He shrugs. “That’s fine. Will give me time to get to know the dogs better. If the pit’s leg gets worse, I’ll carry him. If he lets me.”
I know I’m staring at him like he’s crazy, but I can’t help it. “It’s not safe to walk the streets this late at night,” I tell him.
He rubs at his beard and gives me a small smile. “Listen, love, I can handle it.” He gazes down at the dogs. “Plus, I have a pit bull now. I’m sure I’ll be given a wide berth.”
The fact is, anyone looking for trouble would give him a wide berth anyway. Those mountainous traps and shoulders, those hard, wild eyes, they warn everyone to stay away.
Everyone but me.
“I’ll go with you,” I tell him.
He shakes his head. “You just said yourself that it’s a long walk.”
I cross my arms and attempt a commanding stance. “That’s true, but you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
In the distance, a siren wails. Lachlan looks off, chewing on his lower lip, that lip I’d give anything to chew on again. Finally his eyes slide to mine, amused and kind. “All right,” he says. “If that’s what you want.”
“Yup.”
“You really are something aren’t you?” He takes a step closer to me. “Stubborn as shit.”
I grin at him and my grin widens when he reaches out and grabs my hand, giving it a squeeze.
“Shall we?” he asks.
I squeeze right back, my palm pressed against his, skin on skin, electricity buzzing up my arm. I don’t know when I of all people started finding kissing and hand-holding to be insanely erotic, but I did. All because of him.
Hand in hand, we head off across the city.
I talk the entire time.
About my mother.
My brothers.
My father.
My ex-fiancé.
My job.
He listens intently to every single word that comes out of my mouth. It’s an amazing feeling to actually be heard. More than that, he seems to understand.
We pass sketchy characters, but all Lachlan has to do is look at them and they shrink away. We pass parks where he spots other stray dogs, and it breaks his heart—and mine—that he can’t save them all. We walk through blocks and blocks of harsh city life, and Lachlan seems more at ease than ever. He’s alert but comfortable, even as we pass the fringes of the dangerous Tenderloin district. And I never feel unsafe.
The dogs stay by our side the whole time, with Lachlan feeding them from another packet of beef jerky that I ran into a 7-11 to get. They seem more comfortable, and Lachlan tells me that he can tell they both had homes at one point, which will make it easier for them to get adopted.
When we get to his apartment building, my feet are burning and the sky seems to be growing lighter in the east, and I hope it’s a trick of my eyes because I still have to go to work when day breaks.
I hope the dawn never comes.
I want the night to go on forever.
It’s a bit of a struggle to get the scruffy dog inside, especially as we’re trying not to attract attention to ourselves—Lachlan’s not sure about the building’s pet policy. Finally he takes off his Henley shirt and wraps one of the long sleeves around the dog’s neck until we get him in the door.
At least I think that’s what he does because I’m staring at his shirtless body with my mouth open. I don’t even have the decency to look away. I’m tired and sleep-deprived and sore, and the sight of all those muscles, all those tattoos, lifts me up like a tonic.
But if Lachlan can tell I’m staring deliriously at him, he doesn’t show it. We eventually get up the elevator, the dogs freaking out now, and into his apartment. He immediately gets a bowl of water for them while they wander around the place sniffing everything. He puts his shirt back on—dammit—and starts rummaging through his kitchen.
“Can I help with anything?” I ask him.
He shakes his head and takes some raw ground beef out of the fridge. “It’s lucky I eat a lot of protein,” he says, putting the meat into two bowls and setting them down. “This should do.”