Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 126154 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 631(@200wpm)___ 505(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126154 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 631(@200wpm)___ 505(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
I take her hand as we head to the front door, and turn to face her as I slip my key into the lock.
“My dog is… difficult,” I tell her. “He really doesn’t like strangers.”
“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m good with dogs.”
I want to apologise for him in advance and tell her the dismal story of his existence before I saved him from death row, just so she’ll give him a chance, but she’s already shivering from our evening in the cold.
“He’ll be aggressive,” I tell her. “But don’t worry, I promise I won’t let him hurt you.”
“It’s okay,” she says. “I’m not scared.”
But she will be. I know full well she will be.
I open the door and head on through to deactivate the alarm. She looks so dainty in my hallway as I get the lights. I can’t stop staring as her eyes soak the place in.
I’m still staring as Brutus comes charging through, and he’s so much fucking faster than usual. He’s a dog who stalks from a distance, growls like a fucking demon before he attacks, but not tonight.
I lunge but I miss him, I yell his name and tell him to come fucking back, but he ignores me completely.
My blood runs cold as I charge down the hallway, and I’m shouting at her not to run, please don’t fucking run.
But she doesn’t.
She drops to her knees and the horror hits me in the gut.
She holds out her arms for him and I swear he’s going to tear her pretty throat open.
But he doesn’t. He fucking doesn’t.
His tail is thumping as he skids to a halt, his tongue lolling out as she coo coos in his face and scratches his ears. And I stare. Mute. Fucking astounded.
“What’s his name?” she asks.
It takes me a moment to find my tongue. “Brutus.”
“Brutus!” she says, and his tail thumps harder. “He’s lovely.”
“He’s not usually,” I tell her.
“Rescue?” she asks, and I nod. “He’s lucky you found him.”
“I’m the lucky one. He’s great when you get to know him.”
He’s still staring up at her like a sappy poodle when she gets to her feet, and I can’t believe it. I can’t fucking believe it.
“You have a beautiful house,” she says and I thank her. “And a beautiful dog,” she adds, and I think she really believes it, even though he’s hardly going to win a beauty pageant any time soon.
Maybe he doesn’t need to. Maybe she sees through all that.
I shouldn’t even be hoping, but I am. I shouldn’t be this invested in some pretty girl who moonlights as a prostitute, but I am.
“Are you going to give me a tour?” she asks and I come to my senses enough to stop fucking gawping at her.
I lead her through to the kitchen and ask if she’d like a drink, and she sits herself at my island with her cute little feet tapping against the stool. Brutus plops himself down at her side, his head on his paws like she’s part of the furniture.
Un-fucking-real.
“A coffee would be divine,” she says, and I ditch my stupid incognito cap and get to work putting the beans in the machine, trying to work out if I’ve had a woman in this place since Claire. I haven’t.
I’m still making the drinks when Brutus gets to his feet. He needs a piss, I know it as soon as he barks, but it’s not me he’s asking. He’s barking at her, as though she’ll know what the fuck he’s asking for.
But she does.
She slips from the stool and heads for the back door like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“He wants to go out, right?” she asks, and I nod.
“Please.”
She catches me watching and tips her head. “What? What is it?”
“Milk?”
She nods. “Please. Two sugars.” She smiles. “You weren’t wondering if I take milk, were you?”
I hand her a mug without saying a word, but she won’t let it up.
“What?” she says, and giggles. “You’re making me nervous.”
I look about the room, look anywhere. “Just this,” I tell her. “This is strange. Brutus is strange.”
“Dogs can tell who their kind of people are,” she says.
“So it seems.”
“I’m glad he likes me.” She smiles.
I have a niggle in my gut I can’t place. It feels tender – as though the tiniest green shoot is poking its fragile form up through charred soil.
It’s not entirely pleasant.
Brutus pads nonchalantly back inside and I wonder what the hell he’s thinking as his eyes meet mine. His eyes say nothing other than he loves our new guest, and I trust him. I trust his judgement as much as my own.
I force that niggle aside. Force myself to go along with this insanity, because why not?
What else is there to do?
How could I possibly walk away from this?
Amy locks the back door without being asked. I watch her drink her coffee and enjoy the way the colour comes back to her cheeks.