I place the last folder of my closed cases in the tray on the side of my desk and grab my phone off the charging dock before turning to leave, only to stop in my tracks when Maddox calls my name.
“Coming from me as a man and not a father, know I speak from firsthand knowledge that women don’t take kindly to being pressed against a wall unless you actually remember doing it to her too.”
Fuck me. He did not just say that.
“And,” he continues, looking down at his monitor. “My daughter deserves better than being pushed up against a dirty wall. Don’t do that shit.”
Without knowing what in the fucking hell I’m supposed to say to that shit, I give him a gruff sound of acknowledgment before turning and walking with just a little more speed than normal out of the dungeon.
Nate: I’m on the way.
I LOOK DOWN AT MY phone but decide to finish my task before responding.
I pull the latex glove down onto my hand and grimace when I reach out to pick up one of the two dead birds right outside my back door. I had already cleaned up the broken bird feeder that had been hanging on the overhang leading into my house. My heart broke thinking that I had been responsible for two little birds dying because I hadn’t secured their feeder well enough.
This week has been full of me cleaning crap up, it seems.
Five days ago, a branch had fallen off one of the oak trees outside my bedroom window, shattering the window above my bed before landing in the middle of my mattress with enough force to puncture the damn thing. That, fortunately, had happened when I had been up late finishing my last piece for my show, trying to make up for the two days I missed after my birthday and subsequent hangover. Still, I made a point to have the men delivering my new mattress help me move my bed to the other side of the room—the one without a window near it.
Three days ago, in what would appear to be one hell of a night for some bored kids, my house and two surrounding it had met the sun with a yard full of toilet paper. Enough toilet paper it almost looked as if we had a snow day.
Not wanting to even deal with that for a second, I hired someone to come clean up the mess. I had enough going on with getting my painting done in half the time I would normally spend on a piece.
Yesterday, my mailman had apparently decided to try his hand at crash test dummies. I got home from the grocery store to find my mailbox trampled in a vibrant display of shattered wood and crushed metal.
And now, the damn bird feeder is murdering my feathered friends.
I swear nothing is going my way this week. I can only hope that with Nate coming over now, I’m not about to have another wave of bad luck.
After grabbing the second bird and carrying it to the trashcan with my arm completely outstretched, I snap off my glove and throw that in as well. Bam trails behind me the whole time, his thick head looking all over the yard as his tongue hangs lazily out of the side of his mouth. The big beast has been attached to my side since Levi almost took my head off last week. I’ve almost broken my neck more times than I can count because he decided to move his bed in the corner of my studio and drag it directly behind where I stand. I’ve even woken up to him in my bed four times this week, which is something the big pup had never done before. You would think that when a two-hundred-pound dog clambers up to your bed at night, you would wake up, but not me.
“Ember?” I hear called from the front yard, and I look down when Bam takes off with a bark around the side of the house.
So much for being my big shadow, I guess.
I follow his path, going around the house instead of inside. When I find Nate crouched down, Bam is happily soaking up the attention as he scratches him from head to tail.
“Bam, here,” I call sharply, but just roll my eyes when he flops his huge mass down on the grass and sticks all four legs up waiting for Nate to give his belly the same attention.
Nate laughs but gives Bam what he wants for a minute before standing and brushing his hands against his jeans. Jeans that I should note are molded to his thighs and highlight the bulge in his crotch. I watch, my eyes almost crossing, when the bulge in question visibly twitches beneath the denim.
“Em, please don’t. I can’t handle another reminder that my cock doesn’t know how to behave.”
I snap my eyes to his, wide with shock at his words. “Uh … I’m sorry?” Really, what else could I say right now?
“Long story, but please don’t be offended if I end up walking funny soon.”
I can feel my cheeks heat the second I visualize him having to walk funny because of an erection.
“Did you want to go get a bite to eat?” he asks, making me stop thinking about his dick and try to form big girl sentences.
“I cocked. I mean I’m cocking. Fuck.” I bet my face is bright red now. How embarrassing.