“Mr. Bojangles?” At his name, the labradoodle lying in the middle of the couch pauses in the act of cleaning his toe jam and looks up. “He’s no monster.”
“He’s a testicular terrorist in a fluffy suit.” Oliver’s clipped consonants shouldn’t dance along my spine like fingertips, but they do.
“Mr. Bo, it’s good you can’t hear what Olly is saying.” The dog tilts his head like he understands everything. And doesn’t give one single shit.
“To think I considered myself a dog person until he moved in.”
“Well, see, Bo is more person than dog. Except, people don’t punish you by peeing in your shoes for not sharing your hot dog.”
“He’d better not even think about it,” he mutters darkly.
Honestly, Bo looks like he’s plotting much worse, and I’mherefor it.
“Oh, Mr. Bo.” I scratch his fluffy ear as I baby talk to him. “What did you do? Stick your nose in the mean ole man’s crotchagain?”Jealous? Moi? Maybe a little bit.I don’t think I have a manipulation kink. I just have a thing for bossy-assed men like him.
“I am not old or mean, and he did not frighten me.”
I make a doubtful noise. “You’re kinda old, and there’s no disputing you have a mean streak. I mean, hello!”
“A matter of opinion, again. Unlike the mutt’s unbridled interest in my crotch.”
It is quite special, as I recall.
“But now that I come to think of it, I was feeling quite unkind this morning, waking to find I wasn’t alone. Again.” My shoulders move with silent laughter. I count that as the third time this week that he’s woken to Bo’s doggy breath. “Somehow this time the light was on.”
“Well, I didn’t do it.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Yes, Oliver, I’m sure I didn’t come into your room while it was still dark and turn on the light.” If I had crept into his room, it wouldn’t be the light I’d be interested in turning on.It’s good that I’m a rule follower, especially my own.“I mean, why would I? Such fun was had that one time I oh-so-wickedly turned on a light!”
“There’s no need for sarcasm.”
“I warned you Bo isn’t the kind of dog who does well in confined spaces.”
“That’s on you,” he gripes. “You insisted on making him part of this.”
I bite my knuckle gleefully. I love that I’m getting under his skin. I did make Bo part of the deal, but what isn’t my fault is how he’s too smart for his own good. Or how he’s a failed therapy dog. It’s also not my fault he was trained for his therapy role by inmates of an open prison, even if his delinquency can be traced back to there.
Nope, it’s totally not my fault a thief taught Bo all he knows.
“You can’t have expected me to just sit here all day long by myself.” Besides, he was driving Nora crazy. It was like a battle of wills at the sanctuary. “Bo is good company for me.” My gaze drops to the mutt. He’s a good listener. I especially like how he offers no opinions.
“A hotel is not a suitable environment for a dog.”
“Some hotels make exceptions. Especially hotels that you own.”
“At this rate, I won’t own it for long. Do you know he was found in the kitchens again yesterday? I’m told he devoured a tray of Wagyu steaks—”
“Ouch.” I’ve seen those on the menu at two hundred a pop.
“He also made short work of a whole Hereford rib eye before he was apprehended.”
“That must’ve happened when I was at the spa.” I thought he looked all lip-licking satisfied when I got back.
Oliver makes an interested noise in his throat. “What I’m hearing is it’s not so terrible living with me.”
“There are perks,” I agree reluctantly. “Though I guess you could snore less.” Wandering to my open bedroom door, I prop my shoulder to the frame and stare over the no-man’s-land of the living room toward the matte-black double doors to Oliver’s bedroom. We’re like opposing teams or enemies. Except for the fact that, after fourteen days of watching (and annoying) him, I sometimes think I would crawl naked to his bed if he asked me to. Not that he’s going to. I stipulated a no-sex arrangement, and those are the vibes I’ve been giving out. Even if it sometimes feels like self-sabotage.I have never wanted to screw someone so badly.
