“Yeah, I need to get home,” I agree, opening my eyes to find his on mine.
“I don’t want to let you go,” he says, and I know in that moment I could get lost in him.
“Then don’t.” I close my eyes again, not wanting him to see that I really mean Don’t let me go, ever.
“I don’t plan on it.” He tips my head down so he can press a sweet kiss to my forehead. “Up you go,” he urges, and I reluctantly get off his lap, then watch him stand. “Are you okay?”
No would be the answer to that question. I feel like my life has changed in a huge way. I feel like . . . god, I feel like crying. “I’m good,” I lie, and his hand wraps around the back of my neck. He drags me closer so I have no choice but to rest my cheek against his chest.
“You good with me and you?” he asks softly, and I nod, not looking up at him. “That’s all that matters.” He kisses the top of my hair, letting me go once more. When he turns his back to me, I watch his muscles move under his skin as he opens a drawer and pulls out a long-sleeved navy-blue thermal and puts it on over his head. I want to pout a little that he’s covering up, but I don’t have time to do that. Instead my eyes drop to his ass, which is covered in a pair of formfitting dark-blue, almost black, boxers as he trades the sleep pants he put on last night when we got back from walking Muffin for a pair of thick gray sweats. Turning back toward me once he’s dressed, he smiles. “Come on.”
He takes my hand and pulls open his door. Muffin, who is still on the couch, lifts her head to look at us, then slowly pulls herself to stand, placing one paw on the floor at a time. As soon as she’s up, she wanders slowly to Levi, bumping him with her nose and not even paying me one bit of attention.
“My dog is seriously in love with you.”
“The feeling’s mutual, though I’m thinking of giving her a nickname.”
“Why?” I ask, watching him pet her before moving to pick up a pair of shoes and carrying them across the room.
“Muffin’s not exactly something I like calling her when we are out. I was thinking Brutus would be good.”
“She’s a girl.” I tell him something he should know as he takes a seat on the couch to put on a pair of worn sneakers.
“Why Muffin?” he asks, lifting his head to look at me.
“Do you mean why did I name her Muffin?” He nods. “She was rescued from a breeder out on Long Island,” I say, giving Muffin a rubdown when she finally pulls herself away from Levi and comes over to me. “I was visiting my parents over Christmas break last year when a story broke about a breeder out on Long Island who was being charged with animal cruelty. When I saw the news, I went to my dad to ask him about it. He told me that the Humane Society had brought more than a hundred dogs to the local shelter to either be rehomed or put down because they couldn’t adjust to life outside the cages they were forced to live in. That day I went to the shelter to see if I could help in some way. I didn’t plan on getting a dog, but I needed to do something, so I volunteered my time. That’s when I met Muffin. She was the runt of her litter and was scared to death of everyone. No one thought she would make it because she wouldn’t eat and she was having a really hard time adjusting. Every day I would spend time with her and the other dogs during breakfast before taking them on a walk or helping with cleanup around the kennel,” I say, watching his eyes soften. “Then one day I was doing what I had done the whole week prior. I was sitting on the floor eating while watching the dogs play, and Muffin, who had always stuck to the corner of the room and to herself, ran toward me to get the blueberry muffin I pulled out of my bag. I didn’t even have a chance to stop her before she ate almost the whole thing in one bite.” I smile, looking down at her. “After that she was glued to my side. If I was there, she was with me, and when I had to come back to New York, I couldn’t leave her behind, so I paid a thousand-dollar pet deposit on my apartment and brought her home.” I bend down to give my girl a hug around her neck. “So that’s why I call her Muffin,” I finish quietly, taking a chance to look at him when I feel the vibe in the room shift.
“Jesus.” He shakes his head, resting his elbows to his knees, studying us. “You better go before I stand.”
“What?” I pull myself from Muffin trying to understand what just happened and why he suddenly looks pissed.
“I want you, Fawn.” He pauses, rubbing his hand down the morning scruff covering his jaw. “I want you, and if I get my hands on you right now, there will be no going back, so you need to leave.”
“Oh.” I lick my lips and look at the door, then back to him, torn between leaving and letting him have me however he wants.
“Go, baby,” he growls, so deep that I swear I feel it skim through every single cell in my body.
“Right,” I whisper, picking up my Uggs that I took off last night and left next to his door. I pause with them against my chest. “Levi.” I turn my head toward him with my hand on the knob to find him still sitting.
“Yeah?”
“Just so you know, I want you, too.” I swing the door open and hurry out and across the hall before he can reply. After knocking on my door, since I don’t have a key, it only takes a half a second for my dad to answer, and when he does, I swear he’s fighting back a grin.
“Well, look who the cat decided to finally drag home.” Here we go.
“Morning, Daddio,” I mutter as he kisses my forehead, and then I scoot past him, dropping my shoes to the floor.
“Where’s Levi?” Mom asks, looking behind me without so much as a hello in my direction.
“He’s taking Muffin for a walk, he’ll be over soon.”
“Did you hear that, Libby? Levi’s taking Fawn’s dog for a walk after she spent the night with him,” Mac says and I look to where my sisters are seated on the couch.
“I heard it, sis.” Libby smirks, and I roll my eyes at the two of them.
“Could all of you do me a favor, and for once, just try to act normal and not embarrass me?” I plead.
“We would never embarrass you,” Mom says, and my head swings to her and I raise a brow. “Well, not on purpose, anyways,” she concludes in a mutter.
“Dad,” I say, pulling my eyes from my mom to look at him.
“When have I ever embarrassed you?” he asks, and I stare at him in disbelief.
“I don’t know, maybe the time Jimmy came over and you asked him if we were having sex.”
“That was a serious question.” He frowns, scratching his beard.
“I was thirteen,” I cry, feeling embarrassed for my teenage self all over again.
“Kids nowadays are having sex young. I wanted you to be safe.”
“Just, please, no talking about sex . . .” I pause to look at everyone. “At all.”
“I don’t know, maybe I should have a talk with him. After all, you did spend the night with the man.”
“Oh lord.” I cover my face with my hands and rub hard.