Fighting for Love (Boston Love 2)

“So you thought Angela was my girlfriend, huh?” I asked as I squatted down next to the dog. I let out a fake-as-hell roar of laughter, which only caused Flash to get excited and jump up at me, hitting me under my chin, causing me to bite down on my tongue and fall back onto my ass.

“Oh no! Um…are you okay?” Rory asked as she fought to hold back her laughter.

Tears filled my eyes as I slowly shook my head. I didn’t know what hurt worse, my tongue or my ass.

Rory gasped and covered her mouth. “Ohmygod! You’re…Oh God.”

She covered her mouth and made a god-awful sound in her attempts to not lose it.

Attempting to talk again, she dry-heaved and turned away from me. “It’s coming out

of…your…mouth!”

I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth. I’d seen plenty of blood in my time, so this didn’t faze me.

“I’ll be fine; feels like I busted my lip and bit into my tongue.”

She bent over while covering her mouth and holding on to her stomach.

“I take it you don’t like blood.”

Holding up her hand, she shook her head. She spun around, trying not to look at me. “Do you live close by? Do you need—oh God—help getting there?”

I wanted to laugh. She couldn’t even stomach looking at me, and she wanted to help me home?

Wait a minute.

She wanted to help me home. This was almost too good to be true.

“I’m feeling a bit dizzy,” I said as I finally stood up. Flash sat on the ground staring up at me. He was on to me. I could see it in his eyes.

“Okay, don’t get blood on me!” she stated while walking up to me and putting her arm around my waist.

“Give me Flash,” she said between gagging.

She took the dog’s lease. “Easy, boy, let’s head home.”

We started walking toward my condo, and I couldn’t ignore the scorching-hot sensation I felt where her body was up against mine.

“We’ll get you both home and you can take care of that…and I’ll get Flash settled.”

A small hint of a smile spread over my face. Maybe this dog thing would turn out okay after all.

Chapter 4

Rory

Oh no, Flash

After helping Finn into his condo, I quickly asked where his bathroom was before I puked on his very nice floors.

With a laugh, he pointed to a half bath. “I’m going to go wash out my mouth and see the damage this mutt caused.

All I could do was nod. I rushed into the bathroom, then, carefully splashed my face, making sure I didn’t hit my mascara. The last thing I wanted was raccoon eyes. Lifting my head, I stared at myself in the mirror.

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

Clearly Finn was fine. Maybe in a bit of pain, but the second I’d asked him if he needed help home, he’d jumped on it. Why did I ask in the first place? What did I hope to get out of this?