Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Then a gigantic dog with its tongue hanging out came running toward me.
“Why is there a goldendoodle in this house?” I demanded as it got up on its hind legs to greet me.
“Oh, is that the breed? I couldn’t think of the name of it.”
“Answer my question, Carly. Why the fuck is there a dog here?”
She grinned awkwardly. “Honestly… I don’t know.”
“Okay. You’re gonna need to explain a little better than that.”
“I went out to check the mail, and he was just standing there by the mailbox staring at me. He looked lost and has no collar. Then he followed me inside, and I gave him some tuna fish.”
“Tuna fish?”
“It’s the only thing we have in the house that’s safe for dogs, according to the Internet.” She sat down at the kitchen table, and the rusty-brown-haired dog put his front legs on her lap. She massaged behind his ears. “I have to call the police or something.”
“Or something? You haven’t called them yet?”
“Not yet.” She buried her nose in his fur.
“How long has he been here?”
“About an hour.”
Inhaling slowly to calm myself, I tried to reason with her. “Okay, the last thing we need in this goddamn house is a dog, Carly. I don’t need to tell you that. There’s barely enough room for the three of us. We have to contact them now.”
She flashed a guilty smile. “I’ll get on that.”
She moved into the kitchen as the dog and I followed her.
I pulled out a chair and sat down. “You don’t look like you’re in any rush.”
She ran her hands along the dog’s fur. “He’s so cute and fluffy.”
“And stolen…” I corrected.
Carly batted her lashes. “Don’t be mad.”
Fuck.
I don’t know what snapped in me in that moment, but an image of fucking her flashed through my mind. Where the hell did that come from?
Carly thought I was mad at her. And apparently, I wanted to back her up against the counter and fuck her instead. That realization was extremely troubling. I’d much rather be mad at her. Why I’d gone from annoyed to egregiously horny in a millisecond was beyond me. It must’ve been the damn stress of being here catching up with me.
Sure, Carly was hot. There was no denying that. But to have that kind of vivid image pop up—and to have liked it? All because she batted her lashes at me? Ticket straight to hell.
The dog jumped up on my lap and proceeded to lick me.
“Jesus…” I muttered, scrunching my face and pursing my lips shut, trying not to let him French kiss me the way he seemed to want to. “His breath smells like he went down on a fucking tuna fish.”
Carly burst into laughter. “He likes you.”
Scottie came up behind me soon after and took a big whiff of my hair as Tuna Breath continued to lick my face.
“You’re very popular around here, Josh,” she teased.
“Everyone likes me in this house—except you, Pumpkin.”
She laughed. “I’ll like you if you don’t complain about the dog for the rest of the night.”
“The rest of the night? It needs to be gone before then!”
She laughed harder as the dog continued to attack my face with its tuna tongue.
I rolled my eyes and dug my nails into the dog’s fur. “I should’ve stayed at my brother’s.”
***
That evening, as expected, the damn dog was still with us, sitting by my feet like I’d been his master for twenty years. He was collecting scraps of the supper Carly had prepared. At least she’d called the police—I’d made sure to watch as she did—but they hadn’t received any reports of a missing animal yet. Come to think of it, I had no proof there was actually someone on the other line of that phone call she placed. I’d have to trust her on that.
Scottie had eaten his chicken earlier and was already in bed for the night. Carly and I had opted for this unusually late dinner after he went to sleep. At least this way we could eat in peace without having to worry about what he was up to.
We’d just finished the last of Carly’s gluten-free pasta. I had to admit, Carly could cook, even if she claimed not to have much experience.
I wiped my mouth. “This was really good—even without the gluten.”
“Anything’s better than fried silicone breast insert, right?” she cracked.
“That’s true.” I chuckled. “Before coming here, I can’t remember the last time anyone made me a home-cooked meal. So that part’s been nice.”
“Is that the only nice part?”
“It’s not as miserable with you as I thought it would be,” I admitted.
“Oh, Josh. Do you ever know how to charm a girl.” She batted her eyes like a cartoon.
I shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a charming kind of guy.”
After I got up to put my plate in the dishwasher, I opened one of the drawers to get a dishtowel for the pans but found dozens of small notepads instead. They all had the same thing printed on the top: A Thank You from The Trappist Monks of St. Francis.