Moira’s three bulldogs arewaiting patiently for me the second I get in the front door of her house. They’re well trained, sitting in a line. The only thing giving away their excitement is their wildly swinging tails. Their wayward owner isn’t home, but I can hear her voice in my head just fine.This is your fault; stop spoiling them. They’re gonna want this treatment even after you and Ken move into your new place, and I’m blaming you. That means you better watch your food carefully, mate.
Worth it.
“Do you think I have something for you?” I ask them. The only way to get privacy around here is to distract them. Otherwise, they follow me everywhere.
Porthos—sandwiched between his brothers Athos and Aramis—barks loudly. I’ll take that as a yes. I haven’t quite mastered the art of talking dog. Yet. It’s on my list. Easier than learning to speak rabbit.
“I just so happened to stop by the butchers on the way here, and I found something I think you’ll enjoy.” I’m not wrong. They’re happily munching on their bones when I go in search of Spencer. Following the sounds of the shower, he’s easy to find.
One of the requirements of the house we’re looking for is a glass shower, without frosting. For this exact reason. A perfect view of his naked body, water running down all the grooves of his muscles. He’s shampooing his hair, arms lifted and showing off more of him, almost like he knows I’m watching and wants to put on a good show for me.
I make sure to flick the lock on the door when I close it behind me—I only make that kind of mistake once; Moira and I will both be traumatised forever—and then slowly approach. He glances over his shoulder, eyes closed. The smile on his face says he knows I’m here. As if Moira would come in here—well, she won’t without knocking a second time.
“You’re home. What did you bring the dogs?” he asks with a playful smile.
“Something nice.”
“When Moira gets you back, you’ll regret all of this.”
“I never regret spoiling a dog.”
Spencer tips his head back and rinses the shampoo out of his hair. He wipes his eyes and then looks at me, brown gaze shining and water clinging to the tips of his eyelashes. “Do you want to get a dog?”
“Not particularly.” Being a dog’s uncle and being their dad are two different things. It’s like being an uncle to a human. Give them sugar and then leave. I prefer that arrangement. “Do you?”
“You said I could have a rabbit.”
“They’ll go nicely with your fish.” The dogs seem to like staring at them, that’s for sure. I have no idea if rabbits are fascinated by that kind of thing. “How was your session today?”
“Therapy is not for the weakhearted,” Spencer says dryly. “She flayed me open and then played with my insides for fun. I swear I could hear her evil cackle when I left.” He cracks open the shower door, letting out steam. The mostly healed tattoo on his chest looks fucking fantastic right there over his heart. My name, permanently etched on him. “It’s harder without you there.”
“I know.” It’s the same for me. Somehow not having him beside me while all my thoughts and feelings are sifted through makes the pain points that much sharper. Everything is sharper when he’s not in reach. “It’s important.”
“Yeah. Pass me my towel?”
“I don’t know, I like you like this. Why don’t you come out here and drip dry while I look at you?”
He laughs, and then he’s in my arms, dripping and getting my suit wet. As soon as his arms are around me, he tries to pull away. “Shit, your bandages will get wet.”
“I’m wearing a thick jumper. And it’ll be fine. Six said I can even shower now.” Fuck, I miss showering. Funny how quickly the small things that I never noticed before become important. “I have to be careful, but I can at least get under the spray.”
“One more sponge bath for the road?”
“You’ve been enjoying those way too much.” He’s learning how much fun edging me is, and I’m not sure I want him to keep studying that particular subject. Or get any better at it.
He leans up and kisses me with slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue. I don’t care that he’s soaking my clothes; having him wet and naked in my arms is worth any level of discomfort. “Mmm, you taste nice.”
“So do you.”
He grabs a towel and wraps it around his waist without drying himself. “I booked in some visits for houses tomorrow. There’s one I like that’s just around the corner from Six and Greer.”
“I bet Greer will be overjoyed to hear that.”
“I told him you’d make him the beef bourguignon he didn’t get if he pretends to be another prospective buyer and scares away everyone else.”
I’m not sure I want to know how he plans to do that. I do want to be there to watch the show, though.
There’s a dog waiting for us outside of the bathroom door. Aramis tilts his head, licks Spencer’s foot, and then walks off. We watch in bemusement until he’s gone. Another reason not to get a dog. They’re fucking weird, and Spencer already has that quota covered.
