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“You gonna explain that comment?”
“No.” He cracked his knuckles and stepped up to the table. “I’m going to relocate this hip and then put a cast on this fractured femur.” He wrinkled his nose, looking my doggy friend in the face. “And give you a bath.”
3
When my alarmwent off at six-thirty, I seriously wanted to cry.
I didn’t, because I don’t cry. But I wanted to.
We’d gotten back to my apartment—thankfully, in a building that allowed pets, even though I didn’t have any—around two.
I was exhausted, so I’d literally just thrown the rest of my food in the fridge—which was not going to do it any favors—and immediately gone straight into the bedroom.
And the dog had followed, his back leg in a little blue plaster cast. It was the saddest thing I’d seen in a while. Then he’d looked up at me with those huge eyes, one brown, one milky, and whined.
And I’m a fucking sucker, so I picked the damn thing up and put him on my bed, even though there was no way in fucking hell I’d have let him do it if he’d been in human form.
Double standards. I know.
Believe me. That’s what kept me up until two-thirty despite the fact that I was dead on my fucking feet.
But he gave me literal puppy-dog eyes.
Even I am not so much of a heartless asshole that I won’t fall for puppy-dog eyes.
And then his furless ass had shivered and cuddled up next to my legs… And I’m a fucking sucker, so I got up and went and got the damn dog a blanket off the back of my couch and tucked him in and then got back in bed myself and tried to ignore the fact that I had a dog pressed up against my hip.
So when the alarm went off, not only did I want to crawl into a hole, but when I did sit up, the dog lifted his fuzzy head and blinked at me.
I swung my legs out from under the covers and leaned forward, groaning as I put my face in my hands. I had—contrary to my usual habit—worn a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt to bed, because I don’t actually own any nightwear, and I wasn’t about to sleep either in my underwear or naked in front of a goddamn shifter, dog form or not.
Usually, I wait until after I shower to make coffee, but four hours of sleep on top of two consecutive days of about five hours wasnotenough for me to be a functional person without some serious caffeination.
As I staggered to my feet and started making my way around the bed, the dog whined.
Right. Dog.
I turned back, picking him up around the belly and putting him on the floor, where he looked up at me, tongue hanging out and tail wagging.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now? You’re a goddamnmorningperson?”
Chuff.
Fuck me.
With a groan, I padded out of the bedroom and into the open main living-dining area of my apartment before taking a sharp right into the kitchen to go through the motions of making coffee. I have a cheap-ass drip machine because that way when I have my shit together, I can prep it the night before and just flip the nice little switch before I jump in the shower.
I hadnothad my shit together the night before, so this morning I had to drag my reluctant brain out of the fog that surrounded it so that I could perform the basic functions of find-the-coffee-filters and scoop-coffee-into-the-basket.
I will literally drink anything that resembles coffee, so I’m lazy and buy pre-ground coffee, which I then keep in a tub in the freezer with a little scoop inside it.
Then I stood there and stared at the coffee maker while it made gurgling, ticking noises as it heated the water.
The dog whined from near my legs, and I looked down.
He looked pointedly at the door.
Right. Dogs had to go outside to pee. Or take a shit.
