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“I can afford to ruin one outfit.” I close the distance, using my free hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. I don’t care how her breath stutters.
I don’t care if we’re in the middle of a disaster zone and it’stotallythe wrong time, I want nothing more than to lose myself in her.
Goddammit.
“Dex—”
“Pack, sweetheart. Don’t make me say it again,” I growl, ignoring the way she’s looking at me, all new awareness and heat and temptation. “Get moving before I toss you over my shoulder and carry you to the car.”
Catness interrupts whatever she was about to say with another miserable wail, and she glances down with a frown.
“Okay!” she says. “Let me just get changed first.”
I want to tell her not to worry about the dress—I’ll buy her another one if she wants—but she disappears off to the bedroom while Catness looks on in total disgust.
“You’re not coming back here, buddy, and neither is she. Sit tight and stay dry,” I tell him, grabbing another plant and heading down to the car.
15
THE SWEET STUFF (JUNIPER)
Holy hell.
What even is this day?
This night, this life, thisman?
He stands in the middle of my apartment with his sleeves rolled up, looking around at the piles of junk I’ve grabbed and parked in a safe, dry corner. Clothes, plants, a box of sentimental stuff, plus Catness’ food, carrier, and a couple salvaged cat toys.
“We might need multiple trips,” he says without a hint of annoyance. “Can you get him in his carrier without a fight?”
I frown.
Usually, it’s quite a battle when we’re going to the vet or anywhere else, but today Catness seems to know that if hedoesn’tget in, he’s going to wind up as a mangy soaked cotton ball.
He shuffles in without complaint.
“Dang, that was easy. Good boy.” I pass the carrier to Dexter with a smile and our fingers brush.
Every sense pings on the contact, although he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Keep collecting everything you want to take,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”
My heart sinks.
“Dexter, I—”
“No. I don’t want to hear it, Sweet Stuff.”
I want to fight the fact that he’s taking care of me better than Liam ever did—better than anyone—but he just heaves the carrier up and disappears out the front door.
I close my eyes against the endless spray gushing from the damaged pipe. I’ve put in three calls to the landlord and the maintenance guy and nobody’s answering.
Their loss, but it’s also mine.
Dexter already had a look at it, meaning his shirt is plastered wet to his skin in a way I finddistinctlypleasing. He’s decided we’ll need new parts and an insane plumbing bill to get it fixed.
He’s promised to call one of the guys they use for their properties, just to shut this off and figure out the cost later. I don’t even know if he’ll be able to get to the main water shutoffs without somebody from the apartment to unlock that area, though.
