Page 43 of Sit, Stay

"Unless you've changed your mind in the last three minutes."

"I haven't."

"Then yeah. We're doing this."

She kisses me—soft and sweet and tasting like coffee—and it takes everything I've got not to haul her back to the bedroom and make her late for all her appointments.

"Go," she says against my mouth.

"Going."

"Dean."

"What?"

"Your truck keys are still in your pocket. You haven't moved."

"I'm building willpower."

"Build it outside."

I steal one more kiss—deeper this time, thorough enough that she makes a small sound and grabs my shirt—and then I'm walking backward toward her front door like an idiot who can't stop looking at her.

"You're going to trip," she warns.

"Worth it."

"Text me later."

"Definitely texting you later. Might text you in five minutes."

"Please don't. I'll be elbow-deep in a Labrador with an ear infection."

"Sexy."

"Goodbye, Bingo."

The door shuts behind me, and I stand on her front porch smiling like a complete disaster while Biscuit watches me through the window with deep disapproval.

My phone buzzes before I even reach my truck.

Callie: You're still standing on my porch.

I look up. She's watching from her bedroom window, coffee mug in hand, smiling.

Me: Just admiring the view.

Callie: Get out of here before my neighbors start gossiping.

Me: Too late. Mrs. Kowalski is already peering through her blinds.

I wave at Mrs. Kowalski's house. The blinds snap shut.

Callie: YOU'RE THE WORST.

Me: You didn't think so last night.

Callie: I'm blocking your number.