Big Rock

“Oh, that was only the start of the havoc he tried to wreak. He knocked over a case of rubies once during one of his marathon laps around the store. Another time, he snagged the velvet lining from a display case, and turned it into a cape,” she says, and Charlotte’s lips twitch in amusement. “But,” Nina says, narrowing her eyes and holding up a finger, “I had a solution.”

“Benadryl?” Charlotte asks playfully, then squeezes my hand.

I groan inside, knowing what’s coming.

“Oh, I wish I could have gotten him to nap while his father was busy in a meeting. Instead, I went to the fancy pet accessories shop down the block, bought a leash, and attached it to the loops of his corduroy pants.”

Charlotte’s hand flies to her mouth, and I drop my forehead to my palm. There it is. The story I will never live down now. I don’t know what’s worse—the leash or the corduroy.

“You walked him around the store on a leash?” Charlotte asks, taking her time with each word, wonder in her voice.

Nina nods, proud of her solution. She pats the side of her leg as if she’s giving a dog a command, then emits a low whistle. “C’mere boy,” she says, laughs shuddering through her. “He loved it. He took to it like a little Cocker Spaniel.”

“Amazing. Almost like he’s got a little bit of dog in him just waiting to come out,” Charlotte says, shaking her head in amusement.

I roll my eyes as the women continue their banter.

“But don’t they all? Men, that is,” Nina says.

Charlotte nods. “Good thing I like dogs.”

“Besides, it was either leash him up, or risk this little hellion breaking all the diamond cases. He’s mellowed over the years though. In a good way,” Nina says, patting me on the cheek. “And he’s mellowing in an even better way now, isn’t he?” she says, directing the last words to Charlotte, who gulps and seems to tense. Her eyes widen, and I freeze.

Shit.

This is it.

This is when Charlotte chokes.

“Wouldn’t you say so?” Nina continues, prompting Charlotte, who’s stock still.

Red starts to streak across her cheeks, and she’s about to word-vomit the truth. To blurt it all out in one big, fat confession tied up with a white bow of ridiculous. She might have aced the jewelry selection, but that was easy for her sparkly, jewel-loving heart. This is the hard part, and it shows. Oh crap, does it show in the terror in her eyes.

Her lips start to move, but no sound comes. I squeeze her hand, a reminder that it’s her turn to speak. But if she can’t form words, I’m going to need to step in. Somehow, she manages a nervous smile, then she winks at Nina, and at last speech returns. “Actually, he’s still a hellion. So if you held onto that leash, I might be able to put it to good use.”

Nina tosses her head back and cackles. She drops a hand on Charlotte’s arm and whispers, “Oh, I do so love the naughty energy of the newly engaged.”

She excuses herself to go check on the ring, and Charlotte shoots me a look. “Thought I was going to blow our cover, didn’t you?”

I hold up my thumb and forefinger. “You were this close to giving it up, weren’t you?”

She arches an eyebrow. “Maybe I wanted you to squirm.”

“You evil woman,” I say with narrowed eyes.

She dances her fingers up my arm. “Or perhaps I was just processing the fantastic image of you being on a leash,” she says, looking like the cat who didn’t just eat the canary, but feasted on the bird’s whole damn family. “You do know that was basically the best ammunition ever that she just dropped in my hand. The Spencer on a Leash tale. But it got even better when she called you a Cocker Spaniel,” she says, the corner of her lips quirking up in a “gotcha” grin.

“What can I say? I guess I was a dog even then.” At least I can breathe easily again.

“Do you still like it? Being walked on a leash?” she says, egging me on.

“Is this your way of asking me to participate in kinky, dirty things?”

“No. It’s my way of asking how far this fantastic story extends so that if I want to mention it while we’re at the bar, or out with Nick or Kristen, or your sister, that I get it right,” she says, miming walking a dog.

But that’s not how I see things going. Not at all. Just so she knows how I like these scenarios to play out, I lean in closer, brush her hair away from her shoulder, and whisper, “If anyone’s getting tied up, it’s you. And it won’t be with a leash. It’ll be with a scarf, or stockings, or that black hot-as-fuck thong you put on because I made you so wet you had to change. I’d wrap it around your wrists, nice and tight, then pin them behind your back until you beg me to touch you.”

Her breath catches.

She trembles, and a shiver runs through her body. She grips the front of my shirt, her fingertips curling around a button. And holy fuck… she likes the idea of being tied up. I can feel it in the air. In the way protons and electrons are buzzing. In the sexual energy that’s radiating off her body.

I inhale.

It smells like chemistry.

And I have no clue what to make of it.