Page 42 of Nick

He nods, still studying me. He glances in at Goldie again, watching her as he speaks. "My Abuelita was my universe. I lived with her my whole life. She would call me Mi Vida (her life) and spoiled me rotten. So did the women in our community. They all took care of me. And early on, I learned to talk sweet to all of them. Not just because it got me extra treats, but because I liked the way their faces would light up. It was way better than the way my dad would talk to her. When he was around, she looked older and tired. I didn't like it." Those rich brown eyes pin me to the floor. "I flirt with all women because it's fun, and it makes me happy. I like being gifted with their smiles and laughter. I like the teasing. That doesn't mean I have a new woman in my bed every night."

"You...," I wet my lips. "You don't owe me an explanation."

He arches a brow. "No. I don't. But you seem to have some wrong ideas about me. Just wanted to set things straight."

I pull my eyes away, focusing on the mottled concrete floor. "Sorry. It's none of my business. You have a right to spend time with anyone you want."

Nick's mouth twists, but he nods. I had to go and shove my foot in my mouth. Why didn't I just keep it light? Because the way I feel isn't light, and keeping things superficial is starting to physically hurt. And which of my ideas are wrong?

"So," I say, pushing to my feet. "Ready to get to work?"

He smirks, and tucks his other arm under his head. "I've been here since five. I've already been working."

"Correction. You've fed the dogs, now the real work begins."

"Real work?" he asks, frowning.

"Yeah. What happens after you feed a dog? Even you should know the answer to that. Actually, you should smell the answer to that."

He sniffs the air, and realization dawns. "Shit."

I laugh, feeling back on solid ground. "Exactly."

It would be easier to resist this man if he refused to work, or did it grudgingly. Instead, he laughs and jokes, commenting on the dog's last meal, complementing them on the size and texture of their poop. Basically, being a disgusting guy. What does it say about me that I find him even more attractive like this? Forget expensive restaurants and crisp white shirts. Apparently, all it takes for me to fall in love is a rugged man in a t-shirt and jeans picking up dog poop with a smile.

Nick comes back through the door after taking the trash to the dumpster and beelines to the sink, scrubbing his hands. "What's next boss? Want me to scrub the floors on my hands and knees? Maybe clean the toilets with a toothbrush?" He's joking, but also looks like he'd be happy to do it if I ask.

"Tempting. Truly. But I thought maybe we could go walk some dogs."

The man lights up. "Really?"

"Really. But you'll have to carry the poop bags."

He blows a raspberry, unconcerned. "I'm a damned expert Bree. Obviously I'll handle the poop. Let's go!"

We make short work of harnessing up the first few dogs. Nick takes two larger dogs, and I grab the leases for three smaller ones. We exit the back door into the still winter's night. This area of town is busy all day, eerily empty at night, so all we hear is the faint sounds of the all night factories in the distance, and the crush of our feet on the snow and ice covered ground.

"Bree," Nick says, glancing at me. "How long have you been volunteering here?"

"A few months. I started coming pretty soon after I heard about it. I just needed..." I trail off, not sure I want to finish that sentence.

"What did you need?"

There's an intensity in his gaze that forces me to answer. "I didn't want to be home alone. Someone at work said getting a pet might help me feel more secure. But when I went to the shelter I somehow ended up in the back with Cady feeding the dogs. It kind of snowballed from there. Before I knew it, I was coming almost every night."

"And you do everything we did tonight?"

"Depends. Some nights it's late when I come, so there's only time to help walk them. I do whatever I can. And I don't come quite as often now."

"You walk the dogs alone at night? In this neighborhood?"

I frown, stopping at a telephone pole for the dogs to sniff, and attempt to pee. They're emptied out, but they still strain, trying to leave their mark. "Why do you say it like that? It's not a big deal."

His eyes widen, head tipping in shock. "You're saying that? Seriously? You, of all people, know how easy it would be for someone with bad intentions to hurt you. This is not a nice neighborhood. I should know. We spent a decade a few blocks from here at the first garage we owned. Fucking hell, Bree."

I let the dogs urge me forward, walking ahead, Nick a thundercloud of emotion following behind me. I'm not sure I know what to say. On the surface, it's stupid, I know it. I'm afraid to sit in my locked car in a parking lot, but I'll walk the dogs, sometimes alone, at midnight.

"It's not so much the attack that broke me, you know," I say quietly, watching the cloud of my breath waft billow in front of me. "The bruises faded. The concussion healed." That wasn't a quick or easy process, but physical pain is something I understand. "He said he loved me. He was so affectionate, Nick. He acted like he really cared about me. And then he put his hands around my neck and tried to strangle me to death." A choked laugh escapes. It's not funny, of course it's not, but still I laugh. "His face was totally blank. It looked like he was standing in line at the bank, or waiting for his coffee, not trying to kill somebody."

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