Remy (Golden Glades Henchmen MC 4)

And, hey, I had to respect that.

Even if he knew I had no problem with his self-proclaimed “slutty” way of life.

But despite not having pets, he’d gotten me just about everything I could have asked for when it came to Alma. He even bought individual Peep toys for each of the puppies when they came.

Myles was, quite simply, the best gift giver I’d ever met. I always felt like I came up short when we exchanged for holidays. But only because he was just so damn amazing at it.

“Ah, well, no. Well, sort of. He kept slipping in, I’m not going to lie.”

“Please tell me that you were thinking about your plan to save the dogs and he showed up shirtless to help you, completely out of the blue. Like a cheesy, over-the-top romance movie.”

“Well, he wasn’t shirtless,” I admitted.

“Why not? It’s your fantasy,” he said as he took one of the blenders over to the sink to wash it out.

It was a never-ending task—blender washing.

Hence why I had a lot of time to think during my shift.

Washing out blenders, wiping down counters, restocking the fruit in the fridges and freezers under the counter from the walk-ins.

It was a busy day every day, but it was always just about the same. The most distracting thing that had happened in recent times was when one of the new kids didn’t put the top on the blender tight enough and sent strawberries and kale everywhere. I’d found bits of it in the vents and in lighting fixtures when I’d shown up to help with the clean up.

“It wasn’t a fantasy. I was probably just excited about the idea of having an extra set of hands so I could save more dogs.”

“Oh, come on.”

“What? I mean it.”

“With the way you prattled on for forty-five minutes about that guy—and thirty-seven of them were about how hot he was—yes, it was a fantasy. My bet, if I didn’t interrupt, you would get the dogs all home and settled in their little beds, tucked in with blankets, and then the two of you would sort of brush up against each other. Sparks would fly. And you’d find yourself hot and sweaty, banging against the wall.”

“I mean, I’m not saying that isn’t a great fantasy, but, really, I am mostly thinking about the dogs.”

“I am just going to remind you that it has been, what, seven months since you got any action.”

“Seven months isn’t that long,” I insisted.

“Seven months is a fucking eternity,” he countered. “It isn’t natural. You need the outlet. And Mr. Good Vibrations doesn’t count.”

I didn’t want to tell him that Mr. Good Vibrations had crapped out on me a few months before and I just never got around to replacing him.

So, unless I wanted to go manual, I was going without.

“I mean, sometimes you just need the weight of a man on you,” he added, making me go wide-eyed as an elderly lady made her way up to the counter. But this was Myles we were talking about. He wasn’t going to go red-faced and apologize. He was going to double down. “Am I right, or am I right?” he asked the customer.

“I mean, he’s right,” the lady said, shooting us both a wicked smile.

“You need to be more careful,” I scolded him after the lady went out with her drink.

“What for? She’s been getting her snatch smashed since before either of us were born,” he said, shrugging.

“Oh, come on. She’s not still banging.”

“Why not? My Great Aunt Birdie went to a retirement home after her husband died, and she got The Clap from fucking around so much. Old people still get it on. Don’t be ageist. Don’t you want to still be fucking when you’re their age?”

“I’m somewhat worried that I will creak at that age.”

“So, the sex is more musical,” he said, smirking. “But back to the real issue at hand. You needing to get a good dicking. Or licking. Something, girl, something.”