Page 9 of The Good Boy

Miles seems to give this quite a lot of thought. Or maybe his brain is just buffering.

“I know you’ve got joggers!” I say. “I’ve seen you jogging in them!”

He raises one dark eyebrow.

“By accident,” I say. “I wasn’t looking on purpose.”

“Fine, wait a second.” He goes back into his house and slams the door shut. On any other day, with any other person, I would take this as the internationally understood sign to piss off, but Miles isn’t like most people. No matter what else is going on he always shows up for his mates.

As I wait Matilda stares up at me, probably planning on how to flay the skin from my face and drink my blood in a diabolical plot to restore her youth and beauty.

“Rory’s turned into a human,” I tell her. She regards me as if I am a perfect example of an idiot. She’s not wrong.

“Right.” Miles opens the door again. He has a carrier bag stuffed full of clothes. “Come on, then. We’ll give him clothes and then we will call the police.”

“Wait—you don’t have to come into my house,” I assure him. “I don’t want Rory getting freaked out.”

“You’re worried about the strange naked man under your bedgetting freaked out? Sorry, not happening,” Miles says firmly. “You are a woman and I am honor-bound to come with you and offer you protection.”

“Fine. Well, they’re your knickers, I suppose. Come on. But don’t come running to me with your therapy bills.”

“Rory, it’s me,” I say outside the bathroom door. Miles waits by the front door. “You okay, b... b... feller?”

“Yeah, I worked out the big bowl thing, Genie,” Rory says from the kitchen. “And I got food on my own!”

“You did what?”

We follow his voice into my small, open-plan kitchen–dining room. Rory has tipped his bag of kibble all over the floor and is on all fours, tucking in with typical Rory gusto. Thankfully he is still wearing the blanket draped over his back.

“Flip,” Miles says.

“Right?”

“What’s Miles doing here?” Rory sits up abruptly, gathering the blanket around him, and grabbing Diego so tightly to his chest that it squeaks. “Is the cat here? We cannot allow that cat on our property, Genie. One minute it’s allpurr purrand the next it’sdeath to my enemies, and I am that cat’s enemy, Genie!”

“Don’t worry,” I tell him quickly. “Matilda isn’t here, and anyway, Miles has brought you some clothes to wear.”

“Clothes?” Rory scowls. “Like that stupid costume you made me wear last Halloween?”

“Sort of, a bit,” I say, thinking of the old shirt I ripped up, squirted with red paint and buttoned onto him, telling everyone he had come as a cheerful werewolf.

“I don’t like clothes—they are uncomfortable.”

“I know, but the thing is, while you look like...” I gesture at him, “this, you need to wear some human clothes, Rory. I’m sorry, but on the bright side you will be much less cold.”

Miles sets down the carrier bag within reach of Rory before retreating.

“They smell of cat,” Rory says unhappily. “All my friends will laugh at me.”

“They are freshly laundered,” Miles says, a bit touchy.

“Cat and lavender,” Rory says. “I will never hear the end of this from Dozer.”

“Dozer the English bulldog?” I ask him. “So, when you are down at the park playing with the other dogs, are you chatting?”

“Of course we’re chatting.” Rory is indignant. “We’re not animals!”

“Okay, well... look, bud, you need to put the clothes on so that I can take you to see Nanna Maria and get this sorted, okay?”

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