Page 109 of Carver’s Craving

“I don’t know that kind of dog.” Again, Baxter.

“You’ll see. And Poppin’s a rat terrier. I think?”

Again, Carver didn’t do anything to help me. Whether he realized my floundering might make Baxter feel safe—or he really wanted me to squirm—was up for debate.

“Cute.” Baxter let out a long sigh.

“We’re about thirty minutes from our place.” Carver executed a left turn.

I didn’t know Abbotsford, but there seemed to be a lot of traffic.

“Why don’t you take a nap?” Carver used a softer tone. Like the one he used with the dogs.

Baxter yawned.

I yawned—empathetic yawner and all.

“Yeah, okay.” He put his head against the window.

Carver tossed a scarf over the seat.

I caught it.

“As a pillow.”

I folded it and handed it to Baxter.

He fingered it. “You need it.”

“Nope.” I almost said I planned to lean on him—as I had so many times in the past—but that felt wrong. “I plan to just snooze. Maybe ogle my sexy boyfriend.”

“Ah.” Baxter didn’t crack a smile—but he didn’t frown either. I’d take that for a win.

He put the folded scarf against the cold window and closed his eyes.

I met Carver’s gaze in the rearview mirror for just a moment before he cast his eyes back on the road. We were picking up speed and appeared to be on some kind of divided highway. I had no idea the distance to Mission City. I gestured to the mountains in the distance.

“We go over the Mission-Abby bridge. Then we head to my place.” He said the words quietly. Not quite a whisper—but not much louder.

“Sounds nice. I need to sleep.” I crossed my arms, let my head fall forward, and—as the hum of the engine lulled me—I fell asleep.

I only awoke to the crunching of gravel under Caver’s tires.

Baxter didn’t stir, so I kept silent. Whether we’d run the engine and sit here until he woke, or whether we’d try to sneak out of the SUV, or maybe wake him and— “Holy shit!”

My friend jerked awake. “What the fuck? Where am I?” He blinked and a look of absolute terror crossed his face.

On instinct, I put my arm around his shoulder and pulled him close. “My bad. My bad. Just—” I pointed. “Carver got your van back.” My heart expanded because obviously Carver had paid for the work and arranged to get it delivered.

Baxter undid his seatbelt and was out of the vehicle before Carver had even cut the engine.

I gripped Carver’s shoulder. “Thank you. Although he might use it to take off.”

“Has he been cleared to drive?”

“No. Will that stop him? I have no idea.” I unclipped my seatbelt and slipped out of the SUV. I stretched my neck—that hurt like a sonofabitch—but I’d live.

Baxter hit the side of the van. “My keyboard. We need to get it inside. I don’t have my keys.”