Page 3 of Imagine Me and You

It was, by extension, his fault that Sam and Poppy were bunking with him. Not that he minded Sam’s presence so much.

Unless you brought the sexual frustration issue into the picture. Though even when she wasn’t staying with him, she did a pretty good job of sexually frustrating the ever-loving hell out of him. Just last week they’d curled up on her couch to watch an action movie. And she’d put the damned popcorn bowl. In. His. Lap.

The ceramic shield over his cock was the equivalent of a Kevlar vest pitted against a 30-06 rifle. Not. Fucking. Helpful.

The constant promise of a hand job with no satisfaction. And she’d had no idea. She’d been all involved in the movie while he’d sat there with a hard-on so intense he was a little afraid it would break the popcorn bowl.

Yeah, so...he was already in hell where she was concerned.

Now hell had moved in. Complete with hound.

His own little ginger specter of sexual doom.

And none of that was fair because Samantha needed a friend. But not a friend who was hiding an erection that wouldn’t quit and casting aspersions on the round suppleness of her breasts.

Not right now. Which meant getting a grip on himself—literally in the shower if need be—and moving on without blaming her for what a sick freaking puppy he was where she was concerned.

“And tomorrow I’ll make you pancakes for breakfast,” she practically chirped. In truth, it had been a long time since a woman had made him breakfast. But usually when one did, it was a much-needed refueling after a night of sex. Not so for tomorrow’s pancakes.

He repeated that to himself. Enough times and his body might get the message.

“Great, but you don’t have to pay rent, Sam, in money or in foodstuffs.”

“No, I know. But I figured that I should do something. If not for you, Poppy and I wouldn’t have anywhere to go.”

He knew better than to suggest she not tie her fate to her pet. That would get the batter of his morning pancakes sneezed in.

“So where are your things? Do you need help moving?”

“All of my things are in the delivery van.”

Samantha’s only vehicle was a giant white van with colorful decals on the side and the wordsSamantha’s Sweetsemblazoned on the side in swirling letters.

“Even your furniture?”

“No. I got a storage unit for that. Which, come to think of it, Poppy and I probably could have slept in if we’d gotten desperate.”

“Yeah, right, like I would have let you sleep in a cold, mouse-infested storage unit.”

“Mice?”

“I mean, I’m not that heartless, Sam, not even when it comes to dogs.”

“Mice? As in actual mice?”

“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need.”

“Are they going to have babies in my couch?”

“What?”

“The mice,” she said, hazel eyes round.

“You sound concerned. I thought you liked vermin.”

“I like dogs,” she said. “And cats. And...fluffy vermin like hamsters. I draw the line at anything with a naked tail. No mice, rats or possums.”

“Hairless cats?”

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