Page 98 of 23 Hours

Giving zero damns about what he said, Gunz shrugs one shoulder. “Well, look at him.”

I blink a couple of times and do as I’m told. “I can’t believe you got me a dog.” With blue eyes, like his and Adam’s. Not the exact shade, but similar. Big, bright, and beautiful. Kinda buggy, but I love that. It adds charm.

Once again, not one to take credit for anything, Gunz explains, “Well, technically, he’s a gift from Debbie.”

Lips sealed, I stave off a smile, knowing he’s full of absolute shit as those butterflies from earlier run a conga line in my stomach. To save face, I pretend this is normal, that I’m not affected, and that this isn’t crazy.

Shaking her head at Gunz’s obvious BS, Deb chimes in, “He got you a dog.” She huffs in barely concealed laughter, refusing to take credit for this unexpected creature sitting patiently at my feet, looking up at me with those oversized eyes, his speckled bat ears standing proud.

See… he got me a dog.

A French bulldog named after a sergeant-at-arms, just like him.

Gesturing for me to take the furball inside, Gunz speaks to Debbie a bit longer on the porch, as I enter the house with the cutest pup. Chibs heels the brief journey, ears and eyes on high alert. In the living room, I sit on the couch, and he roosts between my feet without a single command. I’m speechless.

A few minutes later, Gunz returns, and takes one look at me and the dog before a smile the size of California breaks across his face. Then he’s gone, disappearing into the kitchen.

I watch him leave because I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to do. I’m afraid to touch Chibs because what if this isn’t real? What if I’m still in that hellhole, dreaming? What if the handsome man now dressed in ovary-exploding jeans and a fitted Harley shirt is a figment of my imagination?

Stuff like this doesn’t happen in real life. Not in mine, anyhow.

See. I know I shouldn’t have said those words aloud. Admitted the truth.

A handful of minutes later, the same man reenters the living room, wearing the same pants and shirt, looking just as yummy. “His food and water bowl are in the kitchen, love.” A body lowers beside mine on the couch. A strong hand guides my shoulder back until my spine connects with the sofa. A furry snort box is lifted off the floor and deposited onto my lap. The same animal fits itself along the seam of my legs, turning into a loaf of dog, butt against my belly, speckled paws on knees.

The sexy biker pats the top of the pup’s head. “Deb said he doesn’t need a leash. She said he’ll sit by the door when he needs to go to the bathroom. Just let him out. He’ll come back when he’s done.”

Right. Let the dog go out by himself.

When I don’t respond, a pair of soft lips meet my temple. Dropping a simple kiss there, heat permeates the cotton of my beanie when Gunz speaks. “You tired, love?” Whispered concern weaves through his words.

I shake my head.

“Do you not like the dog?” he questions next, trying to get a bead on how I’m feeling.

Unable to do anything but, I stare at the aforementioned pup—at the single white spot on his right butt cheek. The lack of tail. Nothing more than a tiny tootsie roll of a stub. It’s cute. His shoulders are broad and muscular, like you’d expect a biker’s dog to be—brawny.

I’ve never had a dog.

Not one.

Not ever.

My ex refused to let us have any pet. He said they were too much of a hassle. As a child, my parents barely cared for us, let alone any kind of animal. My apartment complex didn’t allow anything with fur, and I’m not much of a fish or bird lover.

Carefully, I lift both hands and just as carefully lay them on either side of this living creature. He breathes, his body moving up and down beneath my touch, fur soft. Chewing my bottom lip, I blink away tears, knowing damn well I promised myself I wouldn’t cry again after the silly pickle incident in the kitchen. Or the shower one… which we don’t need to mention.

Dammit.

“Sweetheart.” Gunz thumbs away a lone tear as it descends my cheek.

Sliding my palms upward, I finger Chibs’ soft bat ears at the tips and work my way down to give them the best scratchy scratches. They twitch and I smile because how could I not? They’re cow print, a stark contrast against the rest of his body. Out of my periphery, I note Gunz’s smile, too. It’s reserved as he watches me with laser focus. Not wanting him to get the wrong idea, I swallow down my pride, my fear, and my concerns, to say what he deserves to hear, even if now’s not the perfect time.

“I don’t know if I can stay with you.”

When Gunz opens his mouth to respond, I raise a hand to stave him off. If I don’t get this out now, I’ll chicken out later. “When you said I was staying… I don’t know if that’s true or will ever be true. I… I’ve never had a dog. I want this dog, but I can’t keep him if there are conditions.” I don’t think I could take another thing being torn from me. Another thing I care about gone.Poof.

Resting a hand on my thigh, Gunz chuckles warmly as if he finds me amusing or something else entirely. “He’s yours whether or not you stay, love. I told our son you’re stayin’ ’cause you are, for now. Even if it’s only for another week or a month. He needed to hear that.”

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