Page 58 of Filthy and the Beast

“It’s the first and most important lesson I learned at Hardy’s. If you want to be the best, you have to always push yourself.”

Damian tosses the salad in the bowl. “And eat your greens,” he adds. “I guess we’ll both be busy. I managed to sign up to audit a class in the Sexuality Studies Department at the university in a few months, and I found a class at the community center one neighborhood over.” He pops a cherry tomato in his mouth. “Flower arranging! Doesn’t that sound fun?”

It’s good he’s getting back to his life. Damian shouldn’t be stuck at home with me all day every day.

Wrong of me to have any feelings about that.

I think he notices my expression, so I quickly grab the lasagna from the microwave. “Yeah. You’ll be great at it.”

“I did want to check in, though,” he says. “Were you serious about possibly adopting another dog? Because if you are, I’d be very happy to make time in my schedule to support that effort. I just need to know ahead of time.”

That makes me smile.

“Rescue found a home for that pup, but I’m sure they’ll have another one soon,” I tell him. “You still enjoy spending time with the girls?”

Grinning, he pulls out his phone. “As evidenced by the fact that I’ve stayed up late the last few nights working on this?” he asks, sliding it to me. “Yes, I’d say so.”

I take the phone. A video is playing, a bunch of quickly edited together shots of the dogs frolicking in the garden. The soundtrack is a guy singing about how you’re amazing the way you are and your smile stops the whole world. Damian’s edited it together so the goofiest, sweetest shots of the girls line up with the cheesiest lines in the love song, and he’s added plenty of stars and rainbows and floating, sparkling animations.

I grin. The dogs look so damn happy. When the video disappears, I turn the phone back to him. “Let me see it again.”

Damian laughs. “You like it! I considered putting it on social media, but figured that would be a violation of your privacy.” He taps the phone and hands it back to me, a perfectly framed shot of Petunia rolling in the sunlight floating by.

I’m still smiling. “You’re good at this.”

I can tell he’s pleased. “Thank you.” He takes the phone back when the video is finished. “I’ve taken a few classes on video editing and production and one on props, too, but never really got to use the skills. I enjoyed making it.”

We walk over to the table with the food. He's so proud, and it tickles my gut to think he likes the dogs enough to make a video. “You can put that on your social media without people knowing where I live? Or that they’re my dogs?”

Behind his glasses, his clear eyes light up. “Absolutely. I was even going to add a heartfelt caption educating people on the discrimination faced by pit bulls and their owners, and the importance of rescuing strays.” He sits down with his steaming plate. “Does that mean you wouldn’t mind?”

I sit beside him. “People will be nice?”

“Absolutely. How could you not be?”

I’m used to hiding my life from the world, but if this is going to make him happy, I can’t say no. “Sure.” I shrug. “Why not?”

“Cool!” As he talks, Damian eagerly digs in. “You know, I was thinking about it after you told me your story about falling in love. I haven’t been in love with a boyfriend or anything, but it’s silly to only define love that singular way. I totally love my friends.” He points his fork at me. “And I believe I’m falling in love with your pooches, too.”

Chest pain. Fuck.

Happening more and more lately.

I’m dizzy, but I recover. “Yeah. I love the dogs, too.”

“Anyway, that’s all to say that if you do decide to rescue another dog, I’m happy to take on the increased responsibility.” He glances at his phone. “And I’ll let you know the response Petunia, Mirabelle, and Goldie get online. I’m sure they’ll be huge.”

“Good.”

We chat through dinner. Damian does most of the talking, of course, but he eventually turns to his new favorite past time: grilling me about boxing. Luckily, he doesn’t poke any of the sore spots. Probably doesn’t know to ask about the organized crime connections, and I must have acted like a sufficiently grumpy jock about Toby because he doesn’t go there, either.

My guard must be down, though, because somehow, we end up on the couch after dinner. I get a couple DVDs of my old fights from the shelf, the matches I’m proud of, and we watch them together. My younger self dominates the ring, landing heavy blow after heavy blow. Beside me, Damian flinches and cheers and scoots to the edge of his seat, more involved with every minute.

Strange to watch these with someone else. They tug at something raw inside me, but having Damian’s admiration helps.

“Holy shit.” His eyes are wide. “You’re amazing. Do you know that? It really is like you’re dancing.”

I laugh. “If you say so.”

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