Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
My gaze flew up to find Adler grinning down at me "Had to get ya a present, didn't I?"
"Adler," I started, hearing a sound in my voice I was sure had never been there before, a sound that reminded me of being young, doing something foolish, and having my parents confront me about it. "You can't just... buy someone a dog."
"Adopt. And ya can. As ya can see. Well, I told 'em she was mine. But since we are gonna need to share her, I figure it wasn't too big a lie. Ya can't tell me ya don't want her, Lou. Ya know ya do."
I did.
I had always wanted a dog.
But seeing one in front of me that could be mine, yeah, it was doing something to me. To the heart I had thought hardened long ago. It was softening it, melting it.
And as she leaned forward, raking her dry tongue across my cheek, I knew there was no way I was going to be able to send her away.
"Do you think I can train her to chase down skips with me?" I asked, making no attempt at all to hide my smile.
And I would swear his eyes warmed at the sight.
Or maybe that was just my imagination, my wishful thinking.
"Linny is gonna hang home on the couch with me while Mama tracks down the bad guys by herself."
There was a completely unexpected gut-punch sensation at those words.
Because nothing in me rebelled against them. Like it should have. I should have bristled, or snorted or... something. Anything else than what I felt right then.
Which was excited.
Pleased.
Maybe even... hopeful?
What the hell was that about?
"I got a ton of shite to bring up," he told me, shocking me out of my thoughts. "Took her to the store to get food and toys and beds and shite. Roderick is waiting down in the..."
"Roderick was sick of sitting in the thousand-degree SUV for your ass," another voice called, moving down the hallway with a giant thirty-pound bag of dry dog food slung over his shoulder, arms and hands weighed down with bags, a plush bed wedged just barely under his arm. His eyes slid to me, doing the quickest, most respectful of once-overs I had ever gotten in my entire freaking life. "Que pasa, mami?" he asked, clearly picking up on our shared Hispanic heritage even if I got a feeling he was Puerto Rican, and I was Dominican. "I'd say you could do better than this bastard," he added as he stood behind Linny while I got back to my feet, "but he bought you a dog. That's some rom-com shit right there. You cooking?" he asked, stepping over the leash, and inviting himself into my apartment. "Fucking lucky SOB," he added as he walked right over to the stove, taking a long sniff before backing away, shaking his head in envy as he dropped the bag down next to the end of my counter. "I'm heading out before I invite myself to stay, and end up ruining whatever filthy way you plan to thank this lucky fuck. Nice to finally get to meet you, Lou," he added, giving me a warm smile before moving off.
"Finally, huh?" I asked as Adler led Linny inside, her head angled up, sniffing around. "You been talking about me?"
"Every chance I get," he affirmed unexpectedly, doing something to my stomach I swore I was too jaded, too realistic, too hardened to feel. A fluttering. Freaking butterflies.
And, sure I would expose that somehow if I continued the topic, I side-stepped the fuck out of it. "Let her off the leash so she can explore. What's her story?"
"We can talk over food, can't we?" he asked, not even trying to hide it as he sniffed the air again, nudging some of the bags Roderick had dropped on his way to the door out of his way so he could settle the cake on the counter.
"That looks good," I admitted.
"I owe Gala an untold favor for it since that was meant to last the whole night at the shop. And I dunno if ya know Gala, but an 'untold favor' is a mildly terrifying prospect. Might just want to come to a Henchmen party, might need me to help bury a body. But I've had it before. It's fuckin' worth a possible felony," he informed me, pouring another round of drinks as I portioned out dinner onto two heaping plates.
"I don't have a dining table, obviously," I said, waving one arm out toward my slightly battered-up camel-colored leather couch, worn to softness, the material splitting a bit in areas, but the most comfortable thing I had ever sat on. I crashed there instead of my bed some nights.
"Guest's choice, right?" he asked, dropping the drinks on the scuffed coffee table. I was always terrible with the manners thing, often propping my feet up there carelessly. It came from a garage sale anyway.