Tempting Perfection

With as much of a sassy smile I could gather, I said, “Gotcha.”

He gave me the smirk I loved. “I’d say for sure you are on the road to recovery.”

I laid my head back against the couch, tired from my antics. “Did we stop or was I imagining it?”

Kurt brought the trash can back into the kitchen area. As he stretched, he exposed his toned back. The muscles flexed with the movement. It was a sin to eat like shit and look as good as he did. I watched the muscles in his arms as he poured himself a cup of coffee. Seriously, he still affected me even when I felt this shitty.

Leaning against the black granite counter, Kurt took a sip and said, “We stopped. I had Frank work up a schedule to make stops for George and Roofus.”

That made me perk up a little. “Harlem’s dog?”

“Yeah, he had him brought on the tour last night. The band thought you adding a dog to the tour was brilliant. Syke’s words were, ‘Women love a man with a dog.’”

I groaned but then got serious. “You will not use my dog as a chick magnet. George is young and impressionable.”

Kurt smirked and smiled into his coffee cup. “George isn’t going to know the difference.”

This wouldn’t do at all. As a dog parent, I had to keep poor little George from being used as bait. “He will so know the difference. And then I’ll be getting calls about my wild dog humping all the other female dogs. I do not want a dog-whore!”

Coffee spewed everywhere. “Fuck, Sawyer. You cannot say funny shit like that when a man is drinking hot liquid.”

I gave a tired chuckle. “You’re cleaning that up.”

Leaning my head back, I watched while Kurt moved about. When he tore the paper t

owels from the roll, I noticed he hadn’t used the perforated edge. At times, we were oil and water. Why not go a few inches more and use the dotted line? But I already knew the answer. “I don’t need that much. Why waste it?” I bit the inside of my cheek to remain quiet. Otherwise the next tear would be worse. We were back to the flirting stage of our cycle.

“The guys have already called dibs on George. It’s part of his induction into the band.”

Images of the band using my dog as chick bait flashed through my mind. I sliced my hand through the air. “Absolutely not. My puppy is not getting them pussy.”

“That could be his nickname: pussy puppy.”

I tried to hold back my laugh. “No.” Then held my stomach. “Don’t make me laugh. It still hurts.”

“Come here, pussy puppy, let’s talk about your duties.” Kurt made little kissing noises, and George ran to him, his tail wagging.

I grabbed the nearest pillow and lobbed it at Kurt. “Don’t call George that. He’ll get confused. Then every time the guys say pussy, he’ll run.”

Kurt gave me a sexy wink. “That’s kind of the point.”

“I mean it, Kurt. I’m sick. Don’t be mean.” I sounded whiny and jutted out my lip for extra effect.

Gently, Kurt set George on the black leather couch. “Go give your mommy love and tell her what an honor it is to be the pussy puppy.”

“Kurt!”

George crawled into my lap, and I ran my fingers through his fur. “I love having a puppy.”

“You never had one as a kid?” He sat down not far from me. Even now, I could smell the lingering scent of his cologne—a woodsy masculine smell. It calmed me, and I snuggled deeper into the couch.

I glanced down to watch George as he licked my hand. “No. Mom was always too busy with the next big social event. Dad worked long hours. My sis—sibling required a lot of attention. So, no dog for the Wades. But I always wanted one. It was the only thing on my Christmas list for years when I was a kid.” I frowned. “At least until I found out Santa wasn’t real.”

My heart sped up a little as I watched Kurt for any reaction. I’d almost slipped about having a sister. No one knew about her.

For a moment, Kurt simply watched me. “Well, you have George now.”

“Did you have a dog as a kid?”