I curse under my breath. Why didn’t I think of this? But I didn’t—I don’t carry around protection in my wallet, like I’m going to need to drop trou at any given second. I buy it when I need it, and I haven’t needed it since Chloe, and then a long, long time before that.
Maybe this is a sign for me to turn around and go home.
But I don’t believe in signs. I’m not a fate person. I stay in the lines. I work hard. Do the responsible thing. I’m the guy who takes the dog out to piss.
Gritting my teeth, I shake my head. I don’t want to ask her ifshe’s on protection since that’s fucking presumptuous, and it makes it her responsibility.
Times like these, I wish I were an optimist. The rest of my night would be easier if I’d assumed we’d be fucking.
When Captain’s done, he bounds back up the wooden stairs. I ruffle his fur, then follow him inside.
Kitchen’s empty. No sign of Chloe in the living room either. I hesitate before heading toward the hall—unsure if I should knock or call out. A peek tells me the bathroom door’s wide open, the bedroom looks untouched, and the whole house is…too quiet.
I scrub a hand over my face, dragging it down my beard.
Maybe Ishouldbelieve in signs. Because Chloe disappearing is one hell of a hint at impending doom.
“Where’d your woman go?” I ask Captain, who’s now stretched out on a purple area rug covered in illustrated women’s shoes. “Do you know?”
He lifts his furry shoulders—no lie—in a shrug. Is that another command? I ask again to be sure. “Do you know?”
He scrunches up again. Like an actual answer.
Damn. She really is that good. She’s taught him another clever command.
Still, she’s nowhere in sight. I look around the corner, getting a view into the bathroom. The bathroom vanity is covered in skincare products. Well, I get that. It’s never a bad idea to invest in some eye cream, and any man that tells you otherwise is a dumbass. I look the other way. The kitchen’s quirky and cute, and there’s a rubber duck soap dish. I glance back toward the living room.
Yup. There are indeed rubber ducks on the coffee table. Not sure what’s up with Chloe or the ducks.
“Chloe?” I ask, right as I hear the rapid smack of shoes on pavement.
What the?—
I peek out the window and holy hell, Chloe’s flying up the front steps, flinging open the door, and thrusting something foil-wrapped in my face.
“Here you go.”
I blink, caught off guard by the slightly panting, fully flushed Chloe. “Um…what’s this?”
“It’s a condom. You use it to fuck me. Try to keep up, Dumont.”
I shake my head, still catching on as I take the condom. “I meant—where did yougetthis?”
“Dottie Birch. She’s like the block mom.”
“And she has condoms?”
“She’s the caretaker of The Horny House, Sawyer. She also has tampons. Band-Aids. Neosporin. Flashlights. Portable chargers. Multi-tool kits. Clif Bars. Pens. Bananas.”
“The bananas…for the condoms?”
“No. The bananas are for potassium, obviously. Dude, I’m losing my lady boner.”
And just like that, I’m turned on all over again. Weirdly. So fucking weirdly. Not because she said “lady boner” but because she’s so damn bold. So unapologetically clear. She owns her sex drive, and it’s hot as hell.
“We can’t have that,” I say, closing the distance between us. I cup her cheeks and kiss her hard. My head spins. My body’s on fire.
Any second thoughts vanish under the weight of that kiss. This is the woman who sprinted down the street at night to grab a condom. That’s the only sign I need. I manage to kick off my shoes as we stand there, and she slides out of her sandals.
