Page 23 of Except You
He starts to lick my crotch, and I wonder if I’ve reached a low point.
Most likely.
When Beau still hasn’t called at the end of the workday, I end up on the couch with a pack of frozen peas on my head and Doggo at my feet, staring at me glumly. I’ve let him down, teasing him with the idea of a walk earlier before flaking entirely.
He hasn’t let me forget it either. He keeps walking to the door and whining, even brought me his leash once. But I can’t be bothered.
“I’ll take you for a walk when I’m feeling less awful,” I say, my eyes closing.
Doggo grumbles, but I just shush him. “It has nothing to do with Beau. Nothing at all. It’s just allergies. They’re terrible in the winter.”
Doggo doesn’t seem to agree because he spends the next hour grunting and huffing and puffing next to me. Even nibbles on my toes to make a point.
When my head finally stops pounding, I push myself up and grab the leash, rubbing at my temples. Doggo is whining now, his tail whipping back and forth. He gets so excited that he grabs one of my throw pillows and carries it right to me.
“You don’t need the pillow on this walk,” I say with a small laugh.
I try and take it from his mouth, but he just thinks I’m playing, wrenching his head back and forth violently.
I purse my lips and tug the fabric hard, haphazardly ripping it in half.
Down feathers escape and flutter through the air like snow puffing up all around us, settling in my hair and on my clothes.
It’s right then that the doorbell rings, and I move to answer it.
When I swing the door open, Beau is standing on the other side, a large brown bag in one hand and a drink in the other.
“Oh my god, what is this?” he asks with a loud laugh. “Why are you covered in feathers?”
I frown, pulling one from my nostril. “Doggo ripped my throw pillow to pieces because he was excited about going for a walk.”
“Well, he sure does look proud of that accomplishment.”
I glance down at Doggo and see him smiling. He’s showing quite a lot of teeth.
“See,” I say as Beau moves up to me, setting the bag and drink down on the counter before moving to help me rid my clothes and hair of the feathers.
“See what?”
“He’s smiling. He thinks this is funny.”
“I think he just wants to go on a walk.”
At that word, Doggo starts his tippy-taps once more and disappears, only to return with one of my shoes.
“Jesus, here we go again,” I say as I brush at my shirt. The feathers only stick tighter.
“Fuck,” I murmur and then just pull my shirt right off, tossing it onto the floor.
Beau freezes, his eyes shifting from my face to my chest.
“Oh. My,” he says and then wets his lips, his blue gaze meeting mine. “Warn a man next time.”
I find myself puffing my chest out. “What? It’s just a chest.”
He waves his hand in front of him and rolls his eyes. “It’s a very nice chest, Max. Not many men have this, you know?”
“Have what?” I ask, brushing a hand along my pec, feeling a little warm all over.