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“Step back,” I whisper, knowing Grizz might be close enough at this point to hear me. I’m about to slam the vanilla onto the tile floor the moment Cally is out of the crash zone, but I stop when I realize shattered glass won’t be good on doggy paws. I grab a kitchen towel and empty the contents onto it. “This might cover your scent. Hide.”
“Come on, boy,” I call to Tater as I turn off the burner. One more quick glance around, and the two of us step onto the porch.
The dog growls low in his throat, teeth bared, hackles standing straight up—standard threat behavior.
“He’s a friend, Tot.” I kneel so we’re closer to the same height. “It’s okay. You can run to the trees.”
Grizz is approaching, about one hundred yards away. He’s an imposing sight, with his thickly muscled body covered with shaggy brown hair. What’s more striking than his superhuman muscles is his swagger. Even when we were prisoners at the lab, he never let them cow him—and paid the price dearly on many occasions. It’s one of the things I like best about him. He’s one tough splicer.
“Hey, bro!” I call, my tone bright and happy, as though a human female who holds the key to our continued safety is not hiding in my bathroom.
“Is it safe?” he asks with a grin.
I freeze, startled. How could he possibly know?
“Have you pissed yourself lately?” he clarifies. “You made my eyes water yesterday.”
Maybe it’s the book-naming conversation I had with Cally earlier, or maybe it’s just that things can get down and dirty pretty easily with my fellow splicers, but I answer, “Naw, I’ve skipped the pissing on myself stage and gone straight to marathon jack-off sessions.”
“Good choice.” He nods. “Less smelly, more satisfying.”
“If they ever announce our existence to the public, you could write jingles, Grizz. Less smelly, more satisfying, haha. Got a jingle for beer off the top of your head?”
Without even thinking, he rattles off, “Sip, laugh, repeat. Beer, a way of life.”
“You’re good. How about Monday Night Football?”
“The hits are hard, the stakes are high.”
“How do you do that? What about when we finally go public? Got one for splicers?”
He takes his time to respond to this one. With this, even more than Monday Night Football, the stakes are high.
“Born from science, courage in our DNA, we’re here to embrace a brand-new way.”
We both take a deep breath, our shoulders sagging at the same time.
“I think we’re going to need more than a catchy jingle to sell splicers to the public,” Grizz says as he makes his way to the hut.
“Right.”
“Where did the pooch come from?”
Tater headed for the treeline the moment we left the house. Although he’s finished his business, he’s hanging back, head cocked, fur on the back of his neck still standing erect as he gives the grizzly-bear-man a wide berth.
“A housewarming present. Found him yesterday.”
“Think he’ll taste good?”
“What?!?”
“Just fucking with you, bro. Come here, boy.” He pats his thigh. “Have you named him?”
“Tator Tot.” As the name flows off my lips, I realize I’m probably busted. Grizz will have to know I would never in a million years name an animal that.
He simply shrugs, then crouches and calls, “Come here, Tater Tot.” He clears his throat. “That’s a ridiculous name. Come here Tater.” He glances at me and says, “That’s better.”
I have to give the dog credit. If I were that small and close to the ground, I’m not sure if I’d have the balls to approach Grizz. The male is taller than me and has to weigh over three hundred pounds. Damned if Tator doesn’t slink over, albeit he’s still baring his teeth.
