Page 59 of Puppy on a Leash

“It’s not a romantic thing,” I went on, “but it’s our thing.”

“Can I ask about it?”

Tony wrapped his arm around my waist and rested his head against my shoulder. My eyes widened. Cece looked just as shocked. I hadn’t expected him to be open about being with me in front of others. Sure, we had started whatever it was just last week, but it had been behind one closed door or another. Hehadtold María about us, but it turned out that I needed the visible proof of it.

“S-sure.”

Shit. I didn’t stumble. That wasn’t me.

“We’re open books.” Cece blinked innocently, but they were grinning. Of course they chose to help right this minute. “But can we have food first, Sir? I’m starving.”

“You fucker.”

“Language, pup,” Tony growled against my ear.

I gasped, forcefully ignoring how alive it made me feel. People didn’t call me out for my language. They definitely didn’t slap my ass loud enough our neighbors could’ve heard just fine.

“Don’t even,” I warned Cece.

They looked on the verge of laughing their ass off. Did I appreciate they were in a better mood? Sure. But maybe it could be not at my expense? Was that too much to ask for?

“Did he get us the good stuff?”

“He got boba.”

Cece moaned, loudly—the kind of moan that might or might not be sexual, because apparently, they were still playing, and they wanted me to combust today.

“I take back what I said about him.”

I snorted while slumping down on the couch. Cece curled up to my side. “Are you really okay with him being here?”

“You clearly are,” Cece teased.

“Be serious.”

I didn’t realize it until I said the words, but Ineededthem to be serious. I needed someone with a better track record at decision making than mine to tell me I wasn’t completely losing it. I didn’t think it was asking for too much. Was it?

I couldn’t say I cared if it was. Maybe Cece had had a point earlier. I didn’t think I shifted the narrative to look like the good guy, but I put myself—my wants—first.

“You realize you’ve left your Dom to fend for himself in a house he’s never been in, right?”

“He’s not—” I cut myself off. Was he? Nope. Not thinking of that now. “He’ll manage. We don’t live in a mansion.”

Kitchen was the door right next to the living room, and it wasn’t big enough that finding plates would take more than a couple attempts opening drawers.

“Uh-huh.”

I was going to tease them some, but Tony reappeared in the living room, carrying a stack of plates and two boba teas. See? He’d even found where we kept the trays.

To be fair, they were just stacked between the sink and the fridge because the drawers weren’t wide enough for them.

“What did you get?”

“Indian.”

My comfort food.

No, I was not going to get emotional over the bare minimum. I was better than this.

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