“Yeah, sorry about the mess,” he muttered as he lowered me to my feet. His face took on a pink hue like he was blushing as he reached up to rub the back of his neck. “If I’d known I was going to be bringing you back here, I’d have straightened up before I left earlier.”
I twisted my neck to give him an arched look as I teased. “Would you really? Or would you have just run around, gathering everything up and stuffing it in a closet somewhere?”
“Probably the latter,” he answered on a laugh.
“Do you even know how to put things in their proper place?” I was thinking not, based on what I saw. There were several pairs of boots just inside the door, piled together with no rhyme or reason. Clothes were strewn about like West would get home from a long day’s work and start stripping down as he moved through the living area into the bedroom, and while that visual was pleasing as hell, the mess it left behind . . . not so much.
There were dishes he’d placed in the sink and filled with water instead of bothering to put them in the dishwasher. I guess it wasn’t all that big a surprise that he was a soaker. It seemed most men were. My dad ‘soaked’. So did Spence. Anything from having to actually do the dishes.
A few empty beer bottles littered his coffee table next to a box of cereal, like he’d eaten right out of the box while he kicked back on the couch one day and hadn’t bothered to return it to the pantry.
At least there was no dust or old, moldy food setting around.
“I know how. I’m just usually too beat after work to bother. But in my defense, I’ve been single for a while now. There’s been no reason to worry about the state of my place.”
A little thrill worked through me at that, and I couldn’t help but dig a little deeper. “Not even any one-night stands?” I tried to infuse my tone with mild curiosity, but the knowing way he was looking at me made me suspect he saw right through me.
He arched a single brow, his tone playful and hot all at the same time as he leaned in close to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “You really want to do the whole ‘what’s your number’ thing right now? I figured you’d at least let me kiss you before we got to that point. Maybe a hot make-out session where I get to feel you up a bit.”
“Uh . . .” My brain short-circuited. So far, we’d only gotten as far as an almost-kiss, but it was still enough to make my fantasies run wild. Now that he was talking about making out and feeling me up, my knees suddenly felt weak.
I was pulled from my daydreams by the sound of a bark that was accompanied by the clack of nails on hard wood.
“Oh, look. A dog!” And the perfect distraction. Just then, a black dog with tan markings on his feet and muzzle came rounding the corner. He had the stocky build and coloring of a Rottweiler, but his legs were much shorter and his body not quite as long. His tail had been docked at some point, and the stumpy little bee stinger was twitching back and forth with so much excitement, his whole back end shook with it.
“Rollie, be gentle.” At West’s stern voice, the dog instantly tried to put on the brakes, his paws slipping and sliding on the floor as he attempted to slow down. He eventually managed to come to a stop by slamming into the wall a couple feet away. The whole thing was absolutely adorable.
“Well hello, cutie,” I said, bending as low as I could to give him a pet. His fur was so much softer than I’d expected, almost downy. He felt more like a kitten than a dog. His tongue lulled out the side of his mouth in happiness as he pressed his head into my touch. “Oh my God,” I said, turning to look at West with a smile. “He’s the cutest thing ever.”
“Thanks. But just wait. Rollie can be a pain in the ass more often than not. Don’t be surprised if you change your tune.”
And the cuteness just kept coming. “Rollie? Is that short for something?”
That blush came back, and seeing this big, strong alpha’s cheeks turn pink only made him that much hotter. Son of a bitch.
“Uh, yeah. Rollie Pollie.” At my questioning look, he went on to explain. “He was just a puppy when I rescued him from the shelter, and he was this fat little fur ball covered in all these rolls.”
I couldn’t help but pull a reaction like my mother, clasping my hands at my chest and letting out an “awwww!” I melted even more.
He cleared his throat and squared his shoulders, like he was trying to reaffirm his manliness before stating, “Just hang tight for a sec while I go grab your bag. Then I’ll show you to your room. I’m sure you’re ready to crash.”
“Thanks.” I really and truly was. With adrenaline no longer dumping into my blood, I was starting to feel a bone-deep weariness throughout my entire body. I wanted to crawl between a set of sheets, it didn’t even matter whose, and pass out for the next week.
I absentmindedly ran my fingers through Rollie’s fur as I moved a bit deeper into West’s place. Pushing my compulsion to run through and tidy up the place to the back of my mind, I looked past the clutter to see that his townhouse was actually really nice. The modern kitchen was open to the living room, boasting top-of-the-line appliances and quartz countertops that looked really nice with the white cabinets and subway-tile backsplash.
A cozy sectional faced the fireplace in the living room where a large flatscreen TV, bigger than any I could ever dream of owning, was mounted above the mantel. Off the main living area was a sliding glass door that led into the backyard, but it was too dark for me to see out.
There was a hallway off the kitchen that I could only assume led to a bedroom or two, maybe a bathroom, but before I had a chance to explore any further, West had returned, carrying my duffle bag in his hand like it weighed next to nothing.
“Your room’s down there,” he indicated with his chin toward the hallway.
I followed after him, Rollie on my heels, as West led the way, and when he turned into the second door on the left, my jaw dropped. The room was full of dark, masculine furniture, and while the room was just as cluttered as the rest of the house, and the comforter had just been thrown over the top of the mattress without a care, the sheets still looked clean.
The smell lingering in the room was all West, all decedent leather and musk. “Is this your room?” I asked as I looked at the dresser. There were a few crumpled receipts, some loose change, and a picture frame or two with West and a bunch of people I didn’t recognize.
He gave me a shrug and moved across the room, dropping my duffel bag on a chair tucked into the bay window. “The guest rooms are all upstairs and I didn’t think that was something you could do right now.”
“West, I can’t take your room.”
“If you’re worried about the sheets,” he started with a sly smirk on his face, “they’re fresh. I put them on this morning, but I wasn’t really in the mood to go full out on remaking the bed.”
“Of course you weren’t,” I said with a little laugh, giving my head a shake. “It’s not that. This is your room; I can’t sleep here. I’m fine taking a guest room, I promise.”
“This isn’t up for discussion,” he said in that tone my father tried to use whenever he was being stern; a tone that hardly ever worked on me. “It’s not safe for you to do those stairs, and until you feel better this is where you’re going to stay. I’ll be crashing on the couch tonight so I can check on you every hour, just to make sure you’re okay.”