Page 94 of All I Need

“Hey sweet boy,” I coo. “You miss me?” His butt wiggles back and forth and he makes a snorting sound. I assume that means he missed me. I pet him, kiss him on the head and he’s out the door to do his little doggy business.

Walker’s garage is clean, a bit cluttered with all the usual suspects of what I would expect to be inside a man’s garage. Tools and lawn equipment sit in one corner. Two 4-wheelers covered in mud make me smile, just picturing Walker acting like a kid again on them as he and Grayson fool around, getting dirty. An image flashes through my mind of Walker covered in mud.

It’s not a bad image to conjure up.

A set of bicycles hang from the ceiling and something that almost looks like a collapsible cage hangs next to it. I raise an eyebrow and point to it.

Walker shrugs. “Brutus likes to go on bike rides with us but his little legs can’t keep up. Well, that and he’s kinda chubby. And incredibly lazy.”

“Are you telling me you have that contraption so you can take your dog on bike rides without him having to actually run along with you? Do you pull it behind your bike or something?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that like what people pull their little babies in?”

He blushes.

I pinch his cheek and he looks away. “You’re blushing. Oh my gosh! That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“I am not. And besides, his legs are short,” he repeats in defense.

“It’s kind of hot.”

“It is? I mean,” he clears his throat and drops his voice. “Yes, of course it is.”

“Show me the rest of your home?”

“You got it.” He whistles then calls out for Brutus who comes back, ready to follow us back inside.

We walk through a door from the garage. There’s a mudroom combined with a laundry room right when we walk in. There’s two baskets full of dirty clothes on the floor. I kind of love that. It’s real.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly when he sees me looking at the clothes.

“No way. I love it.”

“Dirty laundry?”

“Hey, we all have our dirty laundry,” I joke. He chuckles. “Honestly, though, for some reason, I love seeing this. Your home. It’s real and nothing pretend or fake.”

“I would never pretend with you,” he says carefully, the weight of his words sparking something inside me. What, I don’t know.

“I know you wouldn’t,” I whisper. He blows out a breath of… relief?

I press my lips together then turn, making myself at home as I snoop through the rest of his home. It’s an open floor plan, the kitchen enormous. The cabinets are painted a steel gray, the appliances black and countertops a bright white. There’s something oddly refreshing about his appliances compared to everyone seeming to have stainless steel lately. There’s a pot rack that hangs above a butcher-block island in the center of the kitchen. It screams masculine but sexy.

I slide onto the counter on the island and he stands in front of me, spreading my legs apart so he’s nestled between them. It’s not lost on me that I’m still not wearing any underwear because they’re still on the floor of his pickup and by the smirk on his face, I’m sure he’s thinking the same. “Do you cook?”

“I’m a thirty-five-year old single guy whose nephew practically lives with him, of course I cook.”

His fingers make a figure eight pattern on the inside of my thigh, sending a jolt of electricity through my body. “Will you cook for me some day?”

“Of course. I’ll even cook breakfast for you tomorrow morning,” he says, reminding me of his plans to keep me here for a few days.

I splay my hands behind me over the large island that has a set of four stools sitting next to it. “Is this where you eat?”

His eyes darken and he licks his lips, leans in closer.

“Yes. In fact,” his fingers flex against my skin then slide higher so he’s millimeters from where I want him most, “I’m certain it’s going to be my favorite place to eat.”

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