“Let’s do this.” Ian grins, and I hope to God Michael feels the same tingle of anticipation I do.
After a moment, he returns Ian’s grin. “I can’t wait.”
Chapter Seventeen
Tonight’s the night.
Ian isn’t home when I get there. His car is gone. The dog is whining and bouncing, eager for attention. The laptop on the table is closed, all the papers tucked away in an attaché case. Rosie is peering at me as if it’s my fault that Ian isn’t here, and how dare I come home without him?
“Sorry, sweetie.” I scratch her ears but stop before she swats me. “He’ll be home later.”
How much later? I stop in my tracks. My visits with Michael haven’t been overnight, but no one explicitly decided whether this one would be. Do I wait up?
I shake my head and head into the kitchen to make myself something to eat. This is hardly the first time I’ve come home to an empty house, and I can handle it. I always have.
But his absence is painfully conspicuous tonight.
This is a good thing, I remind myself. Michael’s comfortable enough with Ian to be alone with him. I trust Ian—Michael’s in good hands, and Ian will come home to me. If not tonight, then tomorrow.
Now if I could convince my brain to stop panicking over it and turning it into something it’s not, I’d be in good shape. Ian isn’t having an affair any more than I was. Michael isn’t going to wind up traumatized all over again because Ian won’t let that happen. Ian will come home at the end of the night, and everything will continue as normal. Well, some shade of normal, anyway.
Thinking about it isn’t going to accomplish anything, so I do the best I can to distract myself.
After a quick dinner, I take Ariel out into the yard. Immediately, she grabs a stick and runs up to me, tail wagging so hard she’s whipping herself in the sides. I’m glad she doesn’t have her tail docked like most boxers, but damn, that’s gotta hurt. When I toss the stick, she turns, and her tail cracks me in the knee.
“Shit, dog,” I mutter, eyes watering as she takes off to get the stick.
She brings the stick back and drops it, and since I’m still leaning over to rub my knee, she slurps me in the face for good measure. Laughing, I gently nudge her away and toss the stick again. The pain fades, of course. I can’t even be mad at her—hell, I’m impressed. That tail’s a damned weapon.
I throw the stick a couple dozen times, but my arm’s getting tired well before my dog is.
“You need someone who can throw it farther,” I tell her as I put the stick in the box where all her outdoor toys end up. “Michael’s a pitcher—ask him when he comes over.”
Michael.
Fuck.
So much for distracting myself.
I take Ariel back inside and do a double take.
“Rosie.” I snap my fingers. “Get off the counter.”
She glares at me, as if to say Make me, asshole.
I roll my eyes and reach for her. She lifts her paw, daring me to actually pick her up.
“Really?” I return the glare. “You never get up there when Dad’s home. What the hell.”
The paw stays up, her blue eyes narrow and her ears start to go down. All Ian would have to do right now is give her a look, and she’d jump down without a fuss. Then again, she wouldn’t have gotten up there if he were here, so it would’ve been a moot point.
“Down.” I put my arm over her and scoop her off the counter. Naturally, she bites me—not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to let me know she is displeased. When I set her on the floor, she hisses.
“Sorry, kiddo. Dad’s not here. You’re stuck with me and Ariel tonight.”
Her ears go all the way down, and I wonder if she actually understood me or if it’s just her usual disdain. Either way, she didn’t authorize Ian’s absence this evening, and if I know what’s good for me, I’ll conjure him from thin air to do her bidding.
Then she turns away and saunters out of the room. She’ll probably go terrorize Ariel now, but at least she doesn’t use her claws on the poor dog.
Alone in the kitchen, I drum my fingers on the counter where the cat was defiantly sitting a moment ago. Between the two guys, I haven’t had much time to myself in ages. Really, not since Michael and I started sleeping together. And now, I probably have a few hours. Knowing Ian and Michael, they’ll fill any downtime with talk about baseball or football, so I don’t expect him home any time soon.
So now I just…need to figure out…what to do…
I blow out a breath in the silent kitchen. Is this how Ian feels every time I’m alone with Michael? If it bothered him, he’d have said something, but it’s weird to be in his shoes this evening.