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Could a person come just from hearing that word?
I mean, I taught tantra for a living; I knew people could come just from breathing properly. But, ah, yeah, this was a new experience for me. I felt right on the verge. I could tip over at any moment.
I was pretty sure it was my turn to talk, but words proved impossible still.
"You gonna make me drink it alone, sweetheart?"
Oh, my poor poor lady parts.
That was just cruel and unusual punishment using an endearment like that.
My hand reached out as he pushed the cup across the counter, making sure my fingers didn't brush his, or else I was sure that would be the last push I needed.
"So, you work here."
"I own here," I heard myself say automatically, my pride in my hustle a bit stronger than my almost overpowering sexual frustration right then.
My life wasn't big or glamourous. I didn't go out and party all the time. I wasn't a world traveler. But I had my business. I busted my ass to get it, to keep it. And I was extremely proud of what I had accomplished on that front.
His brow raised as he looked around. "Explains the finger vibes, huh?" he asked, raising the to-go cup to his lips, and taking a sip.
I didn't watch his Adam's apple, I swear!
"Fuck, yeah, okay. This is pretty good."
I forgot mine was even in my hand.
I shook my head, raising it to take a sip, hoping it would help my dry-mouth situation.
"So, you're here," I said, hearing the wonder in my own voice.
"I'm here," he agreed, head still ducked to the side slightly, and I couldn't figure out why that was so endearing to me.
"How are you here?" I asked when he didn't explain further.
"I got out earlier today."
"And you came... here?"
"I took a walk and came across She's Bean Around. Didn't even think about it when I ordered two."
"But... how did you know to come here?"
"That's the thing..." he started, only to be cut off by the sound of the chime of the door.
"No, you heel! Heel, you hellbeast, you!" That was Peyton. And she almost never called Coop by his name, choosing instead her own spin on the concept of endearments. I once caught her telling him in a sweet-talking tone 'Who's a ugly little rabbit shit eater? Who is? You are! That's right. You know it was you, you oaf.'
I looked up at the clock, realizing the best part of the day had somehow gotten away from me. If she was taking the time to drop off Coop on her way to work, he must have gotten into something at home. Again.
"Autumn, I swear he wants..."
She lost the rest of her sentence because when she came into view, Coop got an eyeful of Eli and freaking lunged forward, pulling the leash right out of her hand as he ran for his old owner.
I didn't think he would remember him.
I mean, not that I actually ever thought this day would come, but yeah, even if it did... six years was such a long time. And he was only a couple months old when he had been with Eli last.
But he remembered.
And at the last possible second, the crazy animal leaped upward and into the arms of the man who had originally rescued him.
"Oh Doggy-Daddy," Peyton greeted, taken aback long enough to give me a what the fuck look before turning back to him. "So, what? You just show up after six years, no child support, no nothing, and expect visitation?" she asked, going for serious, but her lips were twitching. "You owe us some Milk Bones up in this bitch. And about ten pairs of shoes for Autumn and a very, very precious signed paperback of Die Muthafucka that he ate last year."
"Die Muthafucka?" Eli asked as he dodged his head to the side to avoid the searching tongue of Coop.
"Limited paperback edition of an indie genius named Neil Jenkens. He ate the cover. And about half of the pages."
"Alright, buddy. Relax," Eli said, but he was smiling as he tried to untangle from the dog and put him back on his own feet. "Hi, yes, hi," he cooed at him as he squatted down to give the belly rubs Coop shamelessly flopped down, rolled over, and begged for. He said it so lowly that I couldn't say for absolute sure, but I was pretty certain I heard him murmur, "I know. I missed you too."
And damn if I didn't have to look away and fast-blink the little shimmer that crept into my eyes.
I caught Peyton's gaze from several feet away.
She said nothing, but I somehow knew exactly what she was thinking.
Hottie Mc Death Row is in your sex store. You know, the guy you've been polishing the pearl to for years. He's here. In your sex store. Where there are plenty of devices for you two to consummate your weird prison love affair with. Why are your clothes still on?
