everything from tooth pain to sucking chest wounds. “I don’t think Motrin can cure my blue balls,” he said as he opened the door and came face-to-face with someone who could. By the look on her face, she didn’t seem to be in a real accommodating mood.
“You’re finally back.”
Her hair was big. Her shiny yellow cape was not. “I’ll get in touch later, brother.” He hung up and slid the phone into his back pocket. He guessed it was too much to hope that she was naked beneath that thing. “What can I do for you, Ms. Cooper?”
She pointed down and listed to the left as if she were taking on water. “Your dog.”
He lowered his gaze from the little red smear of lipstick on the bottom of her lip, down her chin to the yellow cape tied around her throat. The shiny cape fell to mid-thigh, and his gaze continued down her long legs and black boots to the puppy lying at her feet like she’d dragged him out of his dog bed. For once, Recruit Sparky wasn’t bouncing around being a maniac.
“You can’t just take off any time you feel like it and neglect your responsibilities.” She righted herself and stood up straight. “Your actions affect other people, you know. You’re a bad dog owner and neighbor.”
Yet another affirmation why he was not the marrying kind of guy. “I was at a friend’s funeral in Oklahoma.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
He waved her inside and got a whiff of booze as she passed. “Are you drunk, Sweet Cheeks?” He shut the door behind her.
“I had some wine.” The dog finally recognized him and barked like the maniac Blake remembered. “Some vodka and maybe a shot of tequila.” Natalie leaned down to unsnap the leash and almost took a header into his crotch. She knelt on one knee, and the yellow cape parted around one of her smooth thighs. “How did your friend die?”
He looked down at the top of her blond hair so close to his button fly, and his blue balls turned a few shades bluer. “His convoy was hit with an IED in Ramadi.” Blake squatted down on the heels of his running shoes and petted the wiggling dog. She smelled like booze and perfume and temptation. A temptation that tugged at his belly and told him to slide his hand from the inside of her knee and up her thigh.
“He was a soldier?”
“No.” He looked into her eyes a few inches from his. “Navy SEAL Team One, Alpha Platoon. We graduated BUD/S together.” She looked like she sincerely felt bad and, if she offered to give him a hug, he didn’t trust himself not to throw her down and pin her to the floor.
“He was a SEAL?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t talk about his dead buddies with people who’d never lived in a war zone. “How many shots of vodka did you have?” he asked, purposely changing the subject.
“Two. Maybe.” Natalie put her hand on his shoulder and straightened. Put it on him like her touch meant nothing. As if her warm palm didn’t send fire down his chest and straight to his crotch. She dropped her hand like she didn’t notice. “I feel bad,” she added.
Sparky licked his face and he stood. He hung the dog upside down against his chest and scratched its belly. He’d never admit it out loud, but he’d kind of missed the little guy. “Wine, tequila, and vodka is a bad combo.”
“No.” She pushed one side of her bouncy curls behind her ear. “I feel bad because I’ve been all annoyed that you stuck me with the dog for two weeks. I thought you’d gone on vacation, but you were at a funeral.”
He supposed now was not the time to mention he’d spent the week and a half after the funeral in Texas with Vince, refurbishing his ranch house and shooting skeet.
“Don’t feel bad.” The dog stretched and yawned and Blake patted Sparky’s round gut.
“So I trained Sparky to poop only in your yard.”
He looked up.
“There’s a lot of it.” She moved toward his kitchen. “You might want to pick it up soon.”
Blake set the
“You’re finally back.”
Her hair was big. Her shiny yellow cape was not. “I’ll get in touch later, brother.” He hung up and slid the phone into his back pocket. He guessed it was too much to hope that she was naked beneath that thing. “What can I do for you, Ms. Cooper?”
She pointed down and listed to the left as if she were taking on water. “Your dog.”
He lowered his gaze from the little red smear of lipstick on the bottom of her lip, down her chin to the yellow cape tied around her throat. The shiny cape fell to mid-thigh, and his gaze continued down her long legs and black boots to the puppy lying at her feet like she’d dragged him out of his dog bed. For once, Recruit Sparky wasn’t bouncing around being a maniac.
“You can’t just take off any time you feel like it and neglect your responsibilities.” She righted herself and stood up straight. “Your actions affect other people, you know. You’re a bad dog owner and neighbor.”
Yet another affirmation why he was not the marrying kind of guy. “I was at a friend’s funeral in Oklahoma.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
He waved her inside and got a whiff of booze as she passed. “Are you drunk, Sweet Cheeks?” He shut the door behind her.
“I had some wine.” The dog finally recognized him and barked like the maniac Blake remembered. “Some vodka and maybe a shot of tequila.” Natalie leaned down to unsnap the leash and almost took a header into his crotch. She knelt on one knee, and the yellow cape parted around one of her smooth thighs. “How did your friend die?”
He looked down at the top of her blond hair so close to his button fly, and his blue balls turned a few shades bluer. “His convoy was hit with an IED in Ramadi.” Blake squatted down on the heels of his running shoes and petted the wiggling dog. She smelled like booze and perfume and temptation. A temptation that tugged at his belly and told him to slide his hand from the inside of her knee and up her thigh.
“He was a soldier?”
“No.” He looked into her eyes a few inches from his. “Navy SEAL Team One, Alpha Platoon. We graduated BUD/S together.” She looked like she sincerely felt bad and, if she offered to give him a hug, he didn’t trust himself not to throw her down and pin her to the floor.
“He was a SEAL?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t talk about his dead buddies with people who’d never lived in a war zone. “How many shots of vodka did you have?” he asked, purposely changing the subject.
“Two. Maybe.” Natalie put her hand on his shoulder and straightened. Put it on him like her touch meant nothing. As if her warm palm didn’t send fire down his chest and straight to his crotch. She dropped her hand like she didn’t notice. “I feel bad,” she added.
Sparky licked his face and he stood. He hung the dog upside down against his chest and scratched its belly. He’d never admit it out loud, but he’d kind of missed the little guy. “Wine, tequila, and vodka is a bad combo.”
“No.” She pushed one side of her bouncy curls behind her ear. “I feel bad because I’ve been all annoyed that you stuck me with the dog for two weeks. I thought you’d gone on vacation, but you were at a funeral.”
He supposed now was not the time to mention he’d spent the week and a half after the funeral in Texas with Vince, refurbishing his ranch house and shooting skeet.
“Don’t feel bad.” The dog stretched and yawned and Blake patted Sparky’s round gut.
“So I trained Sparky to poop only in your yard.”
He looked up.
“There’s a lot of it.” She moved toward his kitchen. “You might want to pick it up soon.”
Blake set the
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