Page 39 of Stroked Hard
Taco actually belonged to Holly but I took him in after the accident since it would be too hard for her to recover, go to physical therapy, and take care of a small dog she rescued from a shelter.
But I’ve kept him. We formed a manly bond, and there is no going back for him. Holly has accepted his choice and cashes in on her visiting rights when she gets a chance.
“You have a chihuahua?” Melony asks. I can see the judgment in her eyes. It’s not every day you see a strong, muscular man like myself carrying around a little dog, but it’s true, and I own that shit, and every wardrobe item he owns.
Liking she’s engaging in conversation with me, I sidle up next to her, intent on milking this conversation as much as I can. “If you actually let me take you out on a date like I’ve been asking for a while now, you would know that.”
She rolls her eyes. “I told you, Hollis. I don’t date.”
“What about a late-night fuck? I’m sure you do those.”
She sizes up my six-foot stature. “Not with men who drink light beers and own dogs smaller than a cat.”
“Ouch.” I feign hurt. Girl knows how to throw some zingers but I fucking like it. I’ve always enjoyed her feisty side.
Reese pulls his head out of his ass for a second to engage in our conversation. “She’s got a point, man.”
Payback’s a bitch, but I will take it.
Curious, I ask, “So if I drank Guinness and had a St. Bernard, where would we stand?”
A smart smile peeks past Melony’s lips. “Then I would probably be taking you to the back of Reese’s house right now to give you what you want.”
Once again, I know she’s lying, but damn if I don’t get a little turned on by her answer.
“Hell.” Quickly making work, I search Amazon on my phone and start typing away.
“What are you doing?” Melony laughs, trying to take a peek at my screen.
“Searching to see if an Amazon drone will deliver a St. Bernard and a six-pack of Guinness to me right now.”
“Pretty sure those drones don’t carry dogs, man,” Reese says, squashing my pretend dreams.
“But what if they did?” I counter.
Reese doesn’t answer, he just shakes his head and says, “I’m going to start getting dinner ready. Why don’t you two go enjoy the sunset outside?”
That’s my cue to lead Melony outside for some private time. Being a little daring, I place my hand on her lower back and wave my hand toward the pool, escorting her out to Reese’s backyard. It’s quite secluded, closed off from his neighbors by plush trees and shrubbery, giving it a homey feel. Scattered around the pool are black-and-white-striped cushioned lounge chairs with matching teak tables between each set of two. One day I will have a house of my own and I will take pride in its appearance like Reese does.
I can’t wait to own a house, a place to call mine. I have plenty of money for such a purchase thanks to my multiple endorsement deals, Olympic gold wins, and investing in all the right places—thanks, Dad—but I’m not ready to buy a house for one reason and one reason alone. I want to buy a house with the love of my life. I want to buy a property with her that we can create all on our own. I don’t want her to move into my place and try to make it a part of hers as well. No, I want to hold my girl’s hand while we go house hunting, looking for the just the right place that’s the combination of both of us.
It’s going to be Melony. I can feel it in my fucking bones. We will be picking out a house together one day. You might wonder why I keep persisting, but I see something in my girl. She had her heart broken once, and I know I’m the one who can provide healing. She’s funny, clever, and fucking gorgeous.How could I not want her as my forever?
“So why Taco?”
“What?” I ask, confused by her question thanks to my daydreaming.
“Your dog’s name, why did you name him Taco?”
“Oh, I didn’t name him,” I say casually, starting to get nervous about this set of questions. I will talk to Melony about anything, except for one thing: my sister. Since Taco once belonged to Holly, that makes him unwanted conversation. “My sister did. She just thought it would be funny.” I keep my answer vague, not welcoming any other questions.
“How come I’ve never seen him with you?”
“Because he lives like a fucking king in my condo. He has his own bed and litter box.”
Melony stops her pursuit toward the pool and turns to face me. “He has a litter box?”
I take a sip of my beer and nod. “Yup, and he’s so classy he actually doesn’t even bother trying to eat his own shit. Imagine that.”
