Page 16 of Treat

“Well, let me know when you hear. And when you find a place, I’ll clear a weekend to help you move.”

“That would be great, Ames. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. Don’t fuck your boss.”

“I’m seriously getting new friends,” Brynn said and hung up on Amy’s cackling laugh.

She sat there for a moment, listening to the dog snore. It was oddly comforting, even if it did come with the smell of hound and dog farts and more drool than she’d known one mammal could produce. Maybe she’d get a dog when she got a place of her own—or better, a cat, since they didn’t need walking.

“Speaking of which,” she said, giving Tilly a nudge. “Time for yours. C’mon, get up.”

Tilly opened one eye, huffed, and closed it again.

Used to Tilly’s lazy ways, Brynn didn’t bother to cajole. There was only one thing that could get Tilly to move when she didn’t want to, so Brynn went straight to the deli drawer in the fridge to get them.

When they walked back into the apartment twenty minutes later, Tilly was full of organic dog treats and empty of pee and Brynn was even sweatier. More than ready for a shower, she made sure Tilly had enough water in her bowl and headed to the guest bath, where she’d already put the toiletries she’d cleared out of Jude’s bathroom.

Hosing off the heat and sweat made her feel a hundred times better, as did a quick spin with the hand-held shower wand. It didn’t have as many settings as one in Jude’s shower, but usingthis one didn’t come with a vague sense of guilt along with the orgasm, and that more than made up for the lack of variety.

It was bad enough she was thinking of Jude when she came, doing it in his shower added a layer of ick she wasn’t prepared to morally wrestle with. The fact that she’d been doing so since she’d moved in was neither here nor there.

She dug a sundress and fresh panties out of her suitcase and made a mental note to do laundry before Jude got home. She was going to have to make a trip to the storage unit for more of her clothes soon, but she was hoping to put it off until she was in her own apartment and could move everything all at once.

She’d checked her bank account, and though there hadn’t been a deposit yet, she was surprisingly un-anxious about it. She should’ve been, especially since her checking account was in the red. But knowing that money was coming meant she could see the minus sign and the account alert banner flashing on her banking app and still breathe.

Money might not be able to buy happiness, but it was better than Lexapro for easing anxiety.

Dressed, she combed her hair and left it to air dry, then put on her glasses and checked her phone. The grocery delivery was on its way, and the link Jude had forwarded her told her the dresser and bedding would be delivered before five. She needed something for lunch, then she’d get out her laptop. She had some ideas for punching up Jude’s social media for the season, and she wanted to get her thoughts written up and organized before presenting them to him. And focusing on work was the best way to remind herself that their relationship was a professional one—no matter how much she wished otherwise.

4

Jude didn’t have time to think about Brynn once he was at the gym. Which would’ve been a good thing, except he was dying.

“I’m dying,” he gasped, sprawled on the floor of the weight room, his limbs like rubber and his heart beating like a jackrabbit’s.

The toe of a sneaker tapped his ribs, drawing his gaze to the short, muscular, hairy man standing over him in gym shorts and a tank top. “You’re not dying, but you’ll feel like it tomorrow if you don’t get up and stretch.”

“Just bury me here,” Jude wheezed and closed his eyes. “Put up a plaque in my memory, tell my story. Don’t let my death be in vain.”

“Wah, wah, wah,” came the pitiless reply.

Jude opened one eye to glare at his trainer. “You’re fired.”

Mac just grinned. “No refunds.”

“I’m filing a complaint with the Better Business Bureau.” Jude rolled to a sitting position. “Ow. Fuck.”

“That’s what you get for playing beach volleyball and drinking beer all summer,” Mac said, all cheer and no sympathy. “Come on. Stretch, then massage.”

“You say massage,” Jude said and hauled himself to his feet, “but you meantorture.I’m onto your tricks, you sadist.”

“Are you always this dramatic?” Mac wanted to know.

“Just for the first few weeks.” Jude shifted into a hamstring stretch, stifling a groan. “Then I’ll be over it.”

“Good, because I charge extra for whining.”

“This isn’t whining.” Jude sank deeper into the stretch. It almost felt good. “It’s biting commentary.”

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