Page 19 of Carver’s Craving

He nodded.

I went to my bedroom and grabbed clothes that were dirty, but not covered in dirt. His clothes were, relative to mine, pretty clean. Certainly no construction dust or anything like that. When I returned to the laundry room, I quickly surveyed the assortment. “Okay, let’s get this load organized.”

Pretty much everything was black or navy blue, so we tossed everything into the washing machine. I added soap, turned it on, and soon we were headed back into the great room. “You need a coat.”

“I have a coat.” He actually appeared a little offended with his raised eyebrows and downturned mouth.

“Not for late autumn in the mountains.” I kept whichever coat I was currently using on one of the pegs—with the doggie coats on the others. Spare jackets were in the front hall closet. I nabbed one. “This will do.”

He frowned. “Dude, you’re, like, way bigger than me. Like, I mean muscles. Not fat. Because there isn’t an ounce of fat on you anywhere.” His cheeks turned an interesting shade of pink. “Not that I was checking you out. But, like, in that plaid shirt? All lumberjack vibe? Hard not to notice. I can wear my leather jacket. I’ve worn it during the winter in Toronto.”

“And frozen your ass off, if I recall correctly.” I shoved my jacket his way. “It’s not a down-filled coat. You’re not going to be too hot.” Although I totally think you’re hot and thank you for noticing my muscles. Not that we’d do anything about it. Just…a bit of an ego boost when I really needed one. Like getting off with that hot guy last night wasn’t enough of a boost. A memory of smooth skin and a teasing voice skittered through my mind. I blinked.

Nope. No way. In no possible universe was Styx ‘Steven’ from last night. Running into each other on First Avenue was a big enough coincidence. No way had I fucked him into the mattress last night.

You don’t think. But you don’t actually know. Was it remotely possible? If so, how could I find out? Simply asking was out of the question. “Did you fuck some guy in the dark in a hotel room yesterday?” Just no.

The idea nagged at me until I pushed it aside. Not likely, and not the time.

“Fine, I’ll take the jacket.” Styx grabbed it, but obviously wasn’t pleased—if his churlish tone and scowl were anything to go by.

I didn’t gloat. I didn’t even smile. Instead, I grabbed Walter’s coat. I tucked him into it and then set about putting Poppin’s on her. Finally, I donned my own wool coat. I’d learned the hard way that if I dressed myself first, I’d be sweating by the time I got my beasts organized.

“Okay. You said you wear a headlamp or something?”

“Yep.” I put my wool cap on first. “Bald head and all that.” Then I secured the band for the headlamp. Finally, I handed Styx a flashlight. “The ground’s pretty even, but you’ll probably want to see where you’re going.” I clipped Poppin’s leash on and picked Walter up. He didn’t require a leash. He’d squat, do his business, walk in a circle for five minutes, poop, and then wait to be picked up again. “Let’s go.”

We four trudged outside.

The wind bit, but no precipitation fell. Light flurries were predicted, but that was always a crapshoot. The forecast was for Mission City proper. We were fifteen klicks north and in the mountains—sometimes we got totally different weather.

I put Walter on the grass. He ambled a few feet and relieved himself.

Poppin started pulling on her leash.

“You want me to take her?” Styx gestured. He hadn’t turned his flashlight on yet because we were in the glare of the lights in the front yard. The illumination reached a good way down the drive, but not all the way. On my never-ending list of things to do was to install lights along the driveway. Not motion-sensor ones, though. The deer, bears, and racoons would all set them off.

“Sure.” I handed him Poppin’s leash, and he followed her as she moved toward the tree line. “Uh, just keep a look out for things that move.”

“Huh?” He frowned.

“Well, the racoons are out. Bobcats tend to stay away, and the deer and bears—”

“Jesus Fucking Christ, do you live in a zoo?” Styx’s eyes went wide.

I laughed. “Nope. Just nature. I didn’t list the squirrels—with whom Poppin is obsessed. Hence the leash. Walter doesn’t give a crap about anything. But, in his weakened state, he’s a sitting duck. Oh.” He’d pooped, so I grabbed a poop bag from my pocket and scooped. I tied it off and tossed it onto the front porch. “You care to do the honors when Poppin, uh…” I gestured.

He scrunched his nose. “I suppose? We, uh, never had dogs growing up. I wanted to get one when Baxter and I moved in together—well, I mean got a place to share—but we could never find a good time. Our schedules were so erratic.”

“Dogs thrive on routine.” Even as I said the words, Poppin squatted to pee.

“I can see that. You’ve got a job that has a routine?” Styx cocked his head. “And she’ll—”

I scrounged in my pocket for another poop bag. I always kept several open, so scooping was easy. With a grin, I handed it to my guest. “Have at it.”

On cue, Poppin pooped.

Chapter Six