Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
I take a deep breath as I head through the front door.
The place is empty, and I don’t see anyone behind the register, so I assume Z might be in the back.
I meander through the store, glancing around at the different leather supplies and dildos.
Maybe I just need to go before anyone comes out. I’m not in the mood to talk.
I’m just sad.
Frankie sounded so mad at me. Like he was disappointed.
That took me right back to my own issues with my parents. How they felt when I came out to them.
It’s not the same, I remind myself, considering how supportive he’s been. But he made me feel like it was wrong for me to be in there, as Pup Runt, when that is always supposed to be my safe place. He’s supposed to be a safe place too.
And that hurt, made me feel as bad as I did that day when Peter was barking and growling at me, humiliating me over even looking at the puppy hood.
And on top of that, what does Frankie’s mom think of me now? What’s she going to think of him?
He should lie to her and say he doesn’t know anything about the puppy play. Then she won’t judge him, just me.
I reach for my pocket, remembering that I left my phone back at Metropolis, which sucks because I wanted to at least send Frankie a message to apologize for what happened, but in my rush just to get out of there, I left it.
I continue through the aisles when I reach the puppy gear section and survey the tails, the collars, the chew toys.
Tears rush to my eyes, pushing their way to the corners.
I bow my head and wipe under my eyes once again.
Godfuckingdammmit. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. We were having so much fun, and I ruined everything.
“Hey, pup,” I hear behind me.
Z’s voice is friendly and inviting. It’s what I need right now. As I turn to him, a warm smile stretches across his face.
From what I’ve shared with Frankie, I know this guy must be great with his pups. He just has this kind, gentle vibe to him…like he wouldn’t abuse any of his pups.
I imagine he’s the perfect handler.
That’s probably one of the reasons it was so easy for me to talk to him about it when I found myself drawn to the puppy hood initially. I’m sure it didn’t hurt that he wasn’t in any of my friend circles—that I didn’t have to worry about him telling anyone else about what I was interested in.
I take a deep breath.
I just need to pretend everything’s okay. Hell, I’ve done that plenty of times for a modeling shoot.
I’d just put on a friendly smile, convince everyone I was happy, even when I was dying on the inside. Wasn’t that what most of my relationship with Peter was anyway?
“Hey, Z,” I say with a smile to match his.
He approaches and says, “Sorry, I was in the back doing some inventory. We got some boxes in for a big leather event this weekend. How is the puppy hood working out for you? I see you’ve come back to your favorite spot, so I figure you need something to add to your collection.”
The thought of the puppy play and being back in the place where I actually pushed past my nervousness and began embracing that part of myself, reminds me of the good times Frankie and I’ve shared.
It’s too much for me, and the tears start back up.
I can read the concern in Z’s expression as he wraps an arm around me. “Come here, pup. Come here.”
He guides me into a back room, to a chair at a small table. Standing at a Keurig machine at the counter, he asks, “How do you like your coffee?”
“Typically an iced caramel latte with skim milk and whipped cream with just a little chocolate syrup on top,” I say with a wink. “But just some cream will be fine, thank you.”
Z laughs. “Well, at least you haven’t totally lost your sense of humor. That’s a good sign.”
He fixes me a cup of coffee before setting it down on the table in front of me.
I take a sip. “Thank you, Z. Not just for the coffee, either. For when I first came in here, too, and for seeing I needed a little push and helping me along.”
“It’s nothing,” he says. “What you were going through…I’ve seen that before with other guys. And it’s hard to push past some of those barriers we have in our heads, usually created by other people.”
I think about my parents, about Peter…and now about Frankie’s mom. What must she think of me? Does she think I’m some kind of freak? And is she thinking Frankie is too?
“I’m not gonna push,” Z says, “because I can see that you’re distressed right now. But, I’m here if you need to talk about anything. Obviously, I’m not dumb enough to think you just randomly wandered into a leather shop tonight while you were feeling like this. Am I right?”