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I turn the kitchen lights off. I'll do the dishes when I wake up in five hours for the next round of feeding and pooping. I'm too exhausted to do it now.
I head toward my room and notice there's a sliver of orange light coming through the crack underneath Locky's door. An image of Locky reading in bed fills my mind, but the wholesomeness vanishes as quickly as his clothes do, because my stupid imagination takes a sudden, sharp turn into Fantasy Lane.
I knock on Locky's door.
"Come in," he calls out, his voice noticeably huskier than usual.
I open the door and there he is, lying on his bed, completely naked, his skin bathed in orange light. The thing my dick and I have noticed about Locky's body is that he's meaty. Filled out. Like maybe he played whatever the Australian version of NFL is when he was younger, so he's left with the size and shape from those days, with some of the muscle giving way to squishiness.
Mmm…squishiness.
But Locky's not reading naked in bed. No. He's fucking himself with a dildo that's poking out of his ass, andJesus, my vision goes wonky, my knees buckle—
I sputter a cough and wake myself out of the fantasy.
What the fuck?
My forehead is pressed against Locky's door, my hand inches away from knocking on it.
I rear back and hustle down the hallway before I do something stupid like act on my irrational impulses.
I quickly brush my teeth, and in the safety of my bedroom, jump into bed. It's been a long day. Week. Month. Year. Take your pick.
Between my day job and helping out at the shelter, I was already running on low, but now with the addition of my six new best friends, I'm next-level exhausted.
Despite wanting to sleep,needingto sleep, my brain won't let me. I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking about dinner. Even though I didn’t tell Locky everything about my checkered past, I said enough so that he at least knows that it is a checkered past. He didn’t flinch at all, and it felt nice not being judged. Makes me think that maybe, in time, I can open up some more and fill him in on all the shitty things I’ve done. Maybe.
Then my mind goes back in time. To that day last week when I was stalking Locky and saw that he'd been locked out of his house. How my heart broke for him, even as rage bubbled inside me at the douchery of the move by his ex. How it made sense to have him stay here, and how quickly I've grown to like the mess he leaves everywhere.
And then my thoughts wind back farther still, to the very first time we met, when Chester brought him over to the shelter. That moment when I looked at Locky, and…and… I don't even have words to describe what I felt.
Have you ever met someone and known, just known deep inside, that this person was gonna mean something to you?
That's what I felt, and it's most likely the thing that kicked my protective instincts into gear. When I heard about his divorce a couple of months later, I started keeping an eye on him. Following him around. Making sure he got to wherever he was going safely.
Because, see, I still have some connections from my prison days. So I called in a favor. I asked my contact to see if he could dig up any dirt on Bailey. And Bailey Chadforth isn't a good guy. As if that wasn't obvious enough by his cheating and the lies he spun to Locky. And I'm no immigration lawyer, but I'm calling bullshit on the house needing to be in his name for green card purposes.
But it's the shady shit he's doing using the security clearances his job gives him that has really piqued my interest. My contact has no concrete details—or evidence. Yet. I'm keeping this information in my back pocket until I get both.
None of this paints a picture of a guy who's going to play nice during divorce proceedings, does it?
Though I'm one to talk. With my criminal record, on paper, I'm just as bad for Locky as Bailey was.
That's why I can't let my heart get involved in this. I'm helping Locky out through a shitty time in his life. That's as far as it goes. Once the divorce is behind him, and he's moved on with his life, I'll do the same with mine.
The thought makes me queasy, even if it is the truth. Locky deserves to be with someone good. Someone who can offer him a bright future. What have I got to give him? Nothing. I'm closing in on forty, live in my brother's house, and have no savings because all the money I make I use to pay Bishop back.
I turn on my side, punch fluff my pillow a few times, and squeeze my eyes shut, determined to get some rest.
I may be a loser, but I've got six furry friends depending on me.
* * *
"When's the last time you got laid?" Tyler asks Locky because only Tyler could get away with asking such a question. Out loud. In front of a group of people.
Although, just quietly, I'm not mad about it. I casually lean over the countertop, eager to hear what Locky has to say.
"Well, that depends…" Locky begins.
