Best Friends (New Species #15)(13)

“You just want to stop our discussion now because you know I’ll mention how humans are aware that canines enjoy licking their balls.”

Timber smirked. “What about hairballs?”

“I don’t have fur. You’re lucky you don’t have a tail, or you might chase it all day instead of getting any work done.”

“You’re using words to fight since you know I’d kick you all over the training room floor.”

“I’m a lover, not a fighter.” Jinx laughed. “See? I have a sense of humor. Snow needs to find one.”





Chapter Four



Mel panicked when she opened her front door the next morning and found Snow standing there. He held a large brown bag in his arms and a smile on his face. He sported a dark blue tank top and a faded pair of jeans. Black boots covered his feet…and he looked amazing.

She knew her mouth opened but no words came out. She could only stare into his eyes.

“I brought you food. I also wanted to check on you. May I come in?”

That voice. She crossed her other arm over her chest since she hadn’t put on a bra. The sling hid one side of her chest but now she covered the other. She wasn’t wearing much, actually. “Sure.” She was proud that she’d gained the ability to speak and backed up. “Sorry, but I wasn’t expecting you. I’m in my pajamas.”

He ran his gaze down the length of her body and widened his smile. “I like them.” He stepped inside and closed the door. He studied the room, and his eyebrows lifted. “Your home is very colorful.”

She glanced around, trying to guess what he thought of her place. It wasn’t much. There’d only been five available apartments for rent when she’d moved into town. The one she’d chosen had a single bedroom and affordable rent. The short five-minute walk to work if her old car ever broke down had been the deciding factor. It wasn’t a dive but it wasn’t nice, either.

The walls were a stark white but she’d bought colorful furniture from a secondhand store to liven it up. The mass-production landscape canvases on the walls fit her budget. The splashy throw pillows might be a bit much but they were cute.

“Very colorful,” he said again.

“I know. I probably overdid it a bit.” She turned back to him. “I was in a rebellious mood.”

“I don’t understand.”

She explained, “My mama always said flashy is trashy. I grew up in the house of dull. That’s what I called it. No bright anything except sunshine pouring through the windows, since she also didn’t believe in curtains. Sinners hide behind them. Not her. She wanted anyone to be able to walk up to our front door and know she lived a sin-free life.”

His eyebrows rose. “Flashy is trashy? What does that mean?”

She hesitated. “Nothing good, according to my mama. Bright colors mean you have no taste or class.” She glanced around again. “I wanted color my whole life, and now I have it in heaps. I went overboard. I’m kind of glad I wasn’t allowed to paint the walls. The building owner told me no, and I might have regretted if he’d said yes. I was thinking maybe a neon red. It probably would have clashed with the hot pink chairs and bright blue couch.” Mel grinned.

He chuckled. “I understand wanting something and finally having the chance to obtain it. I was an adult before I found freedom, too.”

She peered up at him but didn’t see any sign to indicate anything she’d said put him off. Sometimes she did that to people without meaning to. She knew with her small-town background, some city folks assumed she was pretty strange. He kept smiling, though. Some of her nervousness faded, and she took in the rest of him.

He was so tall, and just big all over. That chest of his was super wide and the muscles on his arms were enough to make her think he could lift pretty much anything. She liked that. It made her feel dainty and feminine.

The silence between them grew, so she filled it.

“I heard a little something about your previous life. I’m glad you live at Reservation now.”

“I am too.” He juggled the bag. “Do you mind if I put this in your kitchen?”

“Please, make yourself at home.”

He didn’t have far to go. He set the bag on her counter, and Mel was grateful that some of her mama’s habits had stuck. Her apartment was clean. She couldn’t abide messes. When she’d first moved into the cramped space, she’d spent the first week not picking up things. That had been part of her rebellious stage, too, but it wasn’t one she enjoyed. Dirty dishes meant eventually having to wash something anyway if she wanted to eat; soiled laundry laying around became a tripping hazard, plus no clean clothes to wear.

“Are you hungry?” He motioned to the bag.

“I could always eat.” That was the truth. Nobody would ever accuse her of not having a healthy appetite. “It was kind of you to bring me something. Thank you.”

“It’s difficult to cook with one injured arm.”

“This?” She lifted the sling a few inches. “It’s not bad. I’ve had worse. I’m only still wearing it because Mary threatened to dose my food with those pain pills your doctor sent if I didn’t and write ‘dumbass’ on my forehead in marker after I conked out. She’s still upset about me getting shot.”