Gin Fling (Bootleg Springs, #5)(49)

“Suits me,” Jameson mused, looking at the bandages on his fingers. “My ring is finally done. Now it’s just figurin’ how to pop the question. No interference with your engagement or your wedding, of course.”

“Appreciate it, Jame,” Bowie said, clinking bottles.

“Now that that’s settled, let’s talk about Jimmy Bob Prosser gettin’ all tongue-tied around Jonah’s mama today,” Gibson said, stroking the puppy’s head.





26





Shelby





“Well, that was an eventful day. Puppies, pigs, and parents,” I said, passing Jonah in the hallway outside of the bathroom. He was shirtless—did the man ever bother with a shirt?—and his shorts rode low on his delightfully defined hips.

How much half-naked man could a girl nerd take before she snapped?

I made a note to research unrequited lust tomorrow. People could die from broken hearts. What were the side effects of unused, inflamed sex organs?

“Yeah. What’s with Scarlett surprising everyone with their parents?” he asked, stretching. The muscles in his chest and abdomen moved hypnotically.

“Huh? What?” I said, trying to snap myself out of the physical attraction fugue state.

“Scarlett. What’s with her springing our parents on us?”

Tearing my gaze away from his impressive torso, I bent down and picked up Billy Ray. “Maybe it has to do with the fact that she doesn’t have any herself,” I hazarded a guess. “Maybe she’s curious about them? Or maybe she feels like our family is partly her family, and she’s staking a claim?”

Jonah nodded and leaned in to scruff the puppy’s head. I caught a whiff of his deodorant and toothpaste.

“He sleeping with you tonight?” he asked me. Billy Ray had barely survived fifteen minutes in the crate downstairs while we swapped bathroom time. His little yips and pathetic howls were too much for either of us to handle.

“We’ll give it a try. He’s so exhausted he should sleep like a rock,” I predicted with new dog mother optimism.

“Night then. Sweet dreams, both of you,” he said. One more scruff for the puppy, a long curious look at me, and then Jonah headed into his bedroom.

“Looks like it’s just you and me tonight, Billy Ray,” I muttered. I knew Jonah needed time to get used to the idea of there being an “us” no matter how temporary. But I hoped I wouldn’t spend the entire summer in a state of unrequited lust.

In bed, the novelty of cuddling with a puppy lasted all of twenty minutes. The damn dog seemed to be confused. Nighttime was for sleeping, not for playing and barking and biting the pillows.

It went on like that for another half an hour until Jonah burst in without knocking. Wordlessly, he pulled Billy Ray out from under the bed where he’d begun howling.

Jonah took the dog and closed my door.

Ridiculously relieved, I fluffed my slobbery pillows and settled in for a dog-free sleep.

Then the howling and barking started across the hall.

It was a small, old house. The walls weren’t exactly soundproof. I pulled a pillow over my head. But I was listening now. Some kind of biological motherly instinct had kicked in, and I was rigid with worry that Billy Ray was going to make himself sick if he didn’t calm the heck down.

I could hear Jonah talking to him in low tones. He could have soothed me to sleep like that. But the dog was having none of it.

The clock on the nightstand read 2:35 a.m., and I punched my poor, innocent pillow. I had things to do tomorrow—correction, today—that required a good night’s sleep. A swim and a bike ride. Lunch with my parents. And four solid uninterrupted hours of working on my paper. I was just on the other side of the flare. One sleepless night and too many obligations would put me right back where I’d been. And I wouldn’t be able to hide it from my parents.

“Damn it,” I whispered into the pillow.

Billy Ray gave a particularly mournful howl, and my feet hit the floor. I was moving on exhausted instinct.

I opened Jonah’s door with a creak. The man was sitting, still shirtless on his bed. The puppy was biting at the blanket, snarling playfully.

Billy Ray spotted me first and gave a happy yip.

“It’s not play time,” I said sternly.

“He keeps running to the door and whining,” Jonah explained.

“Does he have to go outside?”

He shook his head, yawned. And I remembered that Jonah had a 7 a.m. boot camp class at the high school. “I took him out half an hour ago. I think he wants to go sleep in your room.”

“Nice try,” I said, flopping down on the bed next to him. “He wasn’t interested in sleeping in my room either.”

Jonah’s room was significantly bigger. There was a brass queen-size bed, a dresser next to the closet door, and a tiny seating area with two mismatched armchairs under the saltbox roof that poked out over the back porch. The window overlooked the backyard and woods.

Billy Ray gave up his war with the blanket and trotted over to me. I stroked a hand from head to tail, and he flattened himself like a pancake on the mattress.

“Is he going to sleep?” Jonah whispered.

“I can’t tell if he’s falling asleep or if he’s just gearing up for his next bed linen assault.”