Page 63 of The Last Kind of Kiss
Oh, God. Maybe this mission is going to be harder than I thought. I can never say no to Lila, and if she happens to suggest bringing along a sentient dust bunny for the road, I may not have the balls to refuse her. The guy’s adorable, obviously. Small, full of energy, can yap an ear off, eats food off the ground. That’s pretty much Fulton to a T, and Fulton plus anactualdog equals a downfall of disastrous proportions. Just looking at that miniature storm cloud makes me all warm and fuzzy inside.
While she’s speaking in tongues or pspsps-ing or whateveryou want to call it, she scrunches her nose up in a cheek-plumping smile, petting the dog on its back.
Resist, Bristol. The house doesnotneed an animal right now. It’s a zoo with six guys already.
“Lila, we’re not here to adopt a dog,” I remind her gently.
“But Bristol! Look! He likes me!” she exclaims, pointing to her now-slobbery hand.
“Are you still going to think that when he poops in your shoe before you have to leave for work?”
“I’ll just take him to work with me. Easy fix. That way he won’t get sad or lonely when I’m gone.”
I deadpan, “Uh-huh. Because modeling agencieslovewhen you bring a pooping machine onto their set.”
Adopting a dog is a big commitment, and I’m already failing at committing myself to another person. I’m realistically not fit to be a parent right now—whether the child is hairy or not. These dudes look like they have a pretty sweet life here. Mature, responsible families will come around in no time and sweep them all up.
I don’t want to touch it. If I touch it, I’ll feel how soft it is. When I acknowledge how soft it is, I’ll fantasize about cuddling in bed with it. I don’t need to get attached, and I alsowon’tbe reading any of their names. Rookie mistake.
Lila says a quick goodbye to her (hopefully not) fur-ever friend, wincing slightly when she rises back to a stance, and she employs the upper pen to support her.
One eyebrow hikes to my hairline. “Why are you moving like that?”
“Like what?” she asks, feigning confusion like I didn’t just see her go full granny mode and use that enclosure as a cane.
“Like you have something stuck up your ass.”
She gasps. “I don’t have anything stuck up my—I’m fine! I fell into a bush earlier and messed up my legs.”
“Oh, sure. Okay,” I muse, nodding. I then whip my head around for added theatrics and pretend to sniff the air. “Do you smell that?”
“Smell what?”
A grin threatens my lips. “I don’t know, but it smells a bit likebullshit.”
I know why she’s walking funny, and it’s not because she fell into some vengeful vegetation. It’s because she fell…on my dick. Over and over again. All last night. The fact that she’s being shy about it only makes some sadistic part of me more turned on.
God, last night was a fucking dream. None of it felt real. I’m not aFifty Shadeskind of guy, alright? I have pretty vanilla sex in the safety of my bedroom. But taking that risk—where anyone could’ve walked in on us—and watching as she let go, fell, and trusted me enough to catch her was a night I’ll never forget. I never expected any of that from her, and even though she was wearing a façade of dominance, a vestige of vulnerability had to exist for her to get there.
Lila’s cheeks stain red, and although the evidence speaks for itself,shechooses not to speak at all, walking—wobbling—past me to visit another row of dogs. She’s got her attention set on a chunky corgi whose tongue permanently lolls out of its mouth.
Since nobody is in the immediate vicinity, I step closer to her and whisper under my breath, “No shame in admitting you like things gentle, Lils.”
I’m not exaggerating when I say this—Lila turns disturbingly slowly toward me like some kind of possessed demon, and she’s got this deranged look in her eye that says,Don’t fuck with me. I know how to circumcise a man with a nail file.
“Pretty sure I proved to you just howgentleI like things.”
She’s so hot when she’s combative. That’s not a normal response. I need serious help.
Thankfully, before things escalate, a petite woman with ablonde bun comes over to us, donning a paw-stained apron, cat-eye glasses, and a genuinely enthusiastic smile on her face. She has a few wrinkles, but other than the cheerful crow’s feet by her strikingly blue eyes, she doesn’t look a day over thirty.
“Lila!” the woman says, throwing her arms around Lila in a nanosecond.
Lila squeezes her back instantly. “Mom! I’ve missed you so much.”
Ohhh. Mom.
When Ms. Perkins pulls back from her daughter, tears swish over her lower lids, fogging up her glasses before a nasally exhale clears the condensation. “Look at you!” she exclaims, staring at Lila with so much pride that I feel this twin flutter right where adoration slumbers in the chamber of my heart.
