I take a shower when we get home, and then put away the new underwear that he left sitting on my bed. I grab my phone so that I can do some research on why I feel this way.
“I didn’t mean to be bad, I’m sorry,” I whisper some time later. We ate dinner in silence, which he never questioned.
I fell down a very interesting rabbit hole that led to me learning a lot more about all the different kinks out there, most of which I never wanted to know.
“It’s ok, I know you didn’t,” he says, pulling me into his arms and kissing my forehead.
“You’re not mad at me, are you?”
“No, baby, I could never be mad at you,” he whispers, pulling me into his lap.
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to be mad at me,” I say, letting him pull me into his lap.
“Is this about what I said in the dressing room?” I nod. “Oh, baby, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
I nod again and bury my face into his neck, and somehow I manage to pull myself together, and I don’t cry.
“I don’t want to be bad,” I whisper.
“You’re not bad anymore, you’ve learned your lesson, haven’t you?” he whispers, stroking my head softly, and I nod.
“Yeah, I’ve learned my lesson.”
“Good girl,” he whispers, kissing the top of my head.
And the weirdest shit happens—I don’t feel as bad anymore. I have no idea what the hell just happened because the ache in my chest that has been there since the store is now gone, and all I know is that I never want to experience that feeling ever again.
“Thank you,” I whisper, and he kisses the top of my head. I let myself melt into him because finally, after hours of feeling horrible, I feel better again.
30
SLOANE
“Come on, Mocha, let’s go for our morning run,” I yell through the house. A few moments later, I hear the quick pitter-patter of his toenails tapping against the floor as he runs as fast as his little legs can carry him.
“Sit,” I say, holding my hand up for him as soon as I see him, so he doesn’t collide with me. He does as I say, skittering to a stop and plopping his butt onto the floor.
“Spin,” I command, and he obeys, then looks up at me with his little mismatched eyes.
“Good boy,” I say, offering him a treat. He takes it softly. He lets me help him into his harness, and I hook his leash to him before slipping into my running shoes.
I put my headphones on and hit shuffle on my playlist.Fake Friendsby NOX blasts into my ears as I put my phone into the pocket of my spandex shorts before we lock the front door behind us and head towards town.
My feet slap against the pavement, one foot in front of the other, Mocha and I running side by side.
Beckett lives a couple of miles outside of town, and once we’re inside its limits, we slow our run to a walk. We head towards the dog-friendly cafe that’s just down the way.
“A cinnamon matcha, with oat milk and a pup cup, right?” the barista asks. I smile at her and nod, pulling out my phone to pay, when the person behind me interrupts.
“I got it.” His voice is smooth. I turn, and it’s probably someone who’s my age. I don’t recognize him, though.
“It’s ok, I can pay for my own drink,” I say, but then he offers me a smile that has me blushing and stumbling to find words.
“I got it,” he repeats with a wink, ordering his drink before paying.
“You’re Sloane Monroe, right?” he asks as we sit down at one of the tables in the corner, Mocha sitting next to us, his little nose getting covered in white cream.
“Uh, yeah…are you like a friend of Kaden’s or something?” I ask, taking a small sip of my drink, not liking the way he’s looking at me right now.
