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I hustle inside and grab a shopping cart, dodging sticky fingered kids whining to their parents about wanting bunnies or guinea pigs or lizards. The dog food aisle is massive and packed with too many options.
Food for hyper dogs, food for medium-sized dogs, food for overweight dogs. I’m pretty sure Dog will eat whatever the fuck I put in front of him, so I grab a big bag of something that seems mid-tier and throw a black dog bowl in the cart with it for good measure.
The next aisle over is just rows and rows of collars, with tags you can pick out and take to a little machine near the registers to get customized with the dog’s name. I bypass all of that and head to the checkout counter.
The cashier smiles at me, giving me the once-over that basically all men and some women do when they see my hair and tattoos, assuming they’re into that kind of thing.
“New dog?” he asks, leaning over to scan the bag of food so I don’t have to haul it up out of the cart.
“Sure,” I reply. “Something like that.”
“We’ve got collars and tags on aisle seven,” he tells me, as if I somehow missed the big sign that hangs over the aisle while I was back there. “Do you need to run and grab something?”
I shake my head and pull out enough money to cover what I bought. “Nope. I’m good. Thanks.”
“Oh. Uh, okay.”
He stares after me once he hands me my change, and I start pushing the cart toward the automatic doors, ignoring his curious gaze.
Whatever. Dog isn’t my dog, as far as I’m concerned. He’s a stray on the best vacation of his life, but when it comes down to it, I’m just feeding him for now. No need to mess around with collars and tags when none of this is permanent.
Gage looks impatient and pissed off when I get back to the car, so I take my time loading the bag into the back seat and then pushing the cart to a little corral in the center of the parking lot.
He’s practically grinding his teeth by the time I get buckled in, and he peels out of the parking lot like he can’t wait to get out of there.
We drive in silence, which is fine with me. I don’t have anything to say to him, and instead, I can observe him.
He’s hard through and through. I got a glimpse of him letting his guard down earlier, something I’ve never seen before. Even with the other three men, people he clearly trusts, he’s still guarded and sharp—but it works for him in a weird way. He’s lethally gorgeous, not afraid to get his hands dirty or use his gun to make his points for him.
I remember the way he pressed against me yesterday, right outside his house, his cock hard on my ass while his fingers made me fall apart. He knew what he was doing. Knew just how to push my buttons and make me lose it.
As if he can sense my thoughts, Gage glances over at me, and I glance away. Neither of us say anything, like we have some unspoken agreement not to talk.
It’s late afternoon when we get back to the house.
I drag Dog’s stuff in and leave it by the door, half to piss Gage off and half because I can’t be fucked to deal with it just yet.
Gage disappears upstairs to do who-knows-what, and a few minutes later, Ash comes down, looking satisfied and rumpled. He has a redheaded woman on his arm, and she giggles as she almost trips down the last stair, leaning against him for balance.
It’s clear what they were doing upstairs, and I roll my eyes when Ash winks at me and ushers his lady friend for the next five minutes out the door.
“I have to get to the club,” Gage says when he comes back down, and he leaves soon after.
That leaves me alone in the house, from what I can tell. It’s quiet, and it feels empty. I have no idea where Priest and Knox are, but I haven’t seen them all day. When I whistle, Dog comes running, the clatter of his claws on the hardwood announcing his presence from wherever he’s been.
I hope it was shitting in Ash’s shoes.
“Come here, you little hellion,” I say. “I got something for you.”
Dog just tilts his head to one side like he has no idea what I’m saying but is just happy to be here, which is probably the case.
After dragging his stuff to the kitchen, I fill his new bowl with the new food and put it in front of him.
He watches me for a second, looking at the food and then back up at me, like he’s confused what he’s supposed to do with it.
Huh. I guess he’s never really had dog food before, and the little kibble pellets look a lot different than the leftovers I’ve been feeding him for the last few weeks.
“It’s food.” I nudge the bowl with my foot. “I know it looks like shit, but it’s supposed to be good for you. Make your coat glossy or some shit. I don’t know. Eat it.”
