Page 3 of Crowbar

His lips twitched. Just barely, like he was fighting something. “Indoor person.”

“I appreciate animals from a respectful distance. Like art.” Why was I still talking? “You don’t touch art. You admire it.”

“You work in a pet store,” Crowbar pointed out in a softer tone.

I felt a jolt of lust shoot through my cock at the deep sound, and it took me a few seconds to gather my thoughts. “Life is full of contradictions.”

He stood up from his crouch, and the full height of him registered all over again. My head tilted back to maintain eye contact, and those blue eyes looked down at me.

“I’ll take her, princess,” Crowbar said.

“Amazing. Wonderful. Let me just—” I reached into the pen to pick up the puppy, who had decided that this exact moment was the perfect time to demonstrate her speed. She bolted to the far corner, snatched the remnants of a chew toy, and rolled over to wrestle it.

The guy gave a single, low whistle. She dropped the toy then tilted her head before running to him, only stumbling twice.

Crowbar scooped her up with one hand, cradling her against the crook of his arm like he’d done it a thousand times. She fit there perfectly, all oversized paws and floppy ears, and immediately started gnawing on one of his rings. He let her.

“She needs supplies.” I focused on the way his thumb was rubbing small circles behind the puppy’s ear. “The stuff you buy dogs.”

“Right.” He smirked. “Stuff.”

“Maybe puppy pads. Trust the process.” I had no idea what the process was. “Follow me. Again.”

Back through the frosted partition and into the main store, where the fluorescent lights buzzed their constant, soul-draining song. A woman with a cart full of birdseed gave Crowbar a wide-eyed look as we passed, her gaze catching on the leather cut and the tattoos before darting away. He didn’t notice, or didn’t care. I had no idea why she’d done that.

The puppy supply aisle was mercifully well-labeled. Deb had organized it by animal size, with little paw-print stickers denoting small, medium, and large. Bless that woman and her color-coded system.

“Large breed formula.” I pulled a bag of kibble off the shelf, and my arms immediately regretted the decision. Twenty pounds of premium puppy food sagged in my grip, legs bent and trembling slightly. “This one’s good. I think. The bag has a German shepherd on it, so that feels like a sign.”

“Sold on the marketing, huh?” Crowbar grinned, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Packaging is everything. Never trust a product with ugly fonts.” I tried to heave the bag into an empty cart abandoned in the aisle but missed, sending the cart crashing into the shelf.

“Damn it,” I muttered.

Crowbar gripped the edge, and lifted the bag one-handed, setting it inside the cart without a word. “Bowls,” I blurted out. “You want stainless steel or ceramic?”

“Which is better?”

“Stainless. Easier to clean, harder to break. Ceramic is prettier but she’ll crack it inside a week.” Where was this knowledge coming from? Somewhere deep in the recesses of a brain that had apparently absorbed more from Deb’s tour than I’d realized. Or maybe I was making it up. Confidence, Spencer. Ninety percent performance.

He reached past me for the stainless set on the top shelf, the one I’d been eyeing but couldn’t reach without climbing the display like a monkey. His arm brushed mine on the way up. Motor oil and sandalwood again. Nice. The leather of his cut creaked softly with the movement. I liked the sound.

“Thanks,” I said to the shelf, because looking at him from this distance was a health hazard. Crowbar had a presence that trapped you in its hold. Or maybe it was just me.

“Hmm hmm.” The toothpick bobbed.

Down the aisle we went, an odd little parade. Me pushing the cart with one squeaky wheel. Him carrying the puppy, who had graduated from chewing his ring to chewing his beard.

“Crate.” I stopped in front of the display. “You want wire or plastic?”

“Wire. She needs to see out.”

“Smart. Anxious dogs do better when they can see their surroundings.” I had no idea if that was true for animals. It was true for me. Not that I slept in a crate or anything. “This one’s forty-two inches. Will that be big enough?”

He looked at the crate, then at the puppy, then back at the crate. “She’s gonna be bigger than that.”

“They make a forty-eight.” I pointed to the top shelf. Because everything he needed was on the top shelf, and everything I needed was a stepladder.