Page 7

I drag a hand over my jaw, feeling heat crawl up my neck. “He and Pork call the shots. I just pretend I’m in charge.”

Pork finally decides to participate in the action. He thuds to his feet, waddles over, and sniffs her. Then he rolls over and presents his belly for rubs. Traitorous dog.

Elsie obliges. “Aww, Pork. You’re so sweet.” She gives his belly a gentle scratch. The little bastard closes his eyes in ecstasy, tongue lolling out. If a dog could look smug, this is it.

Watching them, I try to remember how to use words.

“You, uh—want a drink? Water, soda, wine?” Fuck. I sound like a babbling idiot.

She stands and hands me the bottle of wine. “I come bearing gifts. This is my favorite, and I thought it might go good with pizza?” She’s watching for my reaction, a little unsure, but mostly just radiant.

Wine and pizza. She gets me.

“Perfect combo.” I take the bottle and my hand brushes hers, and for a nanosecond, the heat is so intense I almost drop the wine.

Get it together, Hot.

Beans is still doing circles, tail a blur, absolutely devoted to Elsie now. She laughs and finally manages to wiggle out of his orbit, giving him a little pat on the back. “He’s got so much personality. I just love him.” The words go right to my chest and twist, tight and hot, making me want to haul her up against me and never let go. This is bad. I’m in deep. I can’t even pretend otherwise.

“He’s a show-off,” I manage, but all I can think about is the way Elsie looks at me over Beans’s round belly, her eyes alive and her cheeks glowing. If I don’t kiss her soon, I’m going to fucking explode.

Before I can do something stupid, the doorbell rings. Beans nearly launches out of his own skin, snorting and spinning, and Elsie jumps like she just remembered she’s not alone with me in the universe.

I scrub a hand over my face and try to act normal. “That’ll be the pizza.” Like an idiot, I blurt, “Hope you’re hungry. Mario’s doesn’t fuck around.”

Elsie grins. “I could eat a whole pizza myself after the day I’ve had.” She flashes this wild, hungry grin, and my cock punches hard against my zipper. Jesus. This woman already owns me lock, stock, and barrel.

I stalk to the door and yank it open. The pizza guy stares at me, eyes wide, and shoves the boxes at my chest like he’s facing down a feral wolf. I grunt, slap several bills in his hand, and kick the door shut.

Elsie’s already clearing a spot at the table, her hair swinging over her shoulder, and her ass looking way too good in those leggings. I drop the pizza and breadsticks in front of her, grab two glasses, and pop open the wine.

I pour us each a glass and try not to stare at her lips as she takes a slow sip. She moans, just a little, and my knees nearly buckle as my cock urges me to make a fucking move already.

“God, I needed that.” She winks at me, and I have to fight to keep myself under control.

While we eat our pizza, Elsie keeps one hand under the table to pet my spoiled animals. The pure joy on her face… I’m pretty sure my heart just flips upside down.

Everything falls into place. Elsie cracks jokes about how spoiled my animals are, and I make fun of Beans’s dramatic sighs every time she pauses in petting him.

“So,” Elsie finally says, voice soft and curious, “how did you end up with this crazy crew?”

I glance at the animals and snort. “It’s technically my mother’s fault. She fostered these two after their previous owner fell sick. He was a little old man who lived down the street. When he went into hospice, the animals needed a place. Mom thought she’d find them a new home after a few weeks…”

“Lemme guess,” she laughs, “you fell. Hard.”

“We all did,” I admit. “Plus, they’re a bonded pair. Couldn’t split them up, even if I wanted to.”

She leans forward, chin in her hands. “That’s adorable. You’re a softie, Beckett. I’m onto you.”

I roll my eyes. “If you tell anyone, I’ll deny it.”

She snorts and takes another bite of pizza. “Anyone who sees you with your pets already knows.”

I want to memorize this—her laugh, the way her eyes crinkle at the corners, and how she snorts when something really cracks her up. I want to bottle it, keep it, get drunk off it.

She wipes her mouth and leans back, totally relaxed. “So, have you lived here your whole life?”

“Born and raised,” I say. “Riverbend’s the only place I’ve ever wanted to be. Always knew I’d stay, make something here.” I can’t help watching her as I talk. She’s really listening. Most people fake it—nod, smile, move on. Not her.