Page 8 of Their Pup to Tame

The way he scurried back across the alley, you’d have thought he had hellhounds on his heels. I’d have laughed my ass off if my face didn’t hurt so much.

“Come on, let’s get you patched up,” Aspen said as he opened the door for me and placed his hand on top of my head to keep me from scraping it on the doorframe.

Yeah, it was way more comfortable on the back of my bike. I hated leaving her behind, but my uncle would bring her in when he locked up tonight, and she would be safe in the rear hallway until I could see well enough to come back for her.

“Thanks for coming to get me,” I muttered as I struggled to try and attach the seatbelt one-handed while maintaining pressure on my face so I wouldn’t bleed all over his SUV.

“I’d much rather be picking you up for something fun.”

“You and me both,” I grumbled as I slouched down in the seat. “I’ll clean up any blood I get on your upholstery. I’m sorry, I should have told you to cover it in plastic or something.”

“I’m just glad you called,” he replied. “Though I swear you scared a year off my life while I was rushing to get to you. Any more phone calls like that...”

“And you’ll be gray before you’re fifty?” I said, my laugh little more than a dry cackle.

“That too.” He huffed before silence filled the car as he drove.

I almost asked for music, but it was enough that he’d come and got me, so I wasn’t about to push my luck. Every now and again I glanced over and watched the way he worked his jaw, like he was grinding his teeth to keep from saying something else to me. Whatever it was, I probably deserved it, since I was beginning to think that maybe he and Parker were right when they suggested that maybe the strip-club lifestyle wasn’t the right one for me anymore.

With the way I’ve been racking up ER visits these past few years, it might be time to think about making some changes.

Too bad I was running short on both ideas and motivation, and at the end of the day, a boy’s gotta do what a boy’s gotta do to eat.

3

PARKER

Do you know if Phoenix is working tonight?

I could have just texted Phoenix directly and asked if he was working, but I sent it to Aspen instead, curious to see if they’d grown close enough that they were to the sharing schedules phase of whatever was going on between them. Sometimes it was hard to tell if I was going to be stepping on toes if I approached Phoenix about eating out with me sometime, since one day it looked like they were joined at the hip and the next, they hesitated around each other, like something between them wasn’t quite right.

He’s not. He’s off for the rest of the week with a line of stitches across the bridge of his nose and raccoon eyes after getting hit in the face with a blow dryer.

Son of a bitch, when did that happen?

Two nights ago, he’s been crashed on my couch ever since.

I’m glad I thought to text before heading down to the strip club. I was going to take my notebook, sit in a corner, and keep an eye on him while I wrote.

Stalker much?Aspen texted, followed by a laughing emoji.

I thought we agreed to watch his back. In fact, I distinctly remember being elected to park my ass on a stool on the nights he worked.

I know. Just giving you shit. We’ve been taking advantage of his sudden downtime to catch up on movies neither of us has seen yet. You’re welcome to join us, unless you have your heart set on staring at the stripper boys tonight.

I’ll be there in ten, I just need to change clothes. I’d already thrown the rest of my shit in a bag.

Aspen typed back:There are going to be notebooks littering my coffee table tonight, aren’t there?

And an entire colony of pens, just in case I get inspired.

Uh-huh, don’t you mean just in case you need to record the inevitable bullshit Phoenix and I will start yapping about the moment a movie gets boring?Aspen texted.

That too. See you in a few.

Don’t bring that rhyming mess over here.

I replied with a middle finger emoji, stripped out of my club clothes, and pulled on a baggy pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt I’d confiscated from my last boyfriend. His collection of metal merch had been his only redeeming quality, considering he couldn’t fuck worth a damn and had the table manners of a caveman. I’d pillaged two Iron Maiden, one Megadeth, one Mötley Crüe, and one Metallica t-shirt from his collection before we’d parted ways. Eddie’s leering face in the mirror made me smile, since out of all of them, this was my fucking favorite.