Fighting for Love (Boston Love 2)

Sitting in the middle of my brand-new leather sofa sat Flash. Feathers were floating in the air as my eyes scanned the room.

“Okay. Take a deep breath, Finn.”

All the bags in my hands dropped to the ground along with the bed.

Flash lay down on the sofa and then flipped over onto his back and stared at me. I could have sworn he was smiling at me.

“Wh…wha…wha…what did he do?”

Rory quickly ran over to him. “I’m going to take him out for a bit. Why don’t you go into the kitchen and grab something to drink. Hard liquor, if you have it.”

I was in a daze as Rory and the evil dog rushed by me and out the door. I stumbled farther into my condo and gasped.

“My sofa,” I whimpered. The arm had been chewed to hell. Turning, I threw my hand over my chest and tried to get some air.

“It’s gone,” I whispered. I glanced down to the floor, then dropped to my knees.

“No!” I cried out as my chest squeezed in pain.

The autographed football I’d received personally from Tom Brady was chewed to pieces and scattered all across the living room.

My eyes caught something strewn about the mess.

Dirt? Is that…dirt? Where the fuck did he get dirt?

Turning, I saw the potted tree my mother had insisted I needed. I stood and walked over to it. Leaning down, I pulled out the chewed-up remote the little bastard had tried to bury.

“I’m going to kill him. He’s dead.”

Stepping over the torn-up sofa pillows, I rubbed the bridge of my nose. I walked around the island, and my eyes nearly popped out of my head.

The kitchen was covered in a white powder. Somehow, that little bastard of a dog had jumped up and knocked over the flour container, then successfully op

ened it. I walked farther into the kitchen, and something crunched under my shoe. With a whimper, I glanced down at the sugar on the floor. He’d got the sugar open too.

Mixed in with all that was my garbage.

Dragging my feet through the mess, I opened the refrigerator, grabbed a beer, and headed to the balcony. Before stepping onto it, I pulled out my phone and took a video of the damage.

I sat down in a chair and pulled up Colton’s number.

Me: We no longer have a firehouse dog.

Colton: Holy fuck. Dude. What did you do with the dog?

Me: I’m going to throw him off my balcony.

Colton: Cap might frown at that.

Throwing my head back, I let out a loud, long yell.

Me: He knew….

Less than thirty seconds later, my phone rang.

“Hello,” I bit.

“Yeah, he knew all right. And do you know what he would do if he knew his daughter was out walking said dog and heading into your condo building as we speak? He’d fucking cut your dick off. What in the hell are you doing with her, Finn?”