by Sarah Title
He was pathetic.
And he wasn’t going to sleep with her.
But he was smiling.
Chapter 12
“I’m still not sleeping with you.”
Lindsey cringed at the memory, even weeks later. But at least it had led to a truce. She had a truce, and she had a dog. It was official. The morning of the Garden Incident she’d called Billie, who got her an appointment with the vet (who was also Katie’s brother and Grace’s fiancé’s cousin—small towns). Keith confirmed that the dog was about six months old, a little undernourished but healthy enough to neuter, and not microchipped. So Lindsey had him snipped and vaccinated, and made posters with Walker’s face cropped out. She hung them everywhere—in Hollow Bend, where Keith’s practice was, around Willow Springs, on the Pembroke campus. As one week turned into two, she gave up on holding back hope that the dog would go unclaimed, and started thinking about a name.
She wasn’t going to sleep with Walker, but at least she had a dog.
The dog was surprisingly good when she was out of the house. It was only when she was home that he would find shoelaces and unroll the toilet paper and just generally wreak the most adorable havoc ever. But when she left him alone, he was fine. She created a little nest for him in the laundry room, and closed the door while at work to keep him contained. Every day, so far, she came home to an undestroyed laundry room and a dog that would wiggle himself off-balance, he was so happy to see her.
And one of her secret childhood dreams came true—falling asleep to the warm weight of a sleeping ball of fur nestled against her.
So much better than sleeping with Walker.
Walker stopped, poised over his kitchen sink, and listened to the front door close. He quit loading the dishwasher and headed for the laundry room. He knew he had exactly forty-five seconds before the howling and crying.
Lindsey didn’t use the chain on her side of the laundry room door. Walker discovered this the first time he went into her house uninvited, rushing past that big blue couch to get to her laundry room. That first day, the dog barked happily at him, which was a big improvement over the heartbreaking, ear-splitting whining.
So now, Walker just held open the door, and the little booger came rushing into his apartment, where he began a long day of following Walker around.
Walker wasn’t home when Lindsey got back from work. Or at least his truck wasn’t parked in the driveway, which, so far, had meant that he wasn’t home. Not that she was stalking him.
But her dog was there. Her cute, floppy, unnamed dog was there, whining until she opened the laundry room door, where he launched himself into her arms, then out the back door.
She grabbed a quick snack, then took the dog for a long walk. When they got back about an hour later, he was pooped, which had been the idea.
“Now you listen to me,” she said, getting down to puppy level. “I’m going out to dinner with Grace. But I promise I’ll be back soon and I will give you t-r-e-a-t-s. Okay? Okay? Is that okay? Are you my lovey face? Is that okay, my lovey face?”
It was okay, although Lindsey had to close her eyes against the sad puppy dog face as she shut the laundry room door.
Why did she close the door? I don’t like when she closes the door. Is she ever even coming back? I love her. I don’t want her to leave me. I already smelled everything in this room. That one spot smells good. I’ll smell it again and maybe take a drink. When is she coming back? This floor is cold except for this soft spot but should I sit on it or chew on it? Hey, wait a second. I hear something. What is that sound? Is she coming back? No it’s coming from over here. I have to get to it because what if she never comes back or maybe she’s over there and she forgot about me? I better get over there because what if she forgets to give me dinner? I just know she’s right over there. Hold on, I’m coming. Hold on, I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming!
Lindsey did her best not to break land speed records on her way home. She was now officially the worst dinner date in town, although Grace had been just as distracted as Lindsey was. Except Grace was worried about professional travel fellowships and research papers. Lindsey was worried that her dog would miss her.
Grace didn’t get it. Grace had a cat. Cats don’t miss you, she told Lindsey. They just tell you that you never should have left in the first place.
But it was still a nice dinner, and the idea of a weekend movie was floated around. Friends! Lindsey had friends now.
Friends and a dog who loved her. A dog who would wag his tail and jump up to lick her face and . . .
“Oh, shit.”
Walker pulled into the driveway but sat in his truck for a minute. The days were getting longer. It was summer. He had gone to the woods to visit his tree, then lost track of time wandering. The sun had set behind him as he drove out of the forest, and he was starving. But he was also itching to work. He’d just decided to work first, eat later, when he saw the lights in his bedroom go on.
He wasn’t home. Why were the lights on?
He let himself in quietly, through the front door. He grabbed the nearest weapon, which was a magazine. No problem, as long as the intruder was a fly. He could hear Lindsey next door, talking to the dog, and he moved a little faster. If there was someone in his apartment, she could be in danger too.
When he got to his bedroom, though, there was nobody there.
Not anymore, anyway.
He hadn’t made his bed that morning, but he definitely hadn’t left his sheets in a tangle on the floor. And he absolutely hadn’t chewed up his pillows so there was stuffing everywhere.
There didn’t seem to be a thing in his room that was not chewed on. Tennis shoes, books, the legs of the old leather armchair, the dirty clothes he had thrown over the old leather armchair.
Dammit, she’d promised she would lock that thing up. How had the dog gotten in here, anyway?
He heard a sharp bark from his kitchen, and Lindsey’s raised voice. How did she get in here?
As soon as he rounded the corner from the stairs, it was clear. Clear as the hole in the laundry room door, the one that led straight through to Lindsey’s apartment.
“Hi,” she said sheepishly, leaning down to peek through what was left of the door. The dog squirmed in her arms and escaped, launching himself at Walker.
“I’m so sorry.” She climbed through the door—what was left of the door, and bent down to try to corral the dog, who was trying to climb Walker.
“What the—” He couldn’t even find the words to express his . . . his what? His anger? His shock? How did a dog that little eat that much door?
She stood up, leaving the dog to chew on Walker’s shoelaces.
“He’s so good when I leave him for work, so I thought he’d be fine if I went out to dinner . . .” Her voice trailed off at the end as she pointed toward the chewed-up door. “At least he didn’t damage any electric stuff?”
Walker had a sudden image of the dog chewing on a wire, then flying across the room.
He scooped the dog up in his arms. Just to get him to stop chewing on his shoelaces.
“I’m really, really sorry. I’ll pay for the door. I’ll get a new door. You don’t even have to do anything. I’ll bring the dog to work—”
He took a step back as she reached for the dog. “If he chews through a door”—Walker still couldn’t believe that this little beast had chewed through a door—“what kind of damage do you think he’ll do in a nursing home?”
“I know, but—”
“And don’t you think you should take him to the vet? Since he just ate a door?”
“Yes! Of course! I left a message!” She held up her phone, then reached for the dog again.
“You locked him up all day, then left him again? So you could go out to dinner?”
She looked at him, puzzled. “I was barely gone for an hour.”
“I just—” Walker stopped himself before he could say, “I just don’t think you’re ready for a dog.” That’s what Re
d used to say, no matter how much Walker kept up with his chores or did as he was told. He could have been ready for a dog. He would have been ready for a dog, if they didn’t move so damn much.
Besides, he knew Lindsey took care of the little booger. He knew she devoted all the time she wasn’t at work to making sure he ate and got exercise, and she’d spent almost three hours outside with him last weekend and he was finally, usually, sitting on command. It definitely wasn’t helping Booger’s separation anxiety that Walker went and fetched him every day.
“I can take him,” he said, his brain working fast.
“What?”
“When you go out. He can hang out with me.”
“All day? While I’m at work?”
Walker shrugged. What a great idea he had just completely and spontaneously come up with.
“But what if you have to . . . I don’t know, go sculpt somewhere?”
“You mean besides my studio?”
She shrugged. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
“It’s better than . . .” He waved a hand at the door.
“Okay,” she said slowly. “Okay, that will be nice.” She reached over and petted the dog’s head. “He seems okay.” She lifted his chin and looked into his eyes, then started feeling down the dog’s body. The dog wiggled, but Walker thought it was more in delight than in pain.
Lucky dog.
She was close again, so close that her hair tickled his chin. It smelled like herbs and lemons. Just as he was about to take a deep, embarrassing breath, she looked up. They stood there, staring at each other, a squirming Booger between them. She leaned up. He leaned down.
The phone rang in her hand.
“That’s probably the vet,” she said, and disappeared through the hole in the door.
“Good news,” Lindsey said as she climbed back through the door. “You don’t have to—”
But the good news was lost in a blast of surprise and glee at the sight that greeted her: Walker, on his knees, his fine butt in the air, playing tug of war with the dog and a T-shirt. In his mouth.
He was growling.
At the dog.
The moment was so perfect and so strange, so much better than any cute scenario she ever could have imagined, that she almost cried. Instead, she just stood still, mouth open around the good news, and soaked the silliness in before Walker noticed her.
It didn’t take long.
He opened his mouth to let go of the shirt, and the dog went tumbling backward, tangled up in victory.
“It’s clean,” he said, and wiped his mouth.
She shrugged, like it was no big deal, like she wouldn’t be re-living that moment randomly throughout the next week and laughing. “I can’t believe you let the dog win.”
The dog had untangled himself from the shirt and was climbing up Walker’s lap—lucky dog—shaking the T-shirt at him, taunting him with another round.
Walker grabbed one end of the shirt, but didn’t pull. “What did Keith say?”
“Just to keep an eye on him, make sure he’s not acting like he’s in pain.”
The dog was now flopped on his back on the floor, belly exposed to Walker’s vigorous rubbing.
Lucky dog.
“I think he’s fine for now,” she said, and kneeled on the floor next to Walker. She took one end of the shirt and waved it over the dog’s head. He jumped up, pounced, and took off for a lap around the room. “Sorry. I hope you didn’t want that shirt.”
But Walker wasn’t looking at the shirt. He was looking at her, and before she knew it they were locked in another moment just like the one before Keith called. She just had to tilt her head up, lean into him a little, and they could be kissing.
And this would be a real kiss, not a stupid spontaneous reaction to a bad situation. She leaned in, and he leaned in, bracing his hand on the floor behind her. She almost lost her balance, so she grabbed his shoulder, then his other hand was around her waist, holding her up. They never broke eye contact, not until she closed her eyes and finally pressed her mouth to his. His arms went around her and squeezed and her spine straightened and she aligned herself more fully with him, chest to chest, and she gasped as she felt his fingers dig into her rear and his tongue slide into her mouth. Then he stood up, taking her with him, and then his hands went lower, cupping her butt, then the backs of her thighs and she trusted his strength and let him lift her legs so they wrapped around his hips. He backed her up until she hit something, an end table maybe, because then she was perched on it and his hands were roaming everywhere. He was rough. No, not rough, he was thorough. No part of her back or her thighs or her neck went untouched. Then he moved to her front and she let out a feral groan as he cupped her breasts.
He stepped back suddenly, his hand still on her breast.
“Are you okay?” he asked, breathlessly.
She gave him an impatient look. “What?”
“I thought I—” he jerked his hand away. “Sorry.”
No way, not this again, she thought, and she crossed her ankles and pulled his hips closer. He still looked like he had something to say, so she reached down and pulled her shirt over her head and he might have said something, but his face was buried in her bra so she really didn’t care. He spun her away from the wall, then stopped. He looked like he was trying to make a decision.
“Couch?” she suggested, remembering the state her dog had left his bed in. He nodded and in two steps she was down on her back and he was on top of her, his hips grinding against hers through their jeans.
Jeans. Stupid jeans. She reached between them for the button on his while he sat up and pulled his shirt off and, holy god, up close he was even better. He smiled and leaned down to kiss her but she held him back. “I need a moment,” she said, and ran her hands over the planes of his chest, the ridges of his abs, his smooth sides. His breathing got heavier, but then he started to look embarrassed so she sat up real quick and undid her bra so he wouldn’t be the only one without a shirt on.
“Holy god,” he whispered, and his rough hands were gentle on her sensitive skin, his calloused fingers running over her nipples, tracing a circle under her breasts.
She managed to arch herself into his hands and get his jeans down over his hips at the same time. She was feeling very impressed with herself, and then she was just feeling Walker, hard and hot against her thigh. She reached down and he cursed into her neck.
“Lindsey,” he whispered and she melted. Then he cursed and twisted around, digging at his feet into the pocket of his jeans. He tangled and lost his balance, his knees still straddling her on the couch, one hand holding himself up off the floor.
She giggled, and he gave her a teasing look. “Come on,” she said and scrambled out from underneath him, then pushed him down so his back was on the couch, his head propped against the arm. She climbed over him, took the condom from his hand, and tore the wrapper with her teeth, just like in the movies. She slid the condom down over him in one smooth move and he was hot and hard in her hand and she couldn’t wait, and didn’t think he needed her to wait, so she positioned herself above him and went to work.
“Oh my god,” he said as she slid over him. She wanted to revel in her triumph over his grumpiness, but then she was full of Walker and she couldn’t do anything but throw her head back and gasp. He gripped her hips, moving her as he moved, and her spine stopped working and she had to prop her hands on his chest, and the shift in position felt so good that she had to lean her whole chest against his, the rough hair abrading her breasts as he rocked her.
And, holy crap, he rocked her. Then he lifted up a knee, just a little, just enough to change his angle and she reared back, surprised and breathless, and she screamed and flew over the edge. Walker gripped her hips even tighter and bucked hard under her, once, twice, then he groaned and she tightened and collapsed on top of him.
She let out a breathless laugh. She’d known her persistence would pay off. She’d known it would be worth it to get Walker
out of his shell.
The lady was great. She smelled really nice and she loved to hold him and pet him and play with him. At first the lady was his favorite. But then the guy played with him and gave him snacks and he had even more interesting smells that he had to dig real deep to find. So now he couldn’t decide who he liked better. Good thing he got rid of that door, so he didn’t have to choose.
Chapter 13
“Nice place.”
It wasn’t the messiest his apartment had ever been, but it was pretty bad. Walker suddenly wished he’d picked up a little.
In his defense, he didn’t know that Jake Burdette was coming over. Not until Jake rang the bell and told him he had a door for him.
Walker tried to look at his apartment through Jake’s eyes. Big furniture—he liked to nap. And a big couch was good for a lot of things. A giant afghan Darlene had made for him. Shoes everywhere, which was a bad habit he had to break, especially since most of those shoes were now missing laces, thanks to Booger.
It wasn’t great, but it was home.
“Lots of good light in here.” Jake knocked on the walls, looked at the doorframes. “Solid. How long have you had this place?”
“Couple years.”
“Ever think about making it a single-family home?”
Walker thought about waking up with Lindsey wrapped around him after they moved to her bed for round two.
Which had nothing to do with construction projects.
He just liked thinking about her wrapped around him.
To Jake, he just shrugged, and continued to show him around.
It was weird standing in his kitchen, talking to Jake Burdette about normal guy stuff. Walker hadn’t seen Jake since freshman year of high school, when they both went out for the basketball team. Walker had a few inches on Jake, but Jake was faster. He remembered it clearly: Jake faking and swerving around the defense, Walker raising his arms and blocking the shot.
