Page 43 of Clean Finish

He grinned at me—that big, beautiful smile that had the power to make my day every time I saw it. “Noice. Cool. It’ll be fun. Okay, I better go take her. I won’t be long.”

I watched as he headed for the door, adjusting Cora in his arms so he could kiss the top of her head as he said, “Let’s go, babycakes. Let’s see how unfathomably large your poops are tonight.”

“Do you have poop bags?” I asked quickly, trying not to twist this scenario into something more intimate in my head. Me relaxing at home while Larkin took our dog for their evening walk.

God, I was a sad, sad man.

He grinned back at me and rolled his eyes. “I always have poop bags in my suit pocket because of her. Seriously, bro, she does about three a night.”

I chuckled. “Alright.”

He still didn’t leave, and his grin turned sly before he innocently asked, “Is it the same for werewolves? Super active bowels?”

I huffed in amusement and gave a shrug. “My diet’s fairly good and I work out a lot, so I guess I’m pretty regular. Don’t usually take three shits a day though.” Feeling a little sly myself, I added in a deadpan voice, “I’ve never shat in a bag, either.”

Larkin’s face immediately turned deep blue as he stiffened. “Oh my god, I knew you heard that. It was for a prank, dude!”

“It would’ve been an excellent, disgusting prank,” I told him solemnly, then suppressed a snicker and asked, “What did you do with the bag?”

He squirmed a little, tilting his head away from Cora, who was frantically trying to lick his cheek. “I flushed it. It was only paper, so… But honestly, I’ve been a little worried that it’s, like, clogged a pipe and somehow caused the leak in the restrooms.”

My brows rose. Just to tease him a little more, I asked, “How big was the shit?”

He went an even deeper blue. “The bag, not the—Oh my god, dude, can we please stop talking about my shit?”

“You brought it up.”

He made a strangled sound and turned for the door. “You’re the worst. I’m going now.”

I was still smiling to myself a couple minutes later as I focused on my crossword. I just loved talking to Larkin, and it felt easy between us. I knew some people thought he was an airhead, but he wasn’t. He struggled to articulate things succinctly, he got distracted easily, and he liked to have fun, not take things too seriously. None of those were problems, in my opinion. They just made him who he was.

And I loved who he was.

Holt emerged from his office about fifteen minutes later, just as Larkin was getting back from Cora’s walk. “Ready?”

I nodded and stood, tucking my crossword book into my back pocket. As the four of us made our way down the corridor, I leaned closer to Larkin and asked in a murmur, “How big was it?” while nodding at Cora.

He snickered, scritching lightly at her side. “Stonking, dude. Longer than her leg, I swear.”

I suppressed a smile as Holt gave us an odd look, no doubt wondering why we were discussing Cora’s shit.

“So how’s Taylor?” Larkin asked him cheerfully. “What’ve you guys been up to? Is he not coming tonight because he’d be walking funny?”

Holt made an exasperated sound. “You’re an animal. He’s great. Staying at my place this week. He seems nice and relaxed.”

“When’s he gonna move in for good?”

Holt choked, his cheeks turning a darker grey. “I—We… haven’t discussed that. It’s far too soon for anything like that.”

Larkin psshed, waving his free hand. “Nah. It’s gonna happen, bro, so why delay the inevitable?”

Holt squirmed a little, looking uncharacteristically anxious. “He might get freaked out if I ask him to move in already.”

“I don’t think he would,” I said.

“Me neither,” Larkin eagerly agreed. “He’s all mushy for you, dude. You can, like, see it. In his eyes. He looks at you like you’re special or something. It’s weird.”

Holt huffed, glancing over at him with a wry smile. “Thank you for that almost-compliment, Lark.”