Page 27 of Leashed

She fixed him with an exasperated look. “You’re looking to argue.”

“I’m looking to understand and avoid,” he corrected, grinning at her. “So if I call up a flower shop right now and get flowers delivered to a woman because I want to get laid, is she going to assume I’m being romantic or is she going to know I’m horny?”

“I don’t know,” she huffed, crossing her arms. “I suppose you could keep the point clear by writing ‘do me’ on the card.”

“But what if she sees that as romantic?” he fired back, nudging her foot out of the way so he could lean back without crushing her leg. “You know women well enough. My intention might be to get a blow job, but she could read it as me wanting to be saddled into a relationship.” When her eyes narrowed, he smirked. “Should we put it to the test?”

She stretched out her leg and bumped her foot against his. “Go ahead, but don’t come crying to me when you’re married in three months.”

He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Not worth the risk.” Picking up her werewolf book, he passed it to her. “Got any more of these kicking around?”

She lifted the pile she had tucked under her chair and set them on the small wicker table. “Yeah. Here.”

He scanned the covers and selected one that looked a little darker than the others. “You okay with me chilling here for a bit? No big deal if you want me to go, though. So don’t be all nice and polite just to be all nice and polite.”

*

Bo tossed thesteaming pizza box onto the coffee table and flopped down on the sofa beside Sage. “Just to make my intentions clear so you don’t faint or try to screw me on the floor, this is hunger-based pizza, not romance-based pizza.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes and flipping her wet hair back as she opened the box. “My hunger-based perception of your hunger-based pizza order is one hundred percent on board with that.” She passed him the rumpled pile of napkins the delivery driver had dropped off with the order. “No reading until you wash the grease off. I’ll grab some plates.”

The temperature outside had dipped well below freezing, forcing them to leave the cozy patio in search of food.

Which had led to her apologizing for not having a stash of frozen pizza in her freezer.

Which had led to him growling at her to stop apologizing.

Which she then apologized for.

He watched Sage as she stood up and scampered to the kitchen.

The sour mood he’d interrupted on earlier was gone, provided he kept Nixon’s name out of their conversation. The incessant restlessness plaguing him all day had eased with every step he’d taken toward the park, toward her complex, disappearing completely when he’d climbed onto her patio.

They’d read in virtual silence for over an hour, Sage tucked up tight in her blanket and him sprawled out in the bucket-style wicker seat. When he caught her tightening her comforter to fend off the cold, he’d straightened up, running through the open liquor stores he could hit up on his drive home until she stood and slid the patio doors open.

I’m starving. Let’s eat.

Four simple words, and he was sitting on a dainty turquoise sofa at midnight on a Thursday with a glass of water, a subpar pizza, and a freshly showered woman on her hands and knees hunting for the TV remote.

“Hey,” he called over, tilting his head. “That your phone buzzing or mine?”

“Mine,” she replied, giving up her search and selecting a slice with more cheese than the others. “Ignore it.”

He followed her command for the first few minutes, wolfing down the least cheesy slices until her phone buzzed for the fifth time. “Hot damn,” he grunted. “You two have another fight or something? This is fucking ridiculous. Freaking ridiculous.”

She picked up her empty plate, holding out her hand for his. “Kind of.”

“What about?”

She walked into the kitchen, turning on the tap. “We had a miscommunication and he’s a little upset because I missed an important work dinner.” The plates clattered as she set them into the dishwasher. “I had a lecture at the museum I had to attend for credit.”

He leaned back and stretched his arms across the back of the sofa, brows lifting when the phone began buzzing again. “What was the lecture on?”

She sat in the matching high-back chair in the corner, tugging on the hem of velour sweatpants that looked way too touchable. “Morality in preservation techniques,” she said, her eyes flicking to her phone. “It was kind of cool to hear the different views on restoration and the risks and benefits of actively revitalizing pieces.”

“Sounds more interesting than eating oysters with a bunch of dicks in suits,” he replied, ignoring the disappointment that had flashed through him when she chose the chair over the sofa.

The phone buzzed again and she sighed. “I should probably check that.”

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