little leg between the straps and then the other. I clipped it tight, hooked on the leash, and took her outside. The sun was brilliant, the day was perfect. Cupcake sniffed a little patch of grass by a bed full of peonies and then squatted to pee.

  I looked up at Rosie’s window and saw Julia watching us. I gave her a respectful salute, and she swished her tail.

  Back inside, I got Cupcake’s breakfast ready and served it to her in a little soup bowl. I refilled her water and checked my phone to see if the vet had called. I was so fucking relieved that they hadn’t, I felt a sting in my nostrils. I watched her gobble up her breakfast and told myself over and over, Don’t get attached. Do not get fucking attached.

  She crunched away on some kibble and looked up at me as she chewed. She stopped mid-crunch, and a piece of kibble fell out of her mouth onto her foot, which startled her. She jumped and skittered, she bounced into the cabinet and smacked her face on the front of the dishwasher.

  Too late. Too fucking late.

  To divert my thoughts from the agony of having to give her up, I focused on the most immediate task. I found a tray next to the fridge. On that, I put a glass of water and a glass of orange juice. I toasted two slices of bread and put on a thick coating of peanut butter. I even found a little vase in the vitamin cabinet, so I rinsed that out and filled it halfway with water. I actually had no fucking idea how to even really set a table, but I did my best. I lined up the fork and knife and made sure she had a spoon for a coffee.

  I grabbed scissors from the drawer with the rubber bands and was just about to step outside when I saw a piece of paper thumbtacked to the little board over the hook where Rosie hung her purse. Something about it, the fact that it was folded in half, maybe, told me it was something she didn’t want me to see. Something important, judging from where she’d stuck it, but something worrisome, too. Right next to it was her car insurance reminder—that kind of an important bummer. I lifted the corner of the folded page and saw that the handwriting was hard, and in all caps. Repair northwest gutter leak. Wet rot on trim, see drawing. The inspection results.

  I removed the thumbtack and opened it up. It was bad. Not exactly a surprise, but still a fucking pisser. It was an inspection report that would’ve driven me to a night-long bender, so I didn’t blame Rosie for not telling me—it wasn’t exactly an inspection anybody would want to get ever, especially not if you were trying to sell your place, and quick.

  I scanned through the notes. This guy Bremmer hadn’t fucked her over, which was a damned good thing for his sake. But even without talking to her, I knew there was no way she could cover these repairs on her own. The little stuff, even more than the big stuff, would add up quicker than she’d imagine. The repairs I’d made so far had helped, but there was still a shitload to be done. Some of it I couldn’t do myself, like the foundation repair. She was also way too fucking proud to just straight up take my money, even if I did want to play general contractor for her.

  Carefully, I repinned the sheet back on the board and went out to snip a rose for her as I thought about what to do. It was in full bloom, a bright pink, absolutely fucking beautiful. Just like her. Almost too pretty to believe. With the rose in hand, I went back into the kitchen and placed it in the vase. I measured out a few scoops of coffee into a French press and added boiling water and then waited for the grounds to brew.

  She wouldn’t take my money, but she might agree to something else. A week ago, I’d have gone soft and gentle. But now, I knew her better. And now, I wasn’t going to take no for an answer. So I pushed down the plunger on the French press, picked up the tray, and headed upstairs.

  22

  Rosie

  Breakfast. In. Bed. It was right up there on the list of It’ll never happen to me moments, along with late-night skinny dipping and one-kneed marriage proposals. But this was almost better. Because I was pretty sure I could smell…coffee. Yes. Plus…

  Peanut butter!

  Max walked softly across my bedroom. I could tell he was being quiet—he was a big guy, he worked with lumber for a living, he didn’t exactly go softly-softly from scene to scene in his life. But he was being quiet for me. Which was just lovely. Cups on saucers rattled. I felt him set down a tray and push it across the sheets. Then I heard his footsteps come around to my side of the bed. I did my very best to keep my face neutral; I focused on my breathing and just hoped this moment would last and last. He moved my bangs aside and softly touched his thumb to my cheek. It was so tender, so unspeakably beautiful, that I swallowed hard. I couldn’t help it. Total reflex. Like being tickled, but instead of laughing I just sort of…melted.

  “There she is,” he said quietly. I opened my eyes as he sat down on the bed next to me, still fussing with my hair.

  I blinked hard against the sun. “What time is it?”

  Max raised his eyebrow and glanced at the tray. “Breakfast time. How’d I do?”

  I turned my head and looked at the tray. There was a place mat under the plate so it didn’t slide, a napkin folded carefully in half. A rose in a bud vase. Coffee. Sugar cubes. Be still my beating heart. “You’re a natural.”

  “You make it easy.” He handed me a piece of peanut butter toast. “But listen, about the house…”

  Well, there went that fantasy. I jammed my toast in my mouth, at the same instant I tried to protest. “Can’t we save this?” I sputtered. “For, you know, never?”

  Max scratched the side of his neck. “Nope. Here’s how I figure it. You got that inspection report, and you were just going to let that info drip-drip-drip so I wouldn’t worry, right?”

  I shook my head hard and covered my mouth, “No, I was going to figure out a way to pay for it and then start the drip-drip-drip.”

  From under the place mat, Max produced the document in question, all crinkly from Bremmer’s sweaty hands and slightly smudged with his hair paint. It looked like a mechanic had manhandled it after trying to fix an engine. Sorta. “This is a lot of repairs,” Max said. He rubbed the brownish smudge and looked at his fingers.

  “I’m not sure what that is.” I was trying really hard to sound totally clueless. “Any guesses? Engine oil? Some sort of sauce?”

  “Don’t change the subject.”


  Fine. Fine. I took the page from him and held it up. Pinprick holes from Bremmer’s ballpoint made the letters look like Braille in the sunshine. It listed so many required repairs that the sheer scale of the inspection report had trickled through my attempts at controlling my dreams—I’d tried so hard to focus on Max, but instead I saw Frank Bremmer, writing things like Insurance Fraud: America’s Pastime Since 1776!, and on the line where he was supposed to write whether or not the house had passed inspection, he’d written, LOLOLOL.

  I finally finished my square of toast and busied myself with a slice of apple. “I’ll figure it out. Easy-peasy. Don’t worry about me.”

  Max shook his head slowly. “No dice. The minute you let me have you, it became my job to worry about you.”

  I bit down, but I was too awestruck to chew. “It did?” I said into the apple.

  He nodded. “And I think I can say this now because we’ve crossed all the lines, so I feel pretty confident that you aren’t gonna get all sassy with me if I overstep.”

  I chewed slowly as Max moved the tray off the bed, on top of a high dresser—too high for Julia by far.

  He turned to me with an aggressive yumminess in his eyes that I had seen a glimpse of in the fire last night, but I saw in a new way in the bright light of morning. The alpha I’d always known was there in full force. “Because you’re mine, I’m going to overstep. And you’re gonna let me, aren’t you?” He pulled the bedclothes off of me so that I was naked. He cupped his cock and balls and then pulled his boxers down with his other hand. He was just so perfect I could not even. Girthy, too. Not only long but very, very girthy. He stroked himself a few times. “Answer the question, kitten.”