Page 21 of Shootout Daddies
And I’m left staring at the dog asleep in the corner of my sleek, carefully curated penthouse—mutt fur smudging up my pristine floors, his breathing deep and uneven.
Storm, she called him. Like the way he came into our lives—sudden, chaotic, and impossible to ignore.
I pull out my phone and snap a photo. It’s a terrible composition with a slanted angle, the dog mid-snore.
I send it to Hunter. He replies in seconds.
>> WTF?
I stare at the message for a while. Then type.
>> Long story. We have a dog now.
There is a pause. Then…
>> I thought you hated dogs.
I type back…
>> Ivy loves the dog.
I lock the phone before I can read his next message and stare at the pet I have now officially adopted somehow.
Yeah.
I really am in fucking trouble.
CHAPTER SIX
Hunter
Rhett doesn’t like dogs.
Which is hilarious, considering there’s a freshly bathed Doberman puppy currently curled up on his couch, snoring like a tiny chainsaw. I’m stretched on the sectional with Storm, scratching behind the mutt’s ears, watching his back leg twitch with every satisfying drag of my fingers.
“You’re disgusting,” Rhett mutters from the kitchen, clattering a pan down on the stove like he’s personally offended by the animal’s existence. “Get your hand out of its armpit.”
“Dude,” I grin, “it’s called affection. Try it.”
He glances over his shoulder. “Not a fan of things that lick me for no reason.”
I laugh. “That’s the line for you? Licking?”
He wipes his hands on a towel, leans against the counter. “I don’t like anything that needs me to constantly reassure it I’m not abandoning it. I already live withyou.”
Storm lets out a small yip in his sleep, paws twitching like he’s dreaming.
I lower my voice, scratching softer. “He’s dreaming about Ivy. Probably remembers the moment she picked him up offthe street and changed his life forever. Like a true rom-com heroine.”
“I wouldn’t blame the damn mutt,” Rhett says, turning back to the sizzling pan in front of him. “She is kind of hard to not dream about.”
“Yeah.”
He doesn’t answer.
Because we’re both thinking about her.
“She’s different,” I say, voice quieter now. Not really meaning to say it out loud, but it comes out anyway.
