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As I come fully into consciousness, something wet slurps over my face again, and it’s definitely canine in scent.
I blink into the murky darkness and realize it’s not Elodie I’m wrapped around at all. I made a joke about spooning Jeffers earlier, and well…
It seems to have come true.
Thank god I’m wearing gym shorts and a T-shirt.
Jeffers is pressed along the length of me. He’s nearly two hundred pounds, as big as a grown man. He’s also facing me, his big tongue hanging out on the side of my face, and the wetness? Ugh, it’s dog drool. I’m completely covered in dog drool.
Also, the growl from Elodie in the dream? I’m pretty sure it was also canine inspired.
Good lord, have I been fondling Elodie’s dog in my sleep?
I want to gag.
Don’t get me wrong. I fucking love Jeffers. I went with Elodie to pick him up when her parents wanted her to get a dog who could keep her safe when she went out walking. They’re very paranoid about her safety, and they wanted to hire a bodyguard, of all things. Instead, Elodie insisted on a dog who would grow up to look mean and intimidating but wouldn’t actually be either of those things.
With a brindle coat, big droopy jowls, huge brown eyes, and massive teeth, I can see how people would be slightly grossed out, intimidated, and maybe even attracted to Jeffers. He’s kind of the perfect mix of cute and terrifying.
He also drools a lot.
As in, I’m just about completely soaked.
“Jeffers!” I hiss, sliding my hand under the dog’s body to try and move him off the bed.
Yeah, right, because it’s a hard pass on his part. Moving him when he’s lying down is like trying to lift a twenty feet stone bolder, and I’ve never starred in any of those strong man competitions. “Come on, boy.” I try tugging, partly lifting, and grasping, but nope, nope, and nope. He’s not budging. He’s perfectly content to let his head rest a few inches from mine, his tongue rolled out of his mouth like a red carpet down the endless stairs of a building, breathing his canine halitosis all over me.
My side of the bed is soaked. And god, this dog is like a living furnace.
“Why couldn’t you go on Elodie’s side? She loves you more!”
Jeffers huffs at me slightly, and it’s like a dog sigh. Then he farts. I know it’s him because, duh, it smells like dog shit. I didn’t hear it, but it’s deadly and very potent.
“Dear god!” I grab my soaked pillow and stuff it over my face. The smell of dog breath drowns out the smell of dog fart, so I suppose it’s a win.
A minute later, Jeffers stretches out, punching out with one of his front feet, nearly hitting me in the nuts. It’s like he’s trying to get me back for my dream about Elodie. He’s her dog, and he’s very loyal. I bet he could read my mind, or maybe he just didn’t appreciate me going all big spoon on him.
I turn over, throw my pillow back down an inch away from the dog. Unfortunately, he stretches out further, slamming both paws into my back.
“Oomph!” I grunt. “Okay, point taken.”
I edge over a little bit more, right to the literal edge, and Jeffers lets out a sigh of contentment. He’s literally taking up more than half of my half. It’s a king-sized bed, but good god, I have less than a quarter of it, and I’m a big guy.
Tomorrow night, I’m moving those bags over. Elodie gets less than half because I know Jeffers will inch his way up here in the night again. He’s probably watching me and guard-doggin’ it over Elodie. He likely knows I have impure thoughts in my sleep.
This was the first time, though. I swear.
Surprisingly, when I close my eyes, I feel myself drifting off. But right as I’m about to let sleep claim me again, something hard rams into my back with the force of a battering ram.
I sit up and turn over sharply, a curse on the tip of my tongue, only to find that Jeffers has rolled over, and now his back is pressed up against mine. At this point, I’m nearly falling out of the bed.
There’s only one thing left to do if I don’t want to end up on the floor.
I throw one arm around the dog’s big ribcage and press up against him, hanging on to him to keep myself from falling over the edge and ending up on the motel carpet. I absolutely do not want to end up on a motel carpet. Jeffers might be a drool machine, but at least he’s clean, and I know where he’s been. He doesn’t smell so bad. He has his own distinct dog cologne, and now that his fart has passed, it’s not so terrible.
