Independent Braylee Mitchells faces the prospect of falling in love with her new roomie: self-proclaimed player and long-time friend, Dominick Mulder, when a damaged apartment and old vows force them together... and make them possibly confront and d...
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Chapter 7
BRAYLEE
There was something to be said about cats.
I'd had Geralt for four years and in those four years, the feline had not once, not ever, thought it a good idea to roll around in another animal's shit.
Dom's Pavement Special, however, had made it his life's purpose to locate any porcupine shit on the property, get it right under the short hairs of his tan coat, and proceed to show off his new ensemble during my hand-to-foot pose.
The stench was so foul I almost toppled off my yoga mat.
I raised my head to glare at the dog.
Trevor stood before me, wagging his tail, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, clearly proud and eager to show off his filthy endeavours. As much as I liked to think of myself as in-tune with my natural surroundings, I wasn't that into nature.
This was throwing off my chi.
And then Trevor launched himself at me.
I fell backwards on my ass, scrambling to get away, but the hound was faster and pushed against my chest and stomach with a playful eagerness.
I yelped, screamed, swore and managed to roll over, scrabbling gracelessly on all fours, and proceeded to bolt across the expanse of the yard.
"No, Trevor, NO! Stay, STAY! Bad dog, BAD. DOG!"
It was 7am and I'm sure my voice carried over to the other side of the valley where my neighbours slash landlords were probably only just waking up to their morning coffee. I sped across the expansive yard surrounding our house- of course, I had chosen to sprawl my yoga mat at the very perimeter of the property where a small hill looked out over the valley.
A shit-covered Trevor yipped merrily at my heels, believing this to be the best morning game a pup could ever have, all the while I sobbed and howled for him to leave me alone as I sprinted towards the house.
A few metres from the front porch, safety was within reach, but then the patio door slid open and Dom stepped out onto the stones.
Nothing but a towel about his waist.
I skidded to a halt- thoughts, sensibility, blood flow, general regard for wellbeing all coming to a sudden end.
To be replaced by heat... an all-consuming warmth that flooded my veins and over-rode my main processing core.
Dom was still wet, obviously from a shower I had inadvertently interrupted with my crazy-lady hollering, droplets of water glistening off the skin of his bulky torso, his hair darkened and laying flat against the shaven sides of his scalp and over his forehead. My eyes dragged over the expanse of flesh displayed for my viewing pleasure almost greedily, as if I had never seen a topless man before, as if I had never seen Dom like this before.
