“You okay?” Zero asks. His blue eyes seem to see more than I’m comfortable with.
“Yeah, fine.” I take a deep breath and nod. "Alright, I need to finish getting her cleaned up and into the system so she can move into her new digs. Thanks for bringing her in. No matter what happens, you did a nice thing today."
"Wouldn't be right to just leave her there," Piston states as an indisputable fact.
"I agree, but a lot of people do. They assume someone else will take care of it."
“If you wait for someone else to do shit, then nothing gets done,” Beast says.
Yeah, these guys are definitely trouble. Best to end this before I get too attached. "Alright, Junkyard." I lean closer to her and play whisper. “Princess. Say goodbye to the nice men."
She almost seems to understand that she’s about to be abandoned, or maybe she just feels Piston trying to let go. She whines, pawing at him like she wants him to pick her back up and tuck her into his jacket again.
Piston doesn’t seem any happier about leaving her behind. "Hey, I'm feeling kinda responsible for her. Would it be alright if I stick around to make sure she settles in okay?”
“We’re not really supposed to have anyone here but us and the volunteers…”
“And you’re good at following the rules?”
Oh, the challenge in those twinkling eyes is hard to resist.
If he wasn’t so obviously obsessed with Junkyard, I’d probably say no, but I wouldn’t mind the company and it really might help her adjust better. Besides, that does sort of technically make him a volunteer. Some rules are easier to bend than others. “Fine, you can help, but when I say you have to go, don’t argue with me.”
He swipes his fingers over his heart in a cross motion.
I show Beast and Zero out to the front again while Piston stays with Junkyard. It's not until the door shuts behind them, and I've locked up that it sinks in that we’re here alone. I let out a long held breath and watch as Beast and Zero’s motorcycles fire up and roar away. One bike remains, shadowy in the darkness.
It’s fine. Men like this flirt like they breathe. I’m allowed to just enjoy the company. It doesn’t have tomeananything. Right?
Junkyard’s happy little bark from the other room feels like a yes.
3
SANDRA
“So,not that I’m admitting that should actually be her name, but why Junkyard?” I ask as she looks up with literal sad puppy-dog eyes like we’re betraying her on the deepest level possible. “Oh, come on. Don’t look at me like that. Your paw is safe in the baggie and I know you’re beautiful, but you smell like you’ve been sleeping in a dumpster.”
Piston covers her ears with a laugh. “Don’t listen to the mean lady, Junk.”
She really shouldn’t listen to me. I’m lying. Well, kinda. She definitely needs a bath, but what I’m really smelling is Piston’s clean mix of body wash and leather. We’re working together to get her into the washing station and he’s far more distracting up close. I should’ve known I was in trouble even before he took his jacket off for bath time, but it’s been a while since I’ve felt this kind of instantsomething.That little sizzle of interest that can’t be reasoned into being, or away if it’s there.
Some of it’s the fact that he’s an attractive man if you’re into the tall, tatted and slightly dangerous look. Which I stupidly am. Buthe’s also annoyingly nice, and kinda funny. Plus he clearly loves dogs, soooo… ugh. I’m doomed.
He looks a little hesitant to tell me. “I don’t know. It’s not the fanciest name, but it felt right when I saw her crawling around under the cars. I grew up in a scrap yard. It was the family business, I guess. One person’s trash is another’s treasure.”
“Really? That’s kind of cute actually. Princess is still betterobviously, but I’ll think about it. I bet living there must’ve been cool. You probably saw all sorts of stuff.”
His laugh has a bitter edge to it. “You could say that.”
“What do you mean?” The question pops out, pushed by pure curiosity, but the look on his face makes me wish I kept my mouth shut. “Never mind. It’s none of my business.”
This isn’t a date. He doesn’t owe me his story any more than I owe him mine. I aim the water nozzle off to the side, letting the spray hit my fingers until it’s a good temperature. Junkyard’s tail is tucked between her shivering legs, but she seems resigned to her fate and willing to put up with the indignity of a bath as long as we’re here with her. I’m careful with the water, making sure to take it slow and gauge her reactions. She’s a little shy about movement near her head, but her instinct is to cower, not snap.
I’m crouched down, focused on talking softly to Junkyard and working in the pet shampoo when a finger brushes over the tip of my nose leaving behind a small pile of bubbles and making me jump. “Hey!”
Piston grins and blows soap suds in front of Junkyard. She immediately throws herself into the game, trying to catch them in her mouth. Like most young dogs, she has no sense of what her size or strength actually means. She might not be huge,but she’s solid muscle, and she joyfully sends me straight onto my butt. Junkyard thinks it’s part of the game, but Piston’s expression is caught between shocked and amused.
“You think it’s funny?” I ask, deadpan. Warm water is soaking into my jeans.
