Page 7 of Cole (Dirty Misfits MC 4)
It made me smile as he wiggled in my arms.
It felt good to come home to someone who loved me.
“Hello there, sweet boy. Oh, oh, oh, I missed you, too. I missed you, too! Wanna go outside? Yeah? Pee pee? Come on. Let’s go.”
Opie followed me out into my fenced-in backyard and I eased myself into my chair. He brought me his ratty tennis ball that he refused to let me switch out and I threw it across the yard, watching him scurry after it. I owed Opie my life. Not only was he a fully certified working dog for my PTSD that I had personally trained to help me out, but he was my best friend. My only confidante. The one soul on this planet that knew every single one of my dirty, disgusting, volatile secrets.
And for some reason, he still loved me despite those things.
“There we go! Good boy. Now, go get it,” I said as I chucked the ball again, “go get it, Opie!”
With Chops now in the wind and officially tossed out on his ass, I hoped I could talk Brooks into letting me bring Opie around the clubhouse. Chops never allowed pets of any sort into that place, even though Opie was my service dog. And while I understood Chops’ reasoning behind his “no pet” policy when it came to that place, I never could understand why he simply wouldn’t listen to my reasoning.
Chops had this way of cutting people off like they were absolute idiots who didn’t know shit.
And I hoped that Brooks would be more understanding of the situation so I could be more useful to the guys out in the field.
“That’s right, boy,” I said as Opie hopped into my lap, “today was a big day. Yes, it was. Chops is gone, and Brooks is our new President. Remember meeting Brooks? Yeah? Oh, there we go. There’s Daddy’s kisses.”
Opie licked me all across my face and my heart soared with delight. He hopped off my lap and I ran him ragged with that ball until he finally made his way inside of his own volition. He sucked down water at a breathtaking speed while I prepared his dinner, and the second I set the bowl down he practically dove head-first into the food.
Which prompted me to spoil myself for dinner instead of eating some frozen fucking meal.
“Dominos Pizza, what can I get you?”
I held the phone to my ear as my mouth salivated. “Ah, yes. I’d like to place a delivery order for one large three-meat pizza, an order of garlic parmesan chicken wings, a small order of breadsticks, some of your cinnamon roll things, four dipping sauces of ranch, and two pizza sauce dipping containers.”
“Anything else?”
I opened the fridge. “Oh! And a two-liter of Mountain Dew.”
“All right, sir. That’ll be $38.94. May I have your address?”
I rattled off my address before I provided my card number, then I went to go hang out in the living room with Opie. The second I eased myself into my recliner, my feet went up and he jumped into my lap. I ran my fingers through his soft hair, allowing him to sink between my legs as I flipped through channels on my practically-pointless cable package.
I mean, I was barely home to enjoy it some weeks. And when I was here to enjoy it, I seemed to focus on the empty recliner next to me rather than what was on television.
“Ah, there we go,” I murmured.
Opie settled his head against my shin as he watched some game rerun on television. College football was a secret obsession of mine, and there was a Clemson game on television that I had missed a few weeks back. So, I leaned back, focused on the game, and readied myself for when Opie barked at the door for me to open it up.
And still, my eyes gravitated toward that empty fucking recliner.
I sighed as I envisioned what it might be like to have someone sitting next to me someday. Us, holding hands across the small side table stuck between the chairs. I imagined what it would feel like to fall asleep with a woman’s hand in mine while we both reclined back in our chairs. I wondered what kind of arguments we might have over whether or not to watch football or another romantic comedy after our days were done.
Fucking hell, I’m tired of the hookups.
Sure, they were good for a spell. They did what they needed to do, so it worked. But here lately? Watching the hookups walk out the door hurt a little more than normal. Trying to get them to stay for breakfast was like trying to wrestle a piece of candy out of a toddler’s hand.
The guys always teased me because they claimed that women “lined up around the block” to get a taste of the “big-dicked mechanic.”
