Page 71 of Average Joe

Ginger agreed, yapping and snapping my attention back to where it belonged—her empty food bowl.

Exhausted from last evening’s erotic workout, I zombied through my morning routine, then hauled Ginger to the backyard to talk to the roses.

The garden had been Alice’s refuge, her babies, her fuck-you to my uncle. For me, these thorny beauties had become a sounding board, much like Alice had been. I supposed, in a way, taking care of them made up for the years I’d missed with my aunt. For Alice, I would keep her roses not only alive but thriving.

That was if I could keep my little princess from digging them up.

“Ginger!” I blew a whistle. “Leave it!”

Excavation paused for five seconds before she huffed and continued on her mission. Little shit.

“Girl,” I warned, stalking her direction.

The pup bounced away, then attacked a stick twice her size before frolicking after a wayward bee.

Fucking adorable, that little troublemaker.

Seemed I had a thing for spirited females.

* * *

Ginger shivered in my lap, her head resting on tiny paws, her wiry fur rough but soothing under my calloused fingertips. The rhythm of my racing pulse slowed to match the slight rise and fall of her body.

Marley was usually home by six, and my cell told me it was eight forty-five.

Connor threw back the last of his IPA and tossed the empty into the paper bag between our feet. “What’s eating you, bro?”

“Nothin’,” I grunted, staring at the orange flames dancing in the firepit, the grass beneath my feet freshly cut and cool, but not cool enough to soothe the current of unease under my skin.

“Looks like you’re working through some shit.”

I nodded.

“Give it to me.” He settled deeper into his lawn chair and stretched out his legs. “I’m a good listener.”

True. Con loved a good heart-to-heart, especially after a beer or two. Pathetic as my concerns were, I told him, “Marley’s not home yet.”

His right eyebrow hitched. “And?”

“She’s never home later than six. I drove by Pink Sweets today, and they said she’d taken the day off.”

“Are you her daddy now?” he teased, crossing his arms over his chest, wearing a smirk. “She break curfew?”

The mental image of Marley riding my cock and calling me “Daddy” made me chuckle. “No.”

“So, what’s the deal?”

When I shifted in my chair, Ginger grunted her disapproval.“Someone tried to break into her house the other day. This morning, I watched another guy creeping onto her property.”

“Get a look at his face?”

“No. Sun was barely up, and he wore a cap.”

“Get his license plate?”

“No.”

Con perched an elbow on his armrest, leaning closer. “What are you thinking?”

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