Page 34 of Wag More Bark Less

“I came over to offer you some chili, but⁠—”

He yawned again, this time stretching his arms overhead. His fingers gripped the top of the doorframe easily enough as he leaned forward. My greedy gaze traveled down the length of his body, right back to those pajama pants, snagging on an impressive bulge. Sweet Jesus, I was not mentally prepared for this.

“But?” He was smirking, as though the jerk knew exactly the effect he was having on me.

“Are those Star Wars pajama pants?” I asked as though I’d only been observing the gray material littered with character heads and the printed words Star Wars and not imagining what I might find should those pants suddenly fall to the floor. My hardware store fantasy would be forever altered. One tug of that string⁠—

“Yes.” The confidence in his answer made my nipples pebble. Oh wait. The traitorous bitches were already hard. No wonder he was acting so smug. He knew I was turned on.

Jackass.

“Do you want chili or not?” I snapped, holding up the insulated tote bag and shoving it at his bare chest.

“Did you poison it?” he asked, accepting the bag and peeking inside.

“Only one way to find out.”

With that, I spun on my heel and forced myself to take the steps slowly. I would not give Luke the satisfaction of watching me run away like some scared mouse.

THIRTEEN

LUKE

Dammit, Maggie’s chili was good.

I didn’t want it to be good.

I didn’t want to be sitting on my goddamn couch with a hard-on because I couldn’t get the sight of her tits straining that skintight tank top out of my head. Seeing her on my front porch, those pebbled nipples poking right through her shirt, I gripped the doorframe so hard I nearly cracked it.

This woman was getting under my skin, and I liked it way too fucking much. I liked her spunk. I liked how easily she dished my shit right back to me without missing a beat. I really liked the way her blue eyes turned to liquid heat as she raked her gaze down my body.

I should find solace in discovering the attraction wasn’t one-sided. She didn’t want to like me any more than I wanted to like her. Good. Let us both be fucking tortured by that.

Except she brought me chili.

Why did she bring me chili?

I pushed up from the couch, carrying the empty bowl to the kitchen and wishing there was more. But after one bite, I combined the two plastic bowls she brought into one giant one and scarfed it down like I hadn’t eaten in days. Maybe I hadn’t. I all but licked the damn bowl.

At least if Maggie’s chili tasted like dog shit, I might stand a chance at keeping my head on straight. But no, it was good enough to give Dana Wilcox a run for her money in the upcoming chili cookoff.

This was the mayor’s fault. I should be out on patrol, safely away from my house and surprise chili deliveries.

Instead, I had two fucking weeks ahead of me where I wasn’t allowed to bury myself in work. I’d be home because Rosalyn made me park my patrol SUV in my garage, swearing if she saw it anywhere in town before Golden Days was over she’d make me spend an entire week with Todd from animal control as my ride-along.

That woman knew how to make an effective threat, I’d give her that.

I willed the tent pitched in my pants to collapse, and focused on anything else I could to make that happen. Washing the dishes in the sink, yanking the sheets off my bed and throwing them in the washing machine, vacuuming every room—the sheer amount of dog hair in the canister was mind-boggling considering Husker hadn’t been over in almost two weeks, and I vacuumed thoroughly after he left. I scrubbed the inside of my refrigerator, reorganized the pantry, and tossed an embarrassing amount of expired food in the trash from said pantry.

And yet, no matter how many chores I completed, all I could fucking think about was Maggie standing on my porch in a tight salmon-shaded tank top, those nipples pointing right at me.

This was my fault, of course.

Ever since Raquel snuck out of her dressing room three years ago, leaving me in a church full of people to explain why there wouldn’t be a wedding, I’d sworn off women. Not just relationships, like a sane man would do. Oh, no. I put a fucking chastity belt around my cock. Because of that stupid decision, the slightest sight of a beautiful woman—even one who typically scowled at me—apparently caused my body to react as though I were fourteen.

I stared at the drying bowls on the counter, tempted to return them tonight.

“That’s a bad fucking idea, and you know it,” I said to myself.