Page 103 of By A Thread

“Who’s the most handsome boy in the world? Did you get adopted? Did you?”

His tail was a blur of happiness.

“Come on,” I said, gesturing toward the main door. “And take off those stupid shoes.”

“Fine. But I’m only doing it because I think I lost a few toenails, not because you told me,” she said. Her groan when she slipped them off was sinful enough that the situation in my pants became a more complicated matter.

I kept my shoes on—in case she tried to make a barefoot run for it—and headed into the house.

Either curiosity or the need to finally hash this all out propelled her in behind me.

“Wow,” she said.

“What?”

She gestured around the hall, the stairs. Off to the right was a den with a fireplace and wood-paneled walls. “I didn’t expect this. I just assumed you lived in some…”

“Soulless high-rise with a dungeon?”

She shrugged.

“Yeah, well, I assumed you were financially responsible enough to not have to take your clothes off for strangers,” I shot back.

“Why do you even care, Dom? I don’t understand. I mean, talk about mixed messages. You say you don’t want me—”

“Correction. I don’twanttowantyou.”

“You are such an ass. You don’t want to want me, yet you eavesdrop on a private call, follow me to a strip club, and hire me to do a private dance. And then get so angry you abduct me and take me home with you.”

“Wrong. I was angry before I got to the club,” I shot back.

“I’m not yours to care about, Dom.”

I snapped my fingers for Brownie, and he followed me into the kitchen.

Ally came along at a more leisurely pace. I fished out a treat from the puppy jar Greta got me and made Brownie sit. It was the one command we’d both mastered. “Take it nicely, buddy. Do not take my hand off,” I said, holding the paw-shaped cookie high.

But Brownie had that single-minded gleam in his eye. He nearly swallowed my entire hand. “Okay, we need to work on that.”

Ally sighed like a good little martyr and stomped over to the jar. “Here,” she said. She demonstrated holding the treat in a closed fist with part of it peeking out over her thumb. “Sit,” she told Brownie.

He plopped his ass on the floor, thrilled at the prospect of two cookies.

“Nicely,” Ally warned him. When he made an excited alligator lunge, she pulled back. “Uh-uh. Nice boy.”

This time, she held her hand out, and Brownie carefully extracted the treat from her fist.

“Good boy!” she cheered. Brownie snarfed it down and dissolved into happy wiggles at the praise. She turned back to me smugly. “What? I had dogs growing up. I’d offer to help you with him, but I hate you.”

Yes. There was that.

“Come on,” I said wearily.

“Where?”

“Upstairs so I can get out of these fucking pants.”

“We’re not having sex,” she said, looking appalled.