I lifted an eyebrow at her, then glanced down at Hampton and I choked on my shock.
The great beast was humping my leg.
I pushed him off at once, but he must’ve thought it was a good game. He landed on his feet and came charging back, his tongue still lolling from his mouth, jumping at me once more. I held the brush up to ward him off. Unsurprisingly, it proved to be a woefully inadequate deterrent.
Lucy was holding her stomach, laughing so hard she didn’t seem to care that she’d gotten soap all over the front of her shirt.
“Looks like you’ve aroused a dormant hunger in Hampton,” she managed to say, then doubled over laughing at her own joke.
“Christ! He won’t take no for an answer.” Despite the circumstance, and much to my surprise, I found I was laughing too as I attempted to evade the newfie’s persistent advances.
“Just . . . let him . . . finish, he won’t . . . take long,” she gasped, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hands as Hampton chased me around the dog pen.
This was half horrifying, half hilarious. I couldn’t stand still long enough to open the door, because every time I stood still, Hampton was on me.
“What? No! I don’t want him to finish. Go find another leg, Hampton.” I tried to gently kick him away, but he barked happily.
“He thinks you’re being coy.”
“I swear, this dog would make an excellent tighthead prop, he’d be unbeatable in a ruck.”
“Or a scrum,” Lucy squealed.
“You’re hilarious, Lucy. But you’re not the one being mauled by a giant Newfoundland.”
“Ha! Mauled.” She pointed at me acknowledging my inadvertent rugby pun. “Come now, Sean. He just needs some lo— Oh my God!” Lucy yelled and fell back on her bottom as Hampton tried to mount me once again, this time jumping higher and licking my face.
“Now you’re trying foreplay?” I asked dryly, though I was laughing as well. “Too late, Hampton. Maybe if you’d bought me a drink first.”
Jumping to the side to avoid his maneuvers, I finally managed to open the gate. I quickly stepped through, closing the chain-link door before he could follow. He jumped at it, banging the metal, then bounced away, pacing the length of the pen.
I glanced at Lucy, saw she hadn’t recovered. Her shoulders shook and she looked as though she couldn’t catch her breath. Her head was thrown back and tears of hilarity were leaking from her eyes.
Christ, she was beautiful.
Meanwhile, Hampton barked at me. He sounded frustrated. Let down. Put out. I almost felt sorry for him . . . but not really.
No one likes being the leg that’s humped. No one.
Chapter Twelve
@LucyFitz Topic of the day: Celebs who look like other celebs.
@BroderickAdams to @LucyFitz Julia Roberts = Steven Tyler.
@LucyFitz to @BroderickAdams #mindblown
Lucy
Sean had been an excellent helper.
Despite Hampton’s attempts at seduction, Sean’s mood had been cheerful and obliging. I’d never seen him so relaxed. And when it was time for me to go, he’d stayed behind and helped the second shift groom the rest of the dogs.
Whereas I jumped in a taxi and sped home, making it back just before Annie walked in the door. We immediately set to work, though I was having some trouble concentrating. If I wasn’t thinking about Sean’s terrible childhood and growing angry on his behalf, I was distracted by how gentle he’d been with the dogs at the shelter.
What was it about men who were animal lovers? He’d been such a good sport about everything, working hard, wanting to help. It made my heart go pitter-pat.
The next morning, after sleeping fitfully because my dreams were plagued with ridiculous images of Sean, me, and our future pet—a lovely chocolate Labrador mix with big brown eyes—Annie was up before me. Not surprising given she was on Dublin time, which was five hours ahead.
When I moseyed out to the kitchen I saw she’d laid out a delectable assortment of pastries. This was one of the things I loved most about Annie; the woman had a robust appreciation for pastries.
“Grab an eclair and some coffee,” she called from the living room. “Then we’ll get back to work on your new online persona.”
“Sounds fun.” I grabbed the eclair as instructed. Who was I to argue with chocolate ganache at 8:30 a.m.?
Just as I took my first bite, I heard my phone chime from my room, alerting me to a new text message.
“Be right back.” I spoke around the eclair I was chewing and shuffled back to my room, eyeing the carafe of coffee longingly as I went.
Pulling the cell from my bag, my heart skipped as I read the new message.
Sean: What time are you coming over?
For some unknown reason, I shut my door before I responded.
Lucy: Sorry. I meant to tell you yesterday. Teacher needs a day off to catch up on work stuff. How about tomorrow?
Sean: Where are you? Are you at your apartment? Should I bring you sustenance? Street meat perhaps?