MOTHER OF DRAGONS: You are evil. That is all.
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MAKES BOYS CRY: Yes!! So evil.
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PROTEIN PRINCESS: Why are we friends with you?
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YOU KNOW YOU WANNA: *GIF of Maleficent laughing*
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SANTA’S COOKIE SUPPLIER: For reals. Here I am, thinking, “Holy shit I get to beta read for one of my favorite authors,” but you, madam, are a sadist.
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BROADWAY BABY: Screw this. I’m off to bed. You guys enjoy the Queen of Smut *cough cough* Evil Queen *cough cough* punishment.
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DANCING QUEEN: Shit, man—haven’t you heard of a thing called instant gratification?
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FIDDLER ON THE ROOF: *GIF of girl waving a hairbrush angrily*
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THE OG PITA: *GIF of woman miming strangling someone*
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ALPHABET SOUP: You remember this chapter you left us on when I have you bent into some crazy pretzel during yoga in the morning. YOU’VE BEEN WARNED.
See what I mean?
It’s the simple things in life.
It comes as no shock that Dex is already up when Trident and I make our way downstairs, nor does the way my hormones perk up, going humina-humina-humina at how yummy he looks.
At least he’s not wearing gray sweatpants, said hormones supply helpfully—or not so helpfully, depending on your definition of the word. They are right, though—no lady-porn gray sweatpants in sight, but he does have on a well-worn, super-soft from years of washing, gray Navy t-shirt.
You know the type, right? The kind that displays athletes and military men in all their muscle-rippling, seam-stretching glory.
Focus, Madison. Ah shit, I’m calling myself by my full name again. Not good.
What is surprising is how right Dex looks drinking coffee in my home.
What the…?
It’s also completely unfair how bright-eyed and bushy-tailed he looks when I know for a fact he was up just as late as I was installing all the tech Tyler sent him with—brownie points for cluing me in on what he was doing—but Mr. Badass SEAL doesn’t let little things such as lack of sleep get him down like us mere mortals.
“Did you eat?” I ask, pulling out one of Gemma’s pre-made parfaits from the fridge.
“Yes.”
Okay, good. One down, one to go.
“You want to eat or go out?” I tilt my head at the shadow by my feet.
“Didn’t you just ask me that?” Dex eyes me like I’ve lost my mind. To be fair, it usually is a chaotic squirrelly mess with a bajillion characters talking to me throughout the day, but I promise you, I’m sane—mostly.
“Not you, Hook.”
Undeterred by the confused human in the room, my fur baby walks over to the stand holding his bowls and sits down.
Food first.
I give him fresh water then scoop out his kibble from the container in my pantry.
“Egg, cheese, or hot dog?” I ask, inquiring as to what he wants added to his breakfast.
Woof! Woof!
“Cheese it is.”
Breaking up half a slice of cheese, I mix it with the kibble and set the dish in the stand, taking my own food to the table while Trident devours his behind me.
“You always talk to your dog like he’s a person?” Dex chuckles, and I do not notice how tempting his lips look curling at the edges. (Lie.)
“Of course. That’s my child right there. Besides, you heard him—he totally understands me.”
Those kissable lips disappear from view as they are tucked between his teeth, and I tell myself I don’t miss them. (Another lie.)
“You feeling better today?”
No.
Sometime around one in the morning, after my heroine’s brother had an unfortunate encounter with a batch of laxative-filled brownies, I decided I will be fine.
Dex will play his military book boyfriend role to perfection, he’ll catch the bad guy, ruin some panties, and maybe steal a heart or two in the process.
Even yours, Madz?
Fucking Jiminy.
He’ll ruin some panties alright.
Ruin them? He can have them. Here. *hangs thong from finger*
“Madz.” He stretches an arm across the table, waiting for me to place my hand in his upturned palm. “I will catch this guy, and I promise I will keep you safe until then.”
There’s that weird pang inside my rib cage again, but I nod. I meant it when I said I know he will. It’s just having him here, in my home, in my space, being all sexy and chivalrous, reminding me of all the reasons why I crushed on him so hard growing up—it’s doing my head in.
My life is one banana peel away from spinning completely out of control.
Done with his meal, Trident ambles over to my side, licking his chops, and drops his head into my lap, leaving a streak of drool in his wake.
Life of a dog mom. So glamorous.
A thumb ghosting over my knuckles brings me out of my musings—damn I really do get distracted easily. I swear I’m as bad as the dog in Up, saying one thing one moment and the next yelling Squirrel!
“I know it may not seem like it given the reception you received when you showed up, but I’m grateful you’re here.” Finally, my first truth.
I swear to god his chest swells to twice its size at my words.
Yoga (noun): a discipline that uses the practice of a series of postures and breathing exercises to achieve tranquility and control of the body and mind.
Yoga BTU Alumni style: a complete and epic shit-show filled with trash talk, side-eye from Rocky, less than perfect form, and tons of laughter.
Who needs Bikram? Not us.
“You guys have got to be some of the worst yogis I have ever seen,” Dex says from the yoga mat next to mine.
To be fair, most of us take our weekly session seriously the majority of the time, but things tend to spiral out of control more in the offseason when we get back those we miss during the regular NHL season.
I flop my head to the side to see him, not willing to move more than that from my sprawled-out position. The stress of everything and the erratic sleep schedule I’ve been keeping is starting to catch up to me. Plus, the sand underneath my mat is warm and feels so good on my recently stretched muscles.
“If I didn’t know any better, I would doubt most of them are professional athletes.”
“Blasphemy,” Jake cries.
“Who let the new guy in?” comes from Cali.
“I’ll show you.” Even from my position, I can see Tucker flexing like a bodybuilder.
“You do remember Dex is trained to kill you with his pinky, right?” Ryan can’t keep the amusement out of his question.
“You Americans think you’re so tough,” Chance comments.
“Says the Canadian who chose to stay with us instead of returning to his country this summer,” Gemma taunts.
“There’s only one of him—we can take him.” The guys all cheer Vince’s battle cry.