Page 45 of P.S. I Miss You

“Mrs. Cooper has a fenced-in yard. I figured if he got out of our backyard and into hers, he might still be there,” he says. There’s no pride in his voice, no look in his eyes like he’s waiting for accolades and praise. “She didn’t even know he was back there until I asked her to check.”

I kiss the top of Murphy’s head. While panic has left the building, adrenaline is still hanging around. My heart races, my breath still hasn’t caught itself yet, and I’m pretty sure if I wasn’t squeezing Murphy for dear life, my hands would still be trembling.

“Thank you so, so much,” I say. I step toward him, fully aware of how awkward I’m being, and I place one arm around his shoulder, giving him a half-hug.

I doubt he has any idea what this means to me … that he dropped everything the minute I texted him and ran back home to help me find my dog.

He didn’t have to do it, but he did.

Sutter gives me a half-smile in return. “I know how much he means to you. Glad we were able to find him.”

“We?” I lift a brow. “It was all you.”

He backs away, giving me a small wave before climbing into his truck. I stand on the sidewalk, Murphy under my arm, and watch my knight in shining armor disappear over the horizon.

Now I can’t help but wonder if he meant what he said the other night. I don’t know anyone else who would drop everything they’re doing to come help me find my dog. Not Aerin. Not Maritza. Not my parents.

But he did.

Sutter did.

THE SOUND OF ESPN blaring on the living room TV is the first thing I notice when I get out of the shower Monday night. With a towel wrapped securely around my hips, I make my way downstairs to see what’s going on, only to find Melrose exchanging cash for pizza at the front door and sports highlights playing in the next room.

“What’s this?” I ask.

She shuts the front door and turns to face me. “A thank you.”

“For what?”

“For helping me today,” she says with a shrug. Walking toward me, she links her hand into my elbow while balancing a pizza box with her free arm.

“Can I change first?”

She drags me into the living room, plops the box on the coffee table, and presses her hands against my damp chest until I fall back into the center cushion of the sofa.

“Nope.” Her full lips curl in the seconds before she crushes them against mine.

Melrose climbs on top of me, her legs straddling me and her fingers in my wet hair.

“God, you smell so good right now,” she says as she kisses my chest and neck. “I could just … “

She doesn’t finish her sentence, instead she grinds her hips against my stiffening cock, nothing but her leggings and a towel to separate us from the inevitable.

My hands work her shirt over her head and her flaxen hair falls in her eyes. She brushes it away with a sultry smile before closing in for another kiss.

I trail my fingers up her outer thighs as she grinds, and I can’t help but think about what life would be like if she were mine.

I’ve never met anyone so thoughtful, so comfortable in their own skin.

I’ve never met anyone who’s put my needs, my pleasure first.

She might be the biggest pain in the ass I’ve ever known, but she’d be my pain in the ass.

Speaking of asses … Melrose rocks in my lap, lifting on her knees enough for me to clutch a generous handful of her flawless peach-shaped ass.

I yank down her leggings next.

She tugs at my towel.

I unhook her bra.

She lowers herself between my knees, taking my cock in her hand, pumping the length.

My dick pulses, and I sink back and welcome the warmth and wetness of her hot little mouth a moment later.

While Melrose goes down on me, I can’t help thinking about what she said Saturday night, how she wanted me to reassure her this was purely for the fun of it. And then I can’t help but think … there are a hell of a lot of ways to thank someone besides screwing them.

If she liked Nick, or if she truly had feelings for someone else right now—I find it hard to believe she’d be doing this.

L.A. is full of selfish bastards, shitheads, and self-serving egomaniacs looking to do whatever it takes to get ahead. Ethics and morals are hard to come by in a city where fame and fortune is the name of the game and being ruthless comes with the territory.

But Melrose is different. She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met in this godforsaken city.

Weeks ago, I’d have said we were all wrong for each other.

Now I know that I was all wrong.

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