I must be losing my mind.
Definitely not a fan of other humans. They tend to piss me off.
I don’t generally like kissing, either.
I never want to have sex.
Not to say I don’t jerk off when the mood strikes, but participating with someone else isn’t typically a high priority on my list. If it makes the list at all.
Ask me a few months ago if I’d be following a command that was politely barked at me by an alpha that I’ve tried kicking off my sidewalk and out of my store more times than I can count. Ha, I’d tell you to get fucked.
Unfortunately, all of that is happening and I don’t think I can stop it.
I hate to admit it, but I don’t think I want to, either.
“What’s wrong with your dog?”
I stand corrected.“Excuse me?”
Bentley gets to his feet then moves to sit next to me and when he plops down onto the sectional, he leans and picks Floyd up like they’ve known each other for years.
“He looks like he’s been through it.”
I scowl at the stupid sexy asshole while my traitor of a pet licks his cheek and the scruff on his chin. “Floyd is fine.”
“Floyd?” Bentley arches a brow. “Please tell me you didn’t name him.”
“I did.” I push my glasses up my nose then fold my arms against my chest while I jut my chin out in defiance. “Pretty Boy Floyd. Because he’s beautiful and hasn’tbeen through it.”
So what if it’s a lie. I’m annoyed, more with myself than anything else, and I don’t want to give this man more reasons to talk to me.
“Fine. You can tell me about this sweet, good boy when you’re ready.”
My cheeks flame, but my scowl intensifies as I watch him give my dog all the scratches and kisses, sweet talking Floyd as if he’d given birth to him.
Maybe I should put him to bed.
Floyd doesn’t care, as soon as he hits the pillow, he’s out. Then I won’t have to, oh my god, I’m jealous.
I’m jealous of a dog.
I’m jealous ofmydog.
I want Bentley to call me a good boy, I want him to kiss me and give me his attention, and I’m trying to think of a way to make that happen becauseI’m jealous of my goddamn dogand don’t want to share him.
And I want to punch myself in the face for it.
“So, what’s with the security downstairs?”
I blink a few times, watching as Bentley sets Floyd down before he turns to face me again. “What?”
He gives me a ridiculously pretty smile as he leans back against the couch. “The metal curtains.”
“You said it,” I say a little more abrasively than I intended. “Security.”
“Yeah, but why? Didn’t seem to need it before.”
“It’s been a long time coming.” I swallow hard as Bentley settles in, stretching his arms across the back of the couch and splaying his legs. “I ordered them before you started panhandling outside.”