Page 41 of Can't Help Growling in Love
That’s what a real partnership looks like.
“There’s a pile of two-by-fours in the basement,” I tell him. “I thought we could carry it outside and let it dry out on the porch. Maybe we can still use it for a project if it’s not too damaged.”
Asher kisses my cheek. “On it.”
A couple of hours later, I groan, straightening from a crouch. “That’s the last of it. I can’t believe I got through all of the boxes. I should have done this months ago.”
Asher grabs the black trash bag, ties it, and hauls it up the stairs. He shifted to his wolf form earlier because he’s stronger like that, and I watch the swish of his tail as he disappears from view.
He’s been amazing all through the day. He helped without needing to be told what to do, and we got so much done in such a short time. But we’ll have to leave soon if we want to get some sleep, so I unplug Peter’s heater and coil the extension cord so we won’t trip over it tomorrow.
I stomp upstairs and round the corner—and smack into Asher, who’s putting on his jacket to take the trash bags out to my truck. I’ll take them to the dump tomorrow or maybe in a few days, since we’ll probably have more trash to haul away from the house.
“Ow, shit, sorry!” I bounce off his side and into the hall wardrobe.
He straightens quickly and catches my shoulders. “You okay?”
“Yeah, just tired.” I cock my head to the side, considering the various aches and pains in my body. “Not as exhausted as yesterday, but definitely feeling more gross after handling those old curtains.”
We’d found a decades-old mouse nest in one box, so I’d had to put on a mask and gloves to shove the whole thing into a trash bag. I washed, but the sweat and grime from the entire endeavor clings to my skin.
He sniffs. “Still the best thing I’ve ever smelled.”
I smack his chest. “No smelling me while I’m disgusting.”
His smile widens, and he doesn’t promise me anything. He only picks up three bags of trash in each hand, his muscles popping, and carries them outside like this is a completely normal thing to do.
My mind wanders as I imagine him picking me up like that.
The truth is, I’ve been thinking about the way he reacted to the scents from my bedroom last night. Today, he’d avoided the space, but I caught him stealing furtive glances at me whenever he thought I wasn’t paying attention.
I imagine what the situation would be like in reverse. Would I react as strongly if I could scent him that way? I picture Asher lying back in his bed, one knee raised, his abs taut as he strokes his hard cock and decide that yes, absolutely, I would go feral for him, too.
Now I’ll be living in his house, seeing him so much more often. People usually date for a while—months or even years—before moving in together. We’re definitely skipping some steps, but I don’t mind. Not with him.
I lock up the house and scurry over to his truck, climbing in before he can open the door for me. I hope he won’t sense where my mind has gone, not while I’m this dirty, but he snaps to attention the moment we’re both strapped into our seats.
“June…” My name is a groan that falls from his lips. “You need to stop thinking about whatever you’re thinking.”
He starts the car and backs out of my yard, then turns toward his house.
My cheeks heat, and I quickly press the window button to let the fresh air swirl through the cabin. “Sorry.”
Asher sends me a sideways glance. “Out of curiosity, whatwereyou thinking about?”
I grin, twisting in my seat to face him. “Are you sure you want to know? Maybe we’re both too tired, like last night.”
“We are.” He faces forward again, but there’s a hint of a smile in his voice when he adds, “But we agreed to share, right?”
I face forward again and trace slow circles on his thigh with my thumb. “Well, I imagined what you look like when you’re, ah, taking care of yourself.”
He lets out a low curse and takes the next corner faster, then slows down again as if his body got the best of him for a moment.
“Will you show me someday?” I push harder with my thumb and get a soft groan in response. “I mean, there’s no pressure, obviously, but?—”
“Yeah,” he rasps. He covers my hand with his hand and squeezes my fingers. “I’d like that. I want you to see how fucking crazy you make me.”
Well.
