“Um . . . I need to warn you about Mr. Chico Taco before we go in,” Reeve says as we walk up the sidewalk to his front door. We’d taken separate cars—at my insistence—so I won’t be stranded if I want to leave. I’ve seen enough of Reeve’s domineering ways to know that if he doesn’t want me to leave, he’ll just refuse to take me home.
“Mr. Chico Taco?”
“My dog,” he says as he searches for his key ring to unlock the door. “He’s a little, um . . . exuberant.”
As Reeve slides the key home, I start to ask what type of dog, but the big, booming bark that comes from the other side of the door stops me in my tracks. I’m pretty sure it’s not a dog, but a T. rex on the other side.
Looking over his shoulder at me with his eyes shining bright, he says, “He’s really nice, but he gets excited when I come home.”
And then a strange and slightly unwelcome thought comes into my head. If I was with Reeve, in a relationship, I would probably be just as excited for him to come home to me. I’m pretty sure he could make me bark like a dog.
Reeve pushes the door open but we can’t move inside because a huge, massive beast with shiny gray fur and a head the size of a basketball jumps up on him. Laughing, Reeve actually hugs the dog as he puts his gigantic paws the size of salad plates on his shoulders and starts whining in pleasure to see his master. His head hangs over Reeve’s shoulder, and light-blue eyes stare at me with a happy grin on his face that causes his tongue to loll out of his head.
“All right, buddy,” Reeve says and, with a big heave, pushes the dog off him. With a gentle but firm command, Reeve says, “Sit.”
The dog, which I recognize as a Great Dane, flops his butt to the floor, his eyes pinned to Reeve in adoration. “Come say hello to Mr. Chico Taco.”
I step forward hesitantly. “Do I have to address him by his formal name?”
“Nah,” Reeve says with a laugh. “Chico is fine.”
“He should be called Brutus,” I mutter as Mr. Chico Taco cocks his head at me in curiosity. “He looks more like a Brutus.”
“Now that’s just mean. He takes offense to that,” Reeve chides.
I reach my hand out and bring it to the big dog’s head. “Hi, Chico. I’m Leary.”
I scratch him a few times, but when I try to withdraw my hand, his head bumps against it, urging it back up to pet him. I laugh and scratch him again. “You’re just a big baby, aren’t you?”
“Now that I take offense to,” Reeve says over his shoulder as he walks into his living room, pulls off his suit jacket, and tosses it onto the back of a dark-blue suede couch. He pulls at his tie and loosens it enough so he can pull it over his head.
Throwing the tie on top of his suit jacket, Reeve turns to wink at me. “I might tie you up with that later.”
God, I hope so.
Reeve continues to walk through the living room, so I follow him. Mr. Chico Taco walks at my side, continuing to bump my hand with his head for attention. Turning left, Reeve is momentarily gone from sight, but when I round the corner, I find him in his kitchen, rooting around in the refrigerator.
His kitchen is gorgeous, all stainless steel and granite with dark-cherry cabinetry. “What are you doing?” I ask uncertainly, because the way things went back at the office, I was pretty certain that Reeve brought me to his house so we could have sex.
“Going to make us an early dinner. I’m thinking lemon pasta with blackened chicken.”
“You’re going to cook?”
Reeve stands up, pulling a pack of chicken and three lemons from his fridge. He gives me a knowing look with a touch of sympathy. “Yes, I’m going to cook.”
“I don’t understand,” I say as I cock my eyebrow at him, and Chico nudges me again. I absently pet the dog’s head.
“I’m going to cook,” he says again with an annoying smirk.
“You’re going to cook?”
Throwing the chicken and lemons on the counter, Reeve walks up to me. His hands rest lightly on my waist. Bending down so his nose almost touches mine, he says, “This conversation is a little redundant, so let me clarify for you. I’m going to cook us an early dinner. I’m loading us up on protein and carbs, because after said meal, I intend to take you back to my bedroom, and then I’m not letting you out of said bedroom until morning. With me so far?”
I can’t help the tiny smile that pops forth, and I give him an understanding nod.
“Good,” he continues. “When we get into that bedroom, there’s going to be very little rest. I’m a fast recharger, so there’s no telling how many times I’m going to fuck you tonight. Plus, I have toys. Lots of toys that I want to play with. Thus, we need fuel before we fuck. Clear?”
“Clear,” I whisper, now so completely turned on that I want to beg him to take me right here in the kitchen.
But he releases me and points to a stool that sits on the opposite side of his massive kitchen island. “Now sit. I’ll pour us a glass of wine and we can relax for a bit.”
I do as he commands, not because I’m obedient, but because now I’m very curious as to what in the hell he thinks he’s doing. Cooking us a meal, sipping wine? That’s not in the general order of fuck buddy–dom.
At least I don’t think it is.
Reeve pulls a bottle of red wine from the back kitchen counter. “Do you like Cab?”
“Sure,” I say as I prop one elbow up on the counter and stick my chin in the palm of my hand so I can watch him. He moves about with surety and casual grace. Only I know the raw and dirty power he has hidden underneath this elegant persona.
Reeve pours two glasses then hands one to me. He holds his glass out and I tap mine to his. “To fuck buddies,” he says with a grin.
“Fuck buddies,” I echo and take a tiny sip of my wine.
There’s a quick knock on Reeve’s front door, and then the door swings open, and I hear a woman’s voice. “Reeve, it’s just me.”
“In the kitchen,” he calls back, and I hear the padding of feet coming through the living room.
My eyebrows rise when a beautiful young woman of about twenty or so walks into Reeve’s kitchen. Her golden-blonde hair is long, her makeup flawless. She has exquisite features with high cheekbones and a straight nose. Her blue eyes are bright, wide, and focused on Reeve in what I immediately recognize as lustful adoration.
This pisses me off.
Chico spins away from where he’d been sitting by my stool and bounds over to the woman. She bends over, slaps at her thighs, and says, “Hey, big boy. Come here.”
Chico launches his frame at her, putting his front legs on her shoulders—he towers over her by a good five or so inches. I glance back at Reeve, and he’s watching the pair with an amused smile.
This also pisses me off.
Reeve’s dog clearly knows and likes this woman.
It also pisses me off that Reeve is amused by the relationship this woman has with his dog.
“Everything okay?” Reeve asks her.
“Yeah,” she says pertly. Her gaze—which is no less adoring or hopeful looking—cuts from Chico over to him. “Just wanted to let you know that Chico had a good day today. We walked about two miles.”
“That’s great,” Reeve says as he starts opening the pack of chicken, intent on his work.
“Who’s this?” the woman says as she slides her gaze over to me.
Reeve’s head snaps up, and an almost guilty look flashes over his face. “Oh, shit . . . sorry. This is a friend of mine, Leary Michaels. Leary, this is Vanessa. She lives next door with her parents and walks Chico every morning for me.”
“Hi,” I say with a smile that I hope comes off as friendly and genuine.
“Hi,” she says, in a flat tone that does not come off as friendly and genuine. Her message is clear—she has her sights on Reeve and does not like me sitting here. I have to wonder if he’s fucking her, but sadly, I can’t be mad about that. I told him last week I didn’t care if he saw other women.