Page 12 of Training my Human

He shook his head. “Nothing. It was no problem at all. But I should get heading. Princess is likely clawing up my place, seeing as how she hasn’t gotten her evening snuggle yet.”

I’ll admit, I had a hard time picturing this burly guy catering to a cat. At the same time, I’d bet it was cute as fuck.

I walked him out to his truck. “Thanks again. Really appreciate this.”

“Wish I could have done more, but shedding is not something that can’t be hurried. Hope he’s back to himself soon.”

“Me too.”

Maddox paused before climbing in his truck. “I don’t suppose I could interest you in coffee or a dinner once your pet’s recovered?”

I blinked. “As in, a date?” I blurted.

His lips curved. “Yeah. Assuming you’re single, of course.”

“Single and yeah, I’d like that.” Tingles suddenly coursed through me, not something I’d had happen in a long while.

“How about tomorrow night? That is, if your lizard is doing better. There’s that Italian place close to our work, or if you like, that new taco joint.”

“I don’t know if I should be gone all day for work and then dinner.” I chewed my lips as I glanced back at the trailer.

“What if I grabbed us some takeout and brought it here?”

“Really?” At his nod, I smiled. “I get off around six. Meet me here for seven?”

“Sounds good. What should I grab? Tacos or pasta?”

“Surprise me. I’ll have wine and beer to match either.”

“It’s a date. See you tomorrow, Pip.”

Heck yeah, he would.

That was assuming I wasn’t mourning the passing of Little Fella. I spent the night snuggled with his overheating body. Weird, yes, but anyone who said anything could fuck right off.

By the morning, Little Fella remained the same, if slightly cooler. His skin showed more tearing—I swear he’d grown again overnight—and he’d stopped sweating. His breathing was also much better.

Still, I worried and ended up calling in sick so I could keep an eye on him.

He didn’t wake, but when I used an eye dropper to put some beef broth in his mouth, he did swallow. A good sign, I hoped.

By the time seven rolled around, I’d showered, dressed in my most ass-molding jeans and a snug t-shirt that showed off my tits, and brushed my platinum hair smooth. My mane was borderline white, and natural, too, unlike what most people assumed. I started out with the ebony locks of my ancestors, but as I aged, streaks of silver appeared, which traumatized my teenage ass at the time. At twenty-five, I stopped trying to dye it and embraced it. At thirty-three, I rocked the hair and got a laugh when a new lover realized the drapes matched the carpet.

Hearing the rumble of Maddox’s truck, I checked on Little Fella, who’d been moved to a laundry basket lined in towels. I wanted the bed free, just in case.

I headed outside to greet Maddox, who arrived bearing a Mexican feast, way more than two people could eat: nine tacos—evenly split between beef, pork, and chicken—salsa and tortilla chips, rice and beans, a couple empanadas, and churros for dessert. When I teased, Maddox explained he wanted to ensure he got my favorites.

He could have shown up with Taco Bell and I’d have been fine. I wasn’t a picky girl when it came to food.

Before we ate, he asked to see Little Fella and declared he looked much better, which eased my mind. We sat by my firepit to eat, tossing back some Coors Light, talking, mostly about work. He wanted to know how I got into tattooing. It was because I liked art but selling paintings could be hit and miss moneywise, especially for artists just starting out. However, a talented inker? My growing build fund showed the lucrativeness in drawing on people with what was essentially permanent marker. As for Maddox, he got into the pet store business because he hated the large chain stores and liked lizards. He owned the building that held his shop and lived in the apartment over it.

“I don’t make a shit ton of dough,” he admitted. “But I enjoy the work. Much better than being stuck in an office.”

“I can’t picture you at a desk,” I teased.

“And yet I used to work at the bank.” He grimaced. “My mom convinced me to get a finance degree because I was good at math. I hated it.”

“No fucking way,” I exhaled in shock. “You?—”

---