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Dash grunts as he unlocks the back door and holds it open for me. We’re in a kitchen. I’d love to have the brain capacity to take in my surroundings, but I’m five seconds away from bursting.
“Through the bedroom, there’s a hallway, bathroom door is on the left.”
“Thank you, you wonderful man,” I murmur feverishly as I sprint through the doorway he points to. I pass a room, barely seeing more than a bed before reaching a hallway with a door open just a crack. Through that small opening, I spot a glorious porcelain throne.
Door closed and locked, pants pulled to my ankles, butt on a chilly seat. Never can I remember having such a satisfying pee. The fact that the bathroom is barely bigger than a closet doesn’t matter to me in the least. The toilet is so close to a washer/dryer set that I have to keep my elbows tucked to my sides. A half-empty bottle of laundry detergent sits eye level. I’m tempted to reach over, unscrew the cap, and take a whiff on the chance that the liquid is what gives Dash his tantalizing fresh scent.
But then I remember that I’m supposed to be a sane adult.
After I finish my business, I wash my hands thoroughly, but quickly. When I was on the verge of bursting, the pain of my predicament pushed aside any embarrassment. Now, I watch a flush steal over my cheeks as I look at myself in the mirror.
Might as well say a final goodbye to Dash, because after this display, I doubt he’ll want to even continue dog training lessons with me.
I sigh and dry my hands before pushing the door open.
And then I stand still for a moment, trying to remember which direction I came from.
The sprint to the bathroom was so frantic, I can’t recall if I came from the right or the left. The hall is short, and there’s an equal distance to both cracked open doorways. Should I call out for Dash, or just try one?
I decide to turn left and hope I’ve got it right.
My choice does bring me to a bedroom, only I’m not sure if this is the one I sprinted through a moment ago. The curious thing about it is there’s a man sprawled across the bed, a notebook propped on his knee, and a pen skittering across the page. The pen halts when he notices me.
Was there a man in the bedroom on my way to the bathroom?
I’m not sure I would’ve seen him if there was.
“Who are you?” His voice hits whip-fast, and it’s all I can do not to flinch at it.
“Paige,” I answer, because it’s the only thing I can think to say.
We stare at each other for a moment. I’m not sure what he sees, but I get the impression of danger. Or at least anger. The guy lounges, a scowl on his face, dark twisting ink covering his arms and chest. That’s when I realize he’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of black sweatpants. Silver studs glint in his ears and a little loop pierces his eyebrow.
“Are you fucking Dash?”
His question has me rocking back on my heels, and I glance down at my pants, which are fully zipped and buttoned.
No dick currently in there, that’s for sure.
“At this very moment? No. If you meant to use past tense, as in ‘Did you fuck Dash?’ Then again, the answer is no. If you meant to say, ‘Are you going to fuck Dash?’ Referring to either tonight or at some point in the future, then I can’t give as a definitive answer. I have no psychic skills. However, I’d say the answer is still likely to be no, seeing as how I doubt your roommate is interested in me that way.”
Damn, I’m babbling again.
“You’re here,” he says in a way that leads me to believe the presence of a girl in their house normally equates to them being fucked by Dash. Interesting. And also disheartening.
“Well, we were hanging out, like friends do, and I practically had to beg to use y’all’s bathroom. So, yeah. Sex is unlikely.” Wanting to change the subject from my complete lack of sexual appeal, I nod toward his notebook. “What are you writing?”
He stares at me, unblinking for a long time. The guy brings to mind a python deciding whether or not it wants to bother with devouring a passing warthog. Me being said warthog.
Eventually, he smirks, the expression full of disdain. “A torrid sex scene between a warrior werewolf and his succubus mate.”
If this dude was trying to scare me off, he failed royally. I practically trip over myself to move in closer, sitting cross-legged next to his bed.
“Really? He’s a warrior? Who is he fighting? Is this urban fantasy, or set in another realm? Does she want to be his mate, or is he seducing her? Or is she seducing him?”
The guy’s eyes widen at my sudden approach, then narrow as he stares down at me. Once again, he takes a moment before answering, but when he does, the words sound like a gift.
“I’m Cole.”
