Page 24 of Business vs. Pleasure

Spending most of the day shopping with August was both a success and a disaster.

On one hand, it calmed August down over the RateYourHit debacle, and it gave him something to do while they wanted for Heidi to get back to them.

On the other…

“Holy fuck.” August grimaced as he slipped off his shoes in their hotel room. “Why is there always so much… walking?”

“No one forced you to go to all of those stores.”

August flipped him off. “When are you going to start letting me ride around on your back? You should be carrying me like Luke Skywalker carried Yoda.”

Ricardo rolled his eyes as he collected August’s thick socks from a drawer. “Yoda was two feet tall and Luke didn’t have a fucked-up back.”

“Since when do you have a fucked-up back?”

“I will if I have to carry you around like a damn monkey.” Ricardo knelt in front of him. “Give me your foot.”

August made a bitchy sound and thrust a foot at Ricardo. As Ricardo swapped out the supportive dress socks for the “I’m resting at home and going absolutely nowhere for the rest of the night” socks, August said, “You could pull me around in a little cart.” He smirked, obviously warming up to the idea. “We haven’t done any pony play! It would spice things up!”

Ricardo sighed and switched to August’s other foot. “The only way we’re doing any of that is if you’re wearing the bit so it’ll shut you up.”

August shrugged. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, baby.”

“If you’re wearing the bit, you’re pulling the cart.”

“For fuck’s sake. It’s like you think rules aren’t made to be… gently massaged into completely different shapes for my amusement and convenience.”

“No cart.”

“Ugh. You are such a buzzkill.”

Ricardo finished putting the second sock in place, then sat back on his heels and eyed his smartass of a husband. “Alternatively, we could try puppy play.”

August’s eyebrows climbed and his spine straightened, interest clearly sparking in his eyes. “Go on.”

Ricardo grinned. “I put you on a leash. And you crawl around on your hands and knees. Then you can do all of that”—he gestured at the mountain of shopping bags—“without taxing your feet.”

August’s shoulders dropped. “Rude.”

“What? It’s an idea!”

“It’s a bullshit idea. Oh! What if we put a saddle on your back and a bit in your mouth, and I rode you all around town like my pony! You could be one of those Spanish horses. What are they called?”

Ricardo rolled his eyes as he got to his feet. “Pura Raza Española. And no.”

“What? Why not? Where’s your sense of adventure? Not to mention supporting your husband and his sore feet?”

“And his shopping addiction.”

“Yes, that too! Also I thought they were called Andalusians.”

Ricardo sniffed. “That’s what Americans call them. They’re Pura Raza Española.”

“Okay, okay, whatever. You can be a… a…” August waved his hand as he gingerly got to his feet. “Pure raspberry spaniel. Whatever. But then my feet won’t hurt!”

“They also won’t hurt if we stay here, so…”

“But if we stay here, we’ll end up watching… football.”