Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 73192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
I’d seen the alert from the video feed earlier, informing me of a breach to my sanctuary—yet again—by the pain in the ass trespasser, or PITA-T as I was starting to call her.
Since I’d been in the middle of an arrest at the time, I hadn’t been able to take the time to look at the feed.
But as I passed a water bowl the size of a swimming pool, I knew that I’d find the puppy somewhere back here.
I made a short sweep around the yard, finding nothing.
Finally deciding that he’d come out when he didn’t feel threatened any longer, I walked to my swing and took a seat.
My eyes continued to scan the darkness, but I still didn’t see any movement.
I knew he was there, though. And that’s when I heard the soft snore from the hammock that I had hung up a month or two after moving in but hadn’t used once I realized how fuckin’ hard it was to get in and out of it.
I glanced over to it and felt my lips twitching when I saw the puppy—sprawled out on his back—snoring blissfully away while the hammock rocked back and forth softly with the breeze.
Son of a bitch.
I smiled.
I would not let her know that I found the dog amusing. I would not.
Chapter 9
Memories of you make me look forward to the dementia I’ll have in my old age.
-Reagan to her ex-boyfriend
Reagan
I walked up to Tyler’s house, fully aware that he was home seeing as his police cruiser was in the driveway, along with the motorcycle and the truck that he used when he wasn’t using the cruiser and walked cautiously to the backyard.
I had a small bag of dog food in my backpack that I knew wouldn’t last past a few days and was two steps away from the gate, when I heard a low growl.
A low, puppy growl.
Then a masculine chuckle. “You’re a cute little fucker.”
I felt my heart beating in my throat as I rounded the corner of Tyler’s house and found him, hose in hand, staring at the extremely pissed off dog.
Why was the dog pissed off?
Because Tyler was giving him a bath.
Or, at least that was what I thought he was attempting to do. The verdict was still out on whether he’d actually accomplished that feat or not seeing as the dog was only half wet. Not to mention that the small, low barrel that was likely the source of the soapy water that was all over the yard was turned on its side.
My lips twitched when I saw the state of both dog and man.
Not only was the dog half wet, but so was Tyler.
Tyler was in jeans, a t-shirt and nothing else.
Honestly, it was quite startling to see him so dressed down. He was so well put together normally, that it was doing things to my heart—let alone other places on my body—to see him so casual and disorderly.
His entire left side was dotted with water—likely from the puppy shaking himself to rid the excess water from his coat—and his jeans from the knees down were entirely drenched as if he’d gotten into the barrel right along with the puppy.
“Are you just going to stand there all day, or are you going to come overe here and help me?”
I looked away from Tyler’s pant legs to his face, which was now glaring at me.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “If I get too wet, I’ll have to go home and change since I don’t have any clothes with me.”
Tyler’s eyes went electric. “I won’t get you wet. Let’s go.”
He wouldn’t get me wet, my ass.
The only problem was, technically, he didn’t get me wet…on the outside.
The dog, however? Yeah, the dog wasn’t into having a bath. He hated the water. He hated the soap and he hated the whole idea of a bath.
By the time we were through, not only was Tyler thoroughly wet, but I was sopping.
Apparently, the foot height difference between us meant I was the one who held the dog while Tyler attempted to rinse the soap off a puppy who didn’t want anything to do with this process.
And let’s just say that Tyler wound up spraying me more often than the dog thanks to his successful maneuvering out of any streams of water coming in his direction.
Another twenty minutes later and the puppy was free of burrs, fleas and anything else that was buried in his long, bushy coat.
“He’s bigger,” Tyler said. “How the hell did he get bigger?”
I looked at the puppy, who wasn’t really all that much of a puppy if I was being honest.
He was more like a teenager.
A surly one with an attitude that did, indeed, make him seem bigger.
“It has to be all the hair,” I admitted. “He’s poofier.”
“What the fuck kind of dog is this, anyway?” Tyler questioned, dropping the hose to the ground.