Page 100 of Dallas

She was too cute to send to a mouse-infested storage unit. Too cute to throw into a snowbank. Too cute to have underfoot twenty-four hours a day because she was also just about too cute not to pull into his arms and kiss until neither of them could breathe.

Which meant it was time to go out and throw himself in a snowbank and then get his ass to work.

“Do whatever you want with Poppy. I have calves to de-ball.”

She arched her brows. “As you do.”

He gave her a halfhearted wave and walked towardthe front door. He grabbed his gloves from their place on the shelf that was just to the right of the door and the keys that were hanging on the hook below.

A place for everything, everything in its place. A simple fantasy he’d had in his childhood, one that had been unattainable.

Now he had it. And it really did make everything run smoother. He could get everything he needed for the day together in a matter of minutes. Muscle memory. Everything was right in reach, just where it was supposed to be.

No waste. No valuable moments spent searching for a tool that wasn’t where it belonged. He didn’t really care if Sam thought he was crazy. He was efficient. Crazy and efficient, but what the hell? He had control. He was the master of his domain.

He paused for a moment and put his hand on his hips, letting out a long breath that lingered in the air like fog before dispersing. He looked at the fields, covered in snow, to the mountains beyond them. The barns. The equipment sheds. It was all his, and it was all how he liked it.

Yeah, life was pretty damn good. And in a few weeks, Sam would be on the path to homeownership and out of his house. And things could get back to the way they were supposed to be.

With mild lust flare-ups that happened every now and then. But nothing like this seam-busting, perma-erection he was dealing with now.

He shook his head and kept walking. Spending the day removing the testicles from animals should serve as a decent libido crusher.

He’d never looked forward to the job so much.

“Holy shit.”

Jace walked through the front door of his house and was greeted by the muggy, unpleasant scent of dog. Wet dog.

And then his eyes went to the floor and followed the little trail of cotton fluff balls that ran from the kitchen, across the entryway and into the living room, to the fireplace.

He half-expected to see a big black beast at the end of the trail. But he didn’t.

Because the big black beast was on his couch. With the remains of the throw pillow that had been viciously attacked hanging from its jaws.

And its face was wet. It added to the gore of the scene. And judging by the puddles that led from the hall bathroom to the couch, the wet had come from the toilet.

“Hi, Jace! I brought cupcakes.”

He whirled around. “Why is your dog on my couch? Why did it drink out of the toilet? And why in hell did it chew up my pillow?”

“What?”

“You heard me,” he said, angry now, unreasonably so, maybe. No, not unreasonable. She’d come storming in yesterday and given him a fait accompli and now she was getting pancake on him and getting his cock hard and her dog was breaking his house.

“She never does stuff like that.”

She crossed to where he was standing and her mouth dropped open.

“See?” he asked. “She did that. She did. She killed that throw pillow and she didn’t even have the decency to consume the body. A pleasure killing.”

“She never does things like that!” she said again,running over to the side of the couch and kneeling down in front of Poppy. “Bad dog! Bad, bad dog.”

She sounded like she was cooing at a newborn baby. Not like she was scolding a two-hundred-pound animal.

“You don’t sound like you mean it.”

“I’m in shock,” Sam said, pushing into a standing position. “She doesn’t chew things at home. She must have been confused about the boundaries here.”

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