Page 147 of Wildest Dreams

“Oh no, don’t stop now,” I tease, and he half-laughs half-groans, his cheeks turning ruddy. “So if she didn’t go home then–?”

“She went home with him,” he finishes quickly, gruff and matter-of-fact. “They moved in together that night. That’s the end of the story.”

“I bet,” I say dryly, smiling up at his embarrassed expression. “So did they–?”

“Yeah,” he grunts. “I’m one of three boys. My oldest brother Morgan… yeah, that was his night.”

“Oh my God,” I laugh, burying my face against his biceps to smother my giggles. “Okay, that was so mean of me. I shouldn’t have made you finish that story Tanner, I’m sorry.”

Tanner keeps his eyes on the road but a brief smile touches his lips.

“It’s okay,” he rumbles, even though his dark red cheeks say otherwise.

I lean up to press a kiss against his cheekbone and his smile grows a little wider, his chest expanding contentedly.

“What’s your other brother called?” I ask, resettling on my seat.

“Wyatt. Morgan’s the oldest, then Wyatt, then me. And by the way,” he says, amusement glinting in his eyes, “when you hear my parents say the name ‘Mason’, they’re talking about me.”

“Oh my God!” I exclaim, shooting him a glare. “Very funny,” I mumble dryly, folding my arms over my chest.

His grin widens as he wrestles one of my hands back into his.

I stare sulkily at our entwined fingers.

Am I ever going to live down not knowing his first name?

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” Tanner drawls, grinning wider when I gasp.

“Oh great, now I’m saying my private thoughts out loud,” I whimper. I look down at my love-heart freckle and say, “This is all your fault.”

Tanner breathes out a laugh, bringing my hand to his mouth so that he can kiss it.

“While we’re on the subject of shit I probably should have mentioned before I brought you here, you’re not afraid of dogs are you?” he asks, using our joined hands to move the shift.

I blink up at him, eyes wide.

“…Only big ones,” I say slowly. I swallow hard and squeak, “Why?”

He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, staring hard at the road.

“Tanner!” I exclaim. “What the hell?! Fine, just tell me. How big is it?”

He presses an apologetic kiss firmly against my wrist.

“He’s… normal size, baby. Totally normal.”

“Define normal,” I say dryly, well aware that six-foot-four Tanner’s perspective of size is not the same as mine.

He grunts quietly, clearing his throat. “Uh…”

“Tanner,” I warn.

“He’s regular size,” he rumbles cautiously, “…for a fully grown Alsatian.”

“Tanner!” I shout, horrified.

“Look, baby, if it makes you feel any better we also have a Pekinese.”

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