by J. M. Stone
Luke laughed and shook his head at us. “You’re gonna let that bozo ink you?” he asked, jokingly. “Come on, we all know that I’m the better artist here,” he said, shooting a mocking look at Brandon.
Brandon scowled in mock anger and dropped one arm from me long enough to punch his brother in the arm. Luke just laughed again and walked back to his office, saying, “I’ve got some paperwork and inventory to do. You kids behave, you hear?”
“Dick,” Brandon muttered under his breath, leaning in and pecking my lips once more. “Whatcha think?”
“Mmmm,” I murmured against his lips. “I think you could just kiss me for the next hour…” I sighed.
He chuckled and pushed me back. “I’d love to be able to do that, baby, but I think Luke would probably get jealous.”
We waited for his next client, bantering back and forth with Luke and Emma, who’d come back to the shop lugging a box of tacos from Taco Bell. Luke had muttered under his breath about her obsession with the restaurant, giving Emma an innocent look when she glared at him and dared him to say another word.
I sat with Emma when Luke and Brandon both had to go back with clients, talking and laughing until they were done. When they closed the shop up, Luke and Emma headed home and Brandon and I headed to dinner.
Chapter 13
The next couple of weeks settled into a routine. My days were spent working or hanging out with the girls, and my nights were filled with Brandon. It still seemed so surreal to me to think that we were together, that we had moved beyond friendship into something more.
He’d been so attentive, and the sex? Off the charts, HOT.
I’d been hanging out more and more with Emma and Allie because Leah had been seeing Ian non-stop since the night she met him. He’s seems to be good to her and she’s so stupidly giddy every time she talks about him, which is the only reason I don’t smack her silly for abandoning her best friend. Of course, since Brandon and I got together, too, I was guilty of the same thing.
But who could blame me? Just this morning he woke me up with his mouth kissing every inch of my body and didn’t stop until my eyes were crossed and I thought my toes would never uncurl.
A snuffle at my feet caught my attention and I looked down to see Grady sitting, pretty as you please, in front of me. Allie and Jackson were going to Cincinnati for the night (for real, this time), so they’d asked me to keep Grady. It was Saturday, Allie’s mom, Daisy, was watching the store today, and it’s closed on Sunday, so they weren’t coming back until morning to get him. I didn’t mind, but I’d made sure they brought his crate this time.
His furry little face was so angelic that I had to smile. Then, I shit you not, he opened his mouth and grinned at me, just like his father does! I laughed at him, but it died pretty quickly when I realized he had the remnants of something that looked suspiciously like a bar of soap stuck all through his teeth.
“Grady…” I sighed. Then, so I could pull him closer to see what it was, I cooed, “And just what did you get into, boy? Huh? Did you find my shameful stash of hotel soaps?”
He wiggled in my hands and yipped in excitement, so I picked him up, muttering at the fact that he’d grown and definitely gotten heavier. He was probably closing in on fifteen to twenty pounds now and came to my knees. His paws were roughly the size of saucers (okay, maybe not quite that large) and I figured he would probably be as big, if not bigger, than his furry father.
When his face got close to mine, he licked my cheek and, without even having to inspect the contents of his teeth, I knew without a doubt it was soap. His breath smelled rather fresh…in a soapy-clean way. He wiggled again so I put him down and trudged down the hallway toward the bathroom, dreading the mess I would find. Sure enough, there was a trail of ripped wrappers and three little soap cakes either crumbled up completely or bearing gnaw marks. My floor was also pock-marked with a half-dozen or so little puddles of shampoo and conditioners because, apparently, the plastic bottles were tasty, too.
“How the hell did you get into the cabinet, you little shit?!” I asked him, conversationally. He gave a small whine in response and bounded out of the bathroom as I started cleaning up. I closed the door to the cabinet under the sink, where he’d managed to Houdini it open somehow and drag out the basket I’d had stashed under there.
When I closed it, I realized that a curling iron I’d shoved under the sink had shifted, blocking the door from shutting all the way. It left a very small gap, but it was enough to let the little demon dog worm his nose inside until he was able to get his head in.
I cleaned up the mess, shaking my head and muttering the whole time. I’d just finished when I heard a shout and then pounding feet as Brandon raced down the hallway, hollering for me.
“Chloe! There’s something wrong with Grady!” He sounded frantic, which made me panic, because I didn’t even think about the fact that he ate soap…God, what could that do to his little belly? I jumped up and raced out the door, meeting him halfway down the hall.
Brandon was holding the pup under his furry armpits, dangling him in front of him. I stopped, my alarm giving way to uncontrollable laughter, even though I knew it was not a good time for it. I couldn’t help it, though.
Apparently, Grady had gotten a drink from his bowl in the kitchen and the water, mixed with the soap bits stuck in his teeth and agitated by his lapping, created a lovely, frothy white beard of bubbles that was dripping down his doggy chin like a deranged, soapy Santa. His tongue was lolling from his mouth, and he was still wearing his goofy puppy-grin, like he didn’t have a care in the world.
“He’s foaming at the mouth…he has rabies or some shit! What the fuck is going on? Why are you laughing?” Brandon shouted at me.
I laughed even louder, clutching my stomach, unable to form words as tears streamed from my eyes because, as he was yelling at me, Grady belched, a lovely, bottom-of-the-gut burp that gurgled from his mouth. With that burp, a perfect soap bubble sailed out into the air, floating over my head to pop on the wall behind me.
Brandon glared at me. “Jesus, Chloe. Can you stop laughing long enough to tell me what the hell is going on?”
I wiped my eyes and, still chuckling, took the dog from him. I carried him back into the bathroom and grabbed a towel to wipe his face, explaining to Brandon what happened while I did.
“Oh.”
That’s all I got for a reply until he said, “Is it gonna make him sick? Did he eat it all?”
My concern returned and I glanced into the trash can where I’d deposited the crumbled soap pieces. “I don’t know. I don’t think he ate much of it, just kinda crumbled it all up and chewed on it. I probably should call his vet to see. Do you know who they use?”
“They probably take him to Doc, same as everyone else. That’s where we take Doug and that’s where Emma and Luke take DJ now, too. I’ve got his number in my phone.” Brandon pulled his phone out and called the vet’s office as he walked out of the bathroom.
Grady, still in my arms, suddenly looked at me with a pained expression (yes, even dogs can look pained) and whined.
“What, boy? Does your tummy hurt?” I cooed to him softly, ruffling his fur. He whined again and I shifted him in my arms before placing him down on the floor. We headed out into the living room to find Brandon still talking on the phone.
“Yes…uh-huh…okay. Okay, thanks Shirley.” Brandon paused again, nodding as he listened to whoever Shirley was. “Well that doesn’t sound very pleasant…okay. Got it. Thanks again!” Brandon said as he hit end on his phone.
He looked at me and explained, “She double checked with Doc and he said that his stomach is probably going to be a little upset, but it won’t hurt him as long as no big chunks get lodged in his intestines, causing a blockage. She said that he probably will throw--”
His words cut off as Grady made a horrible hacking sound and then horked all over the carpet. We both stared in horrified disgust for a second until Brandon gagged and ran from the room.<
br />
“Hey!” I yelled after him.
“Gotta get to the shop, have a client!” was shouted back at me, followed by another gag. I heard the back door slam and shook my head in disbelief. He was off today, there was no client!
Grady was done spewing everything in his stomach all over my floor and sat watching me, wagging his tail in happiness once more.
I cleaned up the mess, thanking my lucky stars that I’d bought more carpet cleaner last time I’d gone to the store, and then checked my phone when it dinged. A bubbling, squelching, almost-empty-ketchup-bottle sound came from behind me and my heart sank as I read the text I’d just gotten from Brandon without turning around.
He’ll be fine, Doc said. He just will probably throw up, which you know already. He’ll also probably have the runs. If he doesn’t eat or drink and keeps getting sick, take him in. When are Allie and Jacks coming back?
I closed my eyes and groaned, knowing what I would find when I turned around…and it wouldn’t be pretty.
It wasn’t. Nor was anything else that came out of that poor dog for the next couple of hours. He acted completely normal between bouts, bounding around the yard until he had to hunch over for the soap to come out whichever end it decided to that time. Thank God it was a nice day because I had no choice but to stay outside. No way in hell was that happening on my carpet any more!
Four hours after the initial explosion, Grady had ceased his disgusting attack on my yard. I’d have to say the only upside to this whole fiasco was that his vomit didn’t stink. Instead, it smelled rather fresh, like…well, like soap.
I allowed him back inside finally and fixed myself some lunch, after I’d blocked him into the kitchen with me, of course. I didn’t want to take a chance in the event he decided to have more digestive pyrotechnics, but I figured if it happened, it’d be easier to clean off the tile than it would be to have to drag out the carpet cleaner every time. Fingers crossed, though, that he was completely done—that the soap had left the canine!
I was standing at the stove, stirring a pot of mac & cheese (the boxed kind, I was being lazy) when I heard the door open and keys being dropped on the front hall table.
“Is it over?” Brandon hollered cautiously.
Mentally high-fiving myself for my evil ingenuity/payback, I made a hacking sound in my throat a couple times, sounding like Grady had earlier, and then grinned when I heard Brandon gag.
“Aww, man…” he groaned and then gagged again.
I laughed out loud, giving away my game. I couldn’t help it; I’d finally found a weakness!
I saw him peek his head around the corner, his eyes darting around the room wildly to make sure he wouldn’t see anything gross. I kept laughing and stirring the noodles, still chuckling as I spooned one out to check for doneness.
“That was you?” he asked suspiciously.
I nodded gleefully and popped the noodle in mouth, happy to find it was done. I moved methodically around the kitchen, straining the water out, adding milk, butter, and the day-glo orange cheese powder as Brandon scowled at me.
“That wasn’t very nice,” he muttered.
I shrugged and grinned at him again. “Maybe not nice, but it was pretty funny,” I said smartly. “And speaking of niceness, why should I be nice to you when you weren’t nice to me?”
“What are you talking about?” he asked. “I was very nice to you this morning!” he said, deepening his voice and waggling his brows at me.
I rolled my eyes at him. “No, Cassanova, that’s not what I was talking about. Perv. I was talking about the fact that you lied to me. Seriously? A client?”
He rubbed his hand over the back of his head and sighed before shooting me a sheepish smile. “I panicked and it was the first thing I could think of.”
“Yeah, well, next time, you might keep in mind that we’d already had a whole conversation about you being off today.” I winked at him, letting him know that I wasn’t mad.
He peered over my shoulder as I spooned a healthy helping of mac & cheese into a bowl and then watched as I took a big bite. “Can I have some of that?” he asked.
“Nope,” I said succinctly.
“No?” he repeated, staring at me incredulously.
“That’s what I said,” I replied, taking another big bite.
“Why not?” he asked petulantly.
I walked by him and smacked him in the arm with my spoon, leaving an orange smear on his skin. He stood there gaping at me as I strolled into the living room and curled into my favorite spot on my couch.
He followed and leaned against the door frame between the kitchen and living room, crossing his arms over his chest. He motioned with his hand, an impatient gesture to indicate he was waiting for my answer.
“You were supposed to bring me breakfast this morning and, well…where’d it go?” I cocked my head at him, partly being a playful smartass, but also genuinely curious.
He’d left after Allie and Jacks had shown up to drop Grady off to go to McDonald’s because I was craving a bacon, egg, and cheese bagel. I’d let the pup into the house while I stood in the driveway talking to them, which is apparently when Grady had gone on his soap hunting expedition.
Brandon hadn’t been holding anything but ‘Santa-dog’ in his hand when he’d come back, and there’d been no bag on the counter, so what the hell?
He shot me a guilty look. “I went through the drive through and got everything. So I thought, anyway. I didn’t realize until I pulled into the drive that they’d forgotten to give me your frou frou coffee thing. I ran in to tell you before I went back up to get it because I didn’t take my phone with me and…well…”
“Well?” I asked, wanting the rest of it.
“Your bagel was good?” he said sweetly, the end of it rising like a question, giving him an innocent boyish air.
I gave him an evil look and asked, “And what about my frou frou coffee drink, as you so politely called it?”
“Uh…” he said, drawing it out. “I might have drank that, just a little bit.”
I gasped and then, glaring at him, spooned up another bite of macaroni, shoving it in and chewing as angrily as I could. Which was kind of hard to do. It’s hard to angry eat. I managed to knock the spoon against my front tooth when I shoveled another bite in and then scowled even harder when Brandon laughed his ass off at me.
He moved in front of me and leaned in, lightly kissing the scrunched up tip of my nose. “You’re so cute,” he said, smiling at me.
I smiled back at him, letting him know I wasn’t really mad (which he obviously was aware of…either that or I’m not very scary when I’m ‘mad’), and tilted my face to receive his chaste kiss on my lips. “Okay, you can have some macaroni,” I sighed.
He shook his head at me. “Nah, I’m still pretty full from eating my breakfast and yours.”
“You ass!” I yelled, laughing at him again.
Chapter 14
Emma had called a little later and asked if we wanted to have a cookout and a bonfire with them that night. She said she’d been craving s’mores, too, so that’s what we were instructed to bring. We ran by the store and bought double everything to make sure there was enough and then went back home and loaded Grady up to head over.
We pulled up and Doug was sitting on the porch, looking decidedly pissed off for a dog. I got out of the car and padded up the steps, stopping beside him to scratch his head and ask him what was wrong.
Brandon just shook his head at me and let Grady out of the backseat.
Doug stared up at me with doleful eyes, then threw his head back and let out a ululating half-howl, half-growl/groan. I made sympathetic noises to him and he kept “talking” to me, letting me know about whatever injustice had been done to him.
When he’d gotten it off his chest, he looked up at me expectantly. I told him, “Quite the story there, huh?” He gave me a sneeze/snuffle that shook his head in what looked like a nod and then trotted off to follow Grady, who was galloping
through the grass at full speed.
“Damn dog,” Brandon said affectionately as he watched Doug go.
We walked into the house to see Luke standing on one side of the counter in the kitchen, a jar of peanut butter in one hand and a jar of pickles in the other. Both hands were raised above his head and he was shaking his head vehemently at Emma, who was on the opposite side of the counter. She was mean-mugging the hell out of Luke and yelling at him.
“Give me back my peanut butter and pickles, Lucas Tyler Crimshaw! Right now or else I’ll…I’ll…aaiiiyeeeee!” She shrieked in frustration and stomped her foot on the floor.
“No, Emma Marie Crimshaw! I won’t give you back the pickles and peanut butter! I draw the line at pickle butter milkshakes. It’s just wrong, woman!” Luke yelled back at her. He caught sight of us standing in the living room, watching the drama unfold.
“Brandon, tell her! Tell her that she can’t do that to my daughter!”
Emma whirled around and stomped over to Brandon. Well, stomped as much as she could. It was more like a heavy-footed waddle. “If you know what’s good for you, dear brother-in-law, you’ll go in there and get my pickles and my peanut butter and you’ll like it!”
Brandon tried to keep a straight face as he replied, “I’m not getting in the middle of this. It’s too entertaining to interrupt, but could you wait until I make some popcorn to finish arguing?”
Emma’s face screwed up and a tear streaked down her cheek. Brandon’s mouth dropped and he backpedaled, trying to assure her that he would get the stuff from Luke, begging her not to cry. In the kitchen, Luke dropped his arms and set the jars down, shaking his head in what I figured was defeat.
I was wrong.
“Bro…no. She’s playing you. She’s completely hormonal and can cry at the drop of a hat, almost on command. It’s a new talent she’s exploited far too often,” he emphasized, loudly, “and you’re playing right into it,” Luke told Brandon.
Emma huffed and rolled her eyes at both of the men before she looked at me and said, “Come on, Chloe. You can come see the nursery that Luke finally finished while they get the grill going. You know, since the peanut butter and pickle Nazi over there is being an asshole to his pregnant wife.”
