Leyla
My therapist says I am an extremist when it comes to taking care of myself. Sometimes I’m super cautious while others I’m too damn reckless. To be honest, I don’t care much about my safety. I should fire her because it’s evident that she doesn’t understand survivor guilt. I try to save everyone because technically, I shouldn’t be alive.
Do I consider my safety while doing it? Never, because I’m busy taking care of other people. Today’s example is Buster.
This pup has been through hell in one night, or maybe since his original owner lost him or dumped him. I’m certainly not leaving him with a guy who is clueless about his care. Am I suspicious about his involvement with the dog? Of course. I will be checking the outside of the car for any blood.
If he’s not guilty, his hot factor will increase from a hundred to a gazillion percent.
On a scale of handsome to you’re-so-gorgeous-I-want-you-tonight, the guy is ravishingly-sexy-I-want-to-have-your-babies. I’m not sure if that’s a real scale, but we can certainly create it for him.
He’s tall. I’m sure he’s a foot taller than my five foot three. He’s either a swimmer or played football in high school and college. The guy has broad shoulders, and if I rip off his clothes, I’ll find cut, ripped muscles underneath. His dark hair is cut short, and I bet he went to some fancy salon in Denver to get that hot looking trim.
Strong features, a five o’clock shadow that would feel great running between my thighs, and his eyes… I wish I had long, curled, thick lashes like his. His forest green eyes are piercing, heart and soul sucking gems that make my heart stop every time they meet mine. I bet he breaks hearts on a weekly basis.
Oh, God. This was a bad idea. Why did I agree to go to his house?
After almost a year without sex, it’s stupid to go grocery shopping with a hot man like him—and without eating for nearly twenty-four hours. I’m going to be drooling the entire night or just jumping him because who wouldn’t want to get on top of that guy and ride him?
Leyla, behave!
“So, what do you want to do first? The grocery store or my house?”
I chuckle. Isn’t this ironic. We have to go shopping, and I am starving. I could eat anything that we see—including him.
“What’s so funny?”
“I was just thinking that I haven’t set foot in a grocery store in a long time,” I state.
“Well, it’s your lucky night. I’ll remind you how good it is and make it an unforgettable experience,” he says with a raspy voice. He turns my way briefly and winks at me.
My pulse spikes because wouldn’t it be nice to have an unforgettable experience with a man like him?
I bet this guy knows how to do everything just right and pleasurable. He looks like he’s in his thirties. He’s definitely a player.
Maybe he’s a serial killer, and he’s dragging you to his lair with a puppy.
“So, I know this is a dumb question since I’m in your car and agreed to go to your house but…what’s your name?”
“Remind me to lecture you about self-preservation when we get to my place,” he says. “Why would you just agree to go with a stranger without getting at least his license plate?”
“Well, I texted Bobbi that I was going home with you,” I inform him. “She has your personal information. I’m sure if I turn up dead somewhere between here and Colorado Springs, they’ll be knocking at your door.”
At that exact moment, he’s pulling into a parking space. Once he turns off the ignition, he looks at me and laughs. “I like you,” he says, grazing his fingers along my arm.
Goosebumps rise along my skin, and my blood pumps faster. I could say it’s the unseasonably cold breeze of late August, but I know better than to play stupid. I have this strange reaction to his voice, his presence, and his touch. I do not doubt that we could combust the entire city if we explore each other.
Be reckless, Leyla. What’s the worst that can happen?
Just like earlier, he opens the passenger door for me. If I were keeping a list of qualifications, I’d add “gentleman” to it. His grasp is firm, and once I’m out of the car, he shakes my hand and says, “Pierce Griffin Aldridge.”
“Leyla,” I answer, staring at his hand swallowing mine.
Is it weird that I like him touching me?
“No last name?” he asks.
“It’s complicated,” I answer. “It’s more like a need-to-know basis.”
“So, like a fifth date kind of information exchange?”
“Probably a third-year anniversary confession,” I joke.
“By then you might have my last name, and what’s the point of even discussing it, right?”
I chuckle and nod. “Clearly, we understand each other. In any case, we can’t leave Buster in the car for too long. Let’s do this fast.”
The good thing about grocery stores is that they have everything needed for pets in a couple of aisles. Unfortunately, they don’t have much to choose from.
“Tomorrow, you can go to the pet shop I like,” I inform Pierce as he drives us to his house.
“I thought you said you couldn’t have pets. Why would you have a favorite?” he questions suspiciously.
“Yes, but as a veterinarian, I need to know where to send people, don’t you think?”
“Sensible,” he agrees with me. “So, can you explain what you are? A vet, a surgeon, an intern—”
“Complicated,” I respond.
The less we know about each other, the better.
“I’ll find out,” he says, but it’s more like he warns me.
It doesn’t surprise me that he pulls into the underground garage of one of the most exclusive high rises in Denver. Just when I thought he could be somehow different, he proves me wrong. And what do you know, he lives in one of the penthouses. The floor-to-ceiling glass wall showcases the view of the city and maybe the mountains, but it’s too dark to see them. Looking at the ground floor, I spot a swimming pool.
“This is better than a hotel,” I say, following him to what I believe is his home office. There’s not much in there: two bookcases, a desk, and a chair. I set up the new bed for Buster, and he places him on top of it.
I’m tempted to tell him that though his apartment is gorgeous, Buster needs a bigger space. He might think this is temporary but I can see these two getting along. This should be his forever home. Now, the guy is going to be around 85-90 pounds and 27 inches tall. Maybe that’s a conversation for another day.
Not that I should talk to him about what’s to come in the next few weeks and months while he and the pup get to know each other. We are just two strangers who are thinking about the well-being of a dog. Tomorrow, I’ll be heading home and will never see him again.
“Wine, beer, water?” he asks, heading to his open kitchen. There’s a tall counter in the middle with hanging lamps over it that gives it the feel of a bar. I take a seat on one of the barstools and look around the place.
The stylish leather couches and dark furniture perfectly match the dark wood floors. It’s simple and classy.
“I should say ‘water,’ but I could use a glass of wine,” I accept.