Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

DANI

T he drive to Kyle's doesn't take long, and though I try to get him to tell me where we're going, he stays tight-lipped about it, which only makes me more curious. We trade vehicles, and as I climb into the passenger seat, he whistles, bringing Peanut Butter barreling out of the house and straight into the back seat of the cab.

The dog plants his paws on the seat, nearly falling over it into the front in his excitement, but I manage to steady him and he lays his head into my offered hand, leaning into my scratches. He's definitely a cuddle-bug, that's for damn sure.

"Do you know where we're going, sweet boy?" I ask the dog, wondering if he'll tell me when Kyle won't. To his credit, he barks in answer, but unfortunately, I don't know what he said.

"Don't tell her, man. It's a surprise," Kyle jokingly scolds, and Peanut Butter huffs out an annoyed snort as he lies down across the back with his legs stretched out behind him.

"Now, I'm extra curious. Dog park?" I wonder aloud, but Kyle grins and mimes locking his lips and throwing away the key.

I'm not the pouting type, so I clack my teeth in his direction, threatening to bite him. But he laughs at my attempt at being menacing. "You're acting like that's something I wouldn't want. You can bite me anytime, almost anywhere."

I snarl, curling my lip up. But the truth is he's putting dirty, sexy thoughts in my head that do their job at distracting me from my curiosity about our destination.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous when you're mad at me." The compliment is delivered with another of his cocky smirks.

"That probably says something unflattering about my anger management and your lack of self-preservation."

"Nah, you're pretty when you're not mad too."

I tilt my head, charmed by his flirting. At least enough to stop asking where we're going until he pulls up in front of a nondescript house on the other side of town. "Stay here for a second, ‘kay? Just picking something up."

He's driving me crazy on purpose, so this had better be worth it.

He hops out and walks up to meet the guy coming out the front door with a big box in his arms. I can't hear them, but I watch closely as the man sets the box down and opens a flap so Kyle can peer inside. They talk a little bit, and then the guy gives the box one more look, his eyes welling up. He nods to Kyle and then shuffles back inside as Kyle brings the box to the truck.

I hop out, opening the back door for him, both so he can put his box inside and so I can try to suss out what's in this mystery box.

It's then I hear the whimpering.

"Oh, my god, what is that?"

Kyle sets the box in the seat as Peanut Butter scoots over to make room and he moves to let me look inside.

"Puppies? What're you doing with four puppies?" Even as I ask, I'm reaching in to pick one up. I cradle it to my chest, petting it gently and cooing in a mix of English and Spanish.

"Get in the back with them and I'll explain on the way to Maggie's."

My eyes leap to Kyle's, suspicion already brewing, though I try to remind myself of earlier when I jumped to a wrong conclusion too quickly. "Who's Maggie?"

The change in my tone is obvious, even to my ears, but Kyle doesn't answer right away. Instead, he chuckles as he points into the back seat of the truck. I narrow my eyes, aiming for accusatory, but not sure I quite get there. With a huff, I do as he silently asked, climbing in and situating the box between me and Peanut Butter, who's sniffing the pups.

When Kyle starts driving away, he finally explains, "Maggie runs the rescue where Peanut Butter and I volunteer. It's where I got him from, in fact. She texted this morning and asked if I could pick up an orphaned litter and bring them in."

"They're orphans?" I echo, but I heard the other part of what he said too. Kyle volunteers at a dog rescue. Could he be any more perfect? I'm not sure that'd be possible.

He nods. "Effectively. Their mama didn't do well with delivery and rejected them, but Maggie has a dog who's already nursing her own litter, and it's small enough that she might take these too. She's been an adoptive dog mom before so she's pretty open, but if not, Maggie will bottle feed them."

Feeling tears threatening to spill, I lift my eyes from the box of adorable puppies and meet Kyle's as he glances over his shoulder at me.

"It's okay. It's a good thing. Their mama will get time to recover and heal, and these pups will get taken care of one way or another. That's what matters." Peanut Butter barks his agreement, and the puppies start to whine. "Hang on, we're almost there."

Kyle speeds up a little, like he wants to get the puppies to their adoptive mom and Maggie as quickly as he can, and a few minutes later, he pulls up to a big metal fence well outside town and honks his horn twice. The gate starts to swing open, and Kyle pulls through and parks behind another truck.

A woman is already on her way out to meet us so Kyle rolls his window down and lifts his hand to wave. "Hey, Maggie. Call me a stork because I've got a special delivery for you."

Maggie looks to be in her late sixties, with grayed out blonde hair that she's wearing in a single braid that reaches to her belt and kind eyes surrounded by crow's feet. She's got on baggy jeans, a tucked-in T-shirt, and rain boots. There's no rain in the forecast, so I bet they're to make it easy to hose off any dog poop she steps in.

Peanut Butter is going wild, barking and whining and pawing at the door, and Kyle grumbles out, "Don't destroy my damn truck." When Kyle opens the door, the dog senses freedom and jumps out, taking off to disappear behind the house.

Kyle reaches in to grab the box, and I open my own door this time, climbing out.

"Oh, hi," Maggie says, her eyes as warm as her welcome. "I'm Maggie Reynolds. And I'm guessing you're…" She checks me out from head to toe quickly, and with a smile says, "The woman who's been driving Kyle crazy."

My jaw drops open, and I glare at Kyle as he comes around the front of the truck, already beaming at me. "That she is, in the best way possible."

Maggie laughs. "Sorry, I didn't mean anything by that. It's just that Kyle's been talking about you."

"He has?" I can't help but wonder exactly what he's been saying. I can't imagine it's anything that good.

"Oh, yeah, Dani this and Dani that. He's smitten as a kitten," Maggie reveals, nodding assuredly.

"You're killing my ‘play it cool' plans here, Mags." Kyle throws the deadpan reprimand over his shoulder as he walks the box into the garage, where there's already a private pen set up.

I can see a reddish-brown mother dog lying in one corner, sleeping soundly, and five more pups are cuddled up into a big pile of puppy cuteness in another.

Kyle sets the box down several feet away, and Maggie supervises while he takes the pups out, looking over each one for anything concerning. She also scoffs and tells Kyle, "Women don't like it when men play it cool. They want to know where they stand, right up front. And this one should know she's got you hook, line, and sinker."

I have to press my lips together as hard as I can to keep from laughing as Maggie schools him. I don't dare tell Kyle that she's right. Honesty is key.

Kyle chooses to ignore her advice and instead takes a towel from Maggie and begins rubbing it over each pup.

"Whiskey, the hopefully adoptive momma, has had this in her pen the last few days. This'll help blend their smell in with the rest of the pups," she explains to me. "Let me see that one," Maggie tells Kyle, and he hands her the small, black and white spotted puppy he's holding. "Hmm… he's probably the smallest of the four. Let's start with him and see how Whiskey does."

She adds the small puppy to the pile of Whiskey's biological pups, and he snuggles right in with them like they've always been together. We sit to wait and watch, another puppy in each of our hands.

"Introducing unfamiliar pups to a mom is potentially dangerous, and if Whiskey tries to hurt the little guy we snuck into her litter, he'll have to be pulled out quickly. I know what I'm doing, but I'd rather be the one sticking my hand in Whiskey's way if she gets upset. Don't try to interfere if they get nibbly." Her warning is delivered with a stern look, and I think if I were to get between Maggie and an aggressive dog, Maggie would be the bigger threat.

I nod, agreeing to stay out of any trouble, though I hope there's none to begin with. "Kyle said he volunteers out here. Do you do this often?"

She shrugs, her eyes still on Whiskey. "More often than I'd like, usually not this young, though, fortunately. I mostly get adult dogs who've been turned away from the usual avenues for one reason or another. I take care of them, train them a bit, and find good homes for the ones who're candidates for that. The others, well, they live here in my pack. Peanut Butter helps to socialize them and teach them some manners?—"

"Even though he has the manners of a wild raccoon that's drunk on trashcan punch," Kyle interjects, and they both laugh.

As if he knows he's the topic of conversation, Peanut Butter runs across the yard out back with a cattle dog-looking breed hot on his tail. Peanut Butter dodges left and right, and the other dog herds him back to the fence line, keeping him running laps around the perimeter of the yard. It's like zoomies amped up to eleven, with a game of ‘catch me if you can' added in for shits and giggles.

"Not sure that's going all that well," I offer dryly.

Maggie glances at the two dogs, who freeze snout to snout for a second, and then, at some sign only they understand, take off again. "Actually, Gonzo is super high-energy and wants to be the boss at all times. Peanut Butter will let him run and herd and work until he's a little tired because that's the only way he's receptive to learning what Peanut Butter wants to teach him. Kinda the same thing as having a kid dance their sillies out before you start class."

"Like how you made me chase you all over the yard before you'd even talk to me without a growl in your voice," Kyle teases, giving me a smirk that says he's not too mad about my initial reluctance now.

Mostly joking back, I growl at him in imitation of a dog. He chuckles, which probably proves his point that we're a work in progress.

I would never compare us to dogs, but Maggie's description of Gonzo and Peanut Butter doesn't seem too far off from us, and I think we both know it. When we started, I was all bossy energy and work-focused and automatically ignored Kyle and shut him out. But he didn't give up, hounding me day after day, until I finally slowed down enough to consider him. And while I certainly don't need to be taught manners the way Peanut Butter is doing with Gonzo, I think we're both learning a lot… about ourselves, each other, and maybe what's possible if we don't get in our own way.

"In addition to Pee-Bee doing the pack work, Kyle helps me out around here by doing the stuff I'm getting too old to do," Maggie says, returning to my previous question. She turns grateful eyes to Kyle, and he smiles back. "Or maybe I'm just glad to have someone else willing to do the dirty work of cleaning up the poo. Never would've thought Peanut Butter would bring me the best stray of all." She bumps Kyle's knee, and he ducks his chin, feigning bashfulness about the praise even though I think he loves it.

It sounds like Maggie is a good woman doing good work, and Kyle seems glad to help her, because as much as she saves these dogs, I think she gives him refuge too. He feels different here—lighter, but also more grounded, like this is his happy place.

"Tsk, I never thought rescuing a dog would get me a bonus grandma," he quips, then adds, "and you're not too old to do a damn thing, so stop making yourself out to be helpless."

She chuckles, throwing her head back. "Well, I'm too old to do the things I don't want to do, and if you're offering, I'm gonna letcha go for it. Speaking of, there's a light out in the kitchen if you wouldn't mind changing the bulb for me, and I got the wire to tie up that section of fence that keeps popping."

Kyle hops up like he's happy to help with her to-do list. "Light, fence. On it."

He hands the puppy he's holding to me, and I can't help but grin at double the doggie cuteness. I don't even look up when he goes in the house, too lost in puppy noses and paws as I smush my face affectionately against one of the puppies, nuzzling it.

"I'm glad you came out today," Maggie says, drawing my attention.

"Me too. You must love getting to snuggle puppies and play with dogs all the time."

Maggie hums. "Yeah, when I get to do that. But it's not all fun and games. These dogs, the ones that come to me? They're hurt—sometimes physically, sometimes broken inside—or else they would've been fostered and adopted easily through the traditional routes. By the time they get to me, they've been through several homes or been wild on the streets, so sometimes, they don't trust, they're full of fear, or they have trauma reflexes that make them mean. It's up to me to decide where to use my limited resources. That's a heavy responsibility to bear because I can't always save them all, and if I try, I might miss out on saving one that really deserves it because I wasted time on one that wasn't salvageable."

That sounds like a dark, ugly, painful truth of Maggie's rescue and likely, so many others. It's also true for people, in a lot of ways. Not everyone is worth the effort, but the ones who are deserve everything you have to give.

Like Kyle.

"I feel like we're not talking about dogs," I tell Maggie, seeing right through her rescue talk.

"I'm protective of my pack, and Kyle's pack as much as any of them are. That boy's been hurt, maybe not by something obvious like abuse, but his heart's taken some hits. And somehow, he's still such a sweetie and keeps offering that heart of gold to the people who hurt him again and again, hoping for a different response. Don't do that to him. He can take it, and he'll laugh it off, but it'll be another scar on his tender spirit."

Maggie knows about his family. That much is apparent.

"I won't," I vow, taking her words seriously. "I met some of his family. I'm not sure they got the best impression of me." I'm still horrified and embarrassed at the scene I made. They probably think I'm a stage-five clinger with jealousy issues and a hothead temper. I'm not sure they're wrong.

"You met his family?" Maggie asks, her shock obvious in her voice. "I don't think Kyle's ever introduced anyone to his family. Ever. Hell, they think I'm some woman he sees for… what do you kids call it? Friends with benefits? Which I can assure you I'm not, but he keeps everything close to his vest and doesn't let anyone too deep. So if he's brought you here and you met them, he's in it with you. Don't hurt him," she says again.

"I don't know if ‘introduced' is the way I'd phrase it, but I met them when I sort of threw a pack of tortillas at him in Costco," I correct, not wanting to give unwarranted weight to something that sounds really important. Her eyes flare sharply, and I rush to add, "But I won't hurt him. Not really."

Her gaze settles, and after a moment, there's laughter dancing in her eyes and a tiny, sly grin on one side of her mouth. "Did he deserve it?"

I don't get to answer because Kyle steps back into the garage, glancing back and forth between Maggie and me like we might've been conspiring against him in the few minutes he was gone.

"You hear all that?" Maggie asks him. "I had to tell Dani while you were eavesdropping, because we both know that if I tried to tell you to your face that I give a rat's ass about you, you'd shut me down." She gives him a motherly look, daring him to argue with her.

Maggie is shrewd, and I guess, was actually conspiring… though not against Kyle, but rather for him because I can't help but see him in a different light after what she said.

And I realize she was running us both through laps so we'd be open to her lesson of the day. She's a clever woman, which makes me like her even more.

"Light's good. Let me grab the wire and I'll fix the fence too," Kyle tells Maggie. To me, he offers, "Wanna meet the rest of the dogs?"

Maggie takes the two puppies from me, throwing Kyle a quick nod, which feels like a stamp of approval. As much as I tested Kyle, I recognize him doing it right back. As we walk to the yard, I ask, "So, did I pass the test?"

He ducks his head, looking up at me through a flop of his hair. "I didn't consciously mean for this to be a test. I needed to get the pups and wanted to spend more time with you. And who wouldn't want to spend the day with puppies?" He spreads his arms out innocently but admits, "But yeah, it most definitely was a test. I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize for that. Maggie's important to you, and you value her judgment. But you're making me nervous by not answering the question. Did I pass or fail?" I grin, already knowing the answer but wanting him to say it. Not because I need head pats and reassurance, but because it feels like a big deal for us both.

He pauses at the gate, his eyes steady on mine. "You're getting closer and deeper to the ugly stuff inside me, and I'm scared shitless you're gonna come to your senses and realize I'm not one of the strays worth your time and effort. After all, nobody else has ever thought I was. Until Maggie."

He doesn't give me a chance to respond, instead leaving me shocked with my jaw hanging wide as he opens the gate. I let him pull me inside, and he closes it behind us with a clang of metal as we're immediately swarmed by dogs of all sizes. They greet us with sniffs and licks for a second, and I hold my hands out, letting them get used to me, but also blocking them from getting too close because Peanut Butter's not the only one with an affinity for crotch sniffing.

They pretty quickly lose interest in me, though, because they're bouncing around Kyle like they're waiting for his command. He finds the spot in the fence that needs attention and does some quick wire-tying trick to secure it before handing me the roll of wire. "Watch this," he says, and then louder, he shouts, "Let's go, dogs!"

He takes off, running fast with dogs on his left and right and on his heels. In a blink, there are some in front of him too and he's in the middle of the pack.

Bark! Bark! Bark!

It's chaos in its most fun form as he runs for the side fence, then makes a sharp turn, heading along the back fence to make a loop. Meanwhile, I'm laughing wildly at Kyle's interactions with the dogs as he reaches out and touches one on the head, then another. "Boop, you're out. Boop, you too. I'm winning!"

He gives it his best, but two legs are never gonna be faster than four, and soon, he's panting and slowing down. The dogs do too, choosing staying at his side over winning, which I think they could easily do. Kyle jogs back toward me in the middle of the yard, and I can feel the huge smile on my face. "You're a wild man," I tell him, and he beams before letting loose a howl more reminiscent of a wolf than a dog. But the dogs join in anyway, accepting him as a member of their pack.

I don't know what happens, but suddenly, Kyle is stumbling over his feet or the dogs' paws, I'm not sure which. He pitches forward, stumbling and fumbling to catch himself, but in the end, he goes tumbling to the grass. He tucks and rolls and is quickly swallowed up by a pile of dogs who seem to think this is a new addition to the running game.

"No! Get offa me, Miles! Move, Gonzo! Stop licking inside my mouth!" Kyle spits that last bit out along with some dog fur, but despite the friendly attack, he's laughing at the dogs as he pushes them away and tries to get to his hands and knees to stand up.

"Do you need help?" I ask, not sure if it's safe for me to join the melee after Maggie's warning.

A sharp whistle sounds out and all of us—me, Kyle, and the dogs—straighten right up and turn toward the sound. It's Maggie, of course, managing her pack, even the non-canine members.

Kyle's arm reaches up through the pile of dogs still covering him, throwing her a thumbs-up of appreciation. "Thanks, Mags!" Once they settle down at her warning whistle, he can finally get up.

I'm laughing at the whole thing until I see his face, and then my smile instantly falls. "Ooh, you've got a pretty good scratch on your cheek." I touch his face gently, testing it, but he doesn't wince like he's in pain even as blood starts to ooze slowly and thickly. "We should clean that up, make sure you didn't get dog spit in it or something worse."

He balks, even as he walks toward the house. "Takes more than a little dirt to get me down," he says, acting tough, but he does go inside. I hope it's to do a quick soap and water wash of his face.

When he comes back, I'm glad to see the tell-tale orange splash of iodine on his cheek, and he strikes a pose worthy of Zoolander, making Maggie and me both laugh. "Amps up my bad boy look a little, don'tcha think?"

I won't tell him that it actually does because I don't think his ego needs any more boosting, but the fact that the scratch makes him look a little extra rough partnered with his getting it by roughhousing with beloved dogs is a deadly combo for any doubts I might still have.

Maggie ignores his question too, instead continuing our goodbyes that started when Kyle went inside. "It was really nice to meet you, Dani. Remember what I said about that boy, though—he's good, even if he doesn't always like to show it." I nod, and she turns her attention to Kyle. "Thanks for getting the pups for me. Whiskey already fed the little guy while you were playing WrestleMania in the yard, so I think I'll try to sneak another in for the next round."

"Good, glad that at least one of the pups was fed successfully, and hopefully, the other three will go well too." He glances to the yard, calling out, "Peanut Butter!" The dog's tan head pops up from a group of dogs still wrestling and playing. "Come on, we've got to get home. Dani and I have plans."

"Oh, you do?" Maggie says politely. "What else are you up to today?"

He doesn't say it outright, but Kyle gives Maggie a comically large wink and she grins, catching on quick. "Well, you two have fun, then. I remember those days."

"Kyle!" If I knew his full government name, I'd use it—middle name and all—but since I don't, I put the entirety of my ‘what the fuck' into the one drawn-out syllable of his first name before rushing to explain to Maggie, "He's kidding."

The way she's pressing her lips together and fighting a smile says she doesn't believe that at all.

Kyle opens the passenger door, both front and back, so that Peanut Butter can hop in and I can climb in too. I cross my arms over my chest, spitting fire at Kyle with my eyes as he walks around the front of the truck. When he gets in, I lay into him fast and hard. "I cannot believe you said that! Maggie is so sweet and you're like, ‘gotta go fuck, bye,' as if that's a perfectly normal thing to do."

He has the unmitigated audacity to flash that cocky smirk of his. "Technically, I didn't say anything. I winked. And Maggie's chill. She doesn't care about my dick, though she does seem particularly concerned about my heart and the damage you might do to it."

"Well, I told her I wouldn't hurt your heart. Your dick, on the other hand? It's heading for dangerous territory."

He takes his eyes off the road long enough to give me a heated look, which I return, but it's not the same kind of heat. Mine threatens body dismemberment. His promises bodily bliss.

"Fuck, I hope so."

I don't know how he does it, but by the time he pulls into his driveway, our adversarial flirting has turned to touching and I am ready for all the filthy, sexy things he's been promising with that dirty mouth of his. So I climb over the console and he throws his seat back. Somehow, at the same time, he also rolls his window down and tells Peanut Butter to go inside. Thankfully, the dog minds for once and jumps out the open window, tearing across the grass toward the house.

I'm in Kyle's lap, straddling him with my mouth on his. His hands squeeze my hips, knead my ass, and then slip inside my leggings. His rough palms on the overly sensitive skin make me arch into his touch for more, but he freezes, pulling back.

"Have you been commando this whole time?" he asks.

"Mm-hmm, don't like panty lines in my yoga pants," I sigh out between kisses.

He groans, shifting beneath me like he's in pain. The good kind. "Are you telling me that you don't wear panties with these all the time? Like every day when you're walking this ass around, delivering food to all those guys, this pussy is free-lipping it?"

He's squeezing my cheeks harder now, punishingly tight, and I writhe, rubbing my clit on the ridge of his cock behind his zipper. "Yes," I moan, not seeing what the big deal is. Lots of women don't wear panties with leggings and yoga pants, especially when it's hot out. "You like?"

"Take ‘em off, Dani, or I'm gonna rip them." He growls out the order—or is it a warning, or maybe a promise—as he yanks on the waistband.

His need has gone dark, his eyes fierce, and his touch is branding me. I consider backing away for a split second to do the reasonable thing and pull my pants off, but I don't. I meet his gaze with fire of my own. "Do it."

He pokes a finger through the cotton just beside the seam, tearing a hole big enough for him to fuck me through, and runs his fingers through my lips, groaning when he feels how wet I am. He reaches between us with his other hand, clumsily trying to undo his button and zipper, like he's not willing to stop touching me for even a second. I lift up, giving him space to shove his jeans and underwear down and free his cock.

His tip is right there, a bare inch away, and I drop onto him, impaling myself on him until he's balls-deep inside me. He throws his head back to the headrest, hissing out something that sounds like ‘heaven'. It's the first time we've been raw, and while I'm protected, it feels dangerous in a thrilling way, like it's one more barrier he's busting through in what's quickly becoming my nonexistent defenses, which were already as thin as my now ripped yoga pants.

Fire and need ignite instantly, and when I move up and down, riding him, it turns into an inferno. It builds fast, both of us desperately and recklessly chasing the high that's just out of reach. Until it's not.

"I'm coming," I grunt, my ass bouncing on Kyle's thighs as I grip his shoulders, using him for leverage.

" Fuck , me too," he hisses through clenched teeth.

It's an additional layer of heaven as I feel the heat that he spills into me. It sends my orgasm even higher, hotter, and I milk him for every drop as he jerks beneath me, holding me tightly as I continue to shatter in his arms.

Panting as we come back, I blink, trying to get my eyes to focus, but with my head resting on Kyle's forehead, he's so close that I can't see him clearly. But I can tell he's smiling.

"Did we just fuck in your work truck?" I whisper as the reality of our situation hits me.

He doesn't move his head but cuts his eyes left and right, looking around like he doesn't know where we are. "Yeah."

"I told Nessa that was gross."

"Doesn't feel gross. Feels good." He groans as he grinds me down on him a bit more even though we're both spent.

"Last time, I was coming home from a date. Today, I went psycho about you touching your sister-in-law. This time, you're worried about my customers seeing me in the same leggings I've been wearing every day for years," I say lightly, but my next words have a more serious tone. "I'm not sure this is healthy."

"I'm not a jealous, possessive Neanderthal who needs to own you. You belong to yourself." He pins me with a look, like he wants to make sure I hear that loud and clear. " But ," he says, risking his life for the point-two seconds it takes to explain that contradiction, "I like that you choose to spend your limited free time with me, so how about healthy communication and respect when we're not fucking and toxic, filthy sex when we are?"

With his cock still inside me and my orgasm barely faded, he makes it sound like a pretty good proposal, and I tilt my head, considering it.

He uses my hesitation as an opportunity to sway my decision, laying a line of kisses to my exposed neck, up to my earlobe, which he nibbles, before moving down my jaw toward my mouth. I almost want to delay deciding just to see where else he might kiss and touch and how far he'll go to convince me.

"Okay, but don't think you can boss me around when I'm not on your dick. Any other time, I'll cut it off." I'm joking… but also, not.

"Of course, as you should."

I give him a dark look, assuming he's joking too, but he seems serious, for the most part.

"Seeing as you're still currently on my dick, though, can I suggest we get inside before my neighbors call the police? I'm not sure I can talk our way out of two tickets in one week."

"Shit!" I hiss, looking around in horror like we might have a whole-ass audience I hadn't noticed in my rush to climb onto Kyle.

He grips my hips once more, holding me in place. "Truthfully, my neighbors don't care. They're too far away, and we have a very strong ‘you leave me alone and I'll leave you alone' mentality around here. I could probably fuck you in my actual front yard in the midday sun and no one would pay us any mind. But we probably should get inside, if nothing else, so I can get you into a shower and maybe get inside you again."

Okay, that sounds… doable.