The Test (The List series)

by Fenske, Tawna

  “It’s a boy,” Dax points out. “How about Axel or Deathmetal?”

  “Deathmetal?” I roll my eyes at Dax, but the dog gives a soft yip and dances forward. He leans down and licks my hand, wiggling in earnest now.

  I seize the opportunity to scoop my hands under the wiry little body, and the dog doesn’t resist. “Oh my. Yes, you are a boy, aren’t you?”

  “For another day or so, anyway,” Dax say. “There’s a strict Helping Paws policy on spaying and neutering every pet that comes through the doors.”

  Deathmetal pricks his ears and gives another soft yip, and I stroke my hand over his ears. “Don’t listen to him,” I soothe. “I’m sure he’s just teasing you. And even if he’s not, I promise all the lady dogs will appreciate a man who has contraception covered.”

  The dog licks my hand again as I carry him toward the bank of tubs on the opposite wall. Dax moves beside me, rubber apron straining over his huge chest. “You’ve seriously never had a dog before?” he asks.

  “Nope.” I take my time lowering Deathmetal into the elevated, stainless steel tub, scratching his ears so he stays relaxed. “Our parents never allowed it. Said they were messy and uncouth.”

  “You’ve spent your life avoiding all things messy and uncouth?”

  “Something like that.”

  He says nothing in response, so I’m not sure why I find myself blushing. I turn my face to the side, concentrating on adjusting the taps to get the water just right. Beside me, he squeezes dog shampoo into his oversize palm. After doing this all morning, we’ve got our system down. Still, his presence affects me, the way he stands close enough that I can feel the heat from his body.

  “There you go, baby,” I say to the dog as Dax begins massaging suds into the curly black fur. The dog stiffens at first, but I keep a gentle hold on him. Soon, Deathmetal relaxes, giving in to the soft pressure of Dax’s hands engulfing his small frame.

  “There’s a spot right here,” I murmur, directing Dax’s hand to a patch of burr-matted fur under the dog’s chin. His fingers brush mine as he begins to work the knot with gentle, powerful movements.

  “That’s a good pup.” He leans closer, his breath grazing my ear as he reaches across me for the detangling cream. His bicep brushes the edge of my breast, and I remind myself this is the least-sexy activity imaginable.

  “Feels good, huh?” he murmurs as he works the detangler into the matted fur.

  I nod on Deathmetal’s behalf as the little dog thumps his tail in agreement. I scoot the wiry body to the side to give Dax better access to the pup’s soft underbelly. He reaches across me again, this time grabbing for the handheld nozzle. I lean back against his chest, telling myself I’m only making room for him to position the spray just right. That I’m not just a hussy who can’t get enough physical contact with this man.

  He aims the nozzle at Deathmetal, splashing blissfully warm water over the backs of my hands. “You like that, hmm?”

  Deathmetal gives a satisfied sigh, and I swallow hard and focus on turning the dog around, angling the little wet body up so Dax can rinse him off.

  “Almost done, sweetie.” My voice cracks a little, and I wonder if Dax has any idea how much his nearness is affecting me. “You’re such a good, good puppy. Just a few more seconds.”

  Dax leans past me again to set the hose aside, and I shiver, curious if he’s doing this on purpose.

  But no, he’s just hanging up the hose, going through the motions of dog grooming. He grabs a fluffy gray towel from a pile beside the tub and turns to me with a conspiratorial grin that makes my toes curl. “Want to see a trick for getting a dog to shake off so you don’t have to do so much toweling?”

  “You just now thought of this?” I spit out a hunk of my hair, determined to cover my discombobulation with a hoity air. “Instead of twenty dogs ago, maybe?”

  He grins. “Something reminded me just now.”

  Then he leans past me, bending low so one meaty bicep brushes my hand. He’s eye level with Deathmetal now, and he uses one massive finger to gently lift the edge of the dog’s ear.

  “Just like this,” Dax says. Then he purses his lips and blows into the dog’s ear. Deathmetal twitches into a full-body shake that sends tepid water spattering against the sides of the tub and the front of my apron.

  Dax grins and stands up again. “Good boy!”

  I laugh because it’s funny, but also to cover the fact that I’m seriously smitten with this version of Dax. The gentle giant and clever animal handler. The guy whose hands are the size of small skillets and whose fingerprints I can still feel all over my body.

  I scoop the dog up and hand him to Dax so he can bundle him into the gray towel. Then he hands Deathmetal back to me, and I set to work rubbing down the wiry little body.

  “You’re right, this is much better,” I say. “He’s already mostly dry.”

  “Sorry I didn’t remember earlier,” Dax says. “I was distracted.”

  The way he’s watching me makes me forget I’m soggy and bedraggled and smelling like wet dog. There’s admiration there, surprise, even.

  And also desire. I don’t think I’m reading it wrong, but I concentrate hard on toweling off the dog so my knees don’t buckle. Seriously, how is this getting to me? I don’t understand at all.

  “Dax,” I murmur, needing to break the tension. “I want you to know that—”

  “Okie dokie!” Jell-O girl bursts through the door and bustles over to us, her perky ponytail swaying from side to side. “Looks like I timed that out just right.”

  “Perfect,” I murmur, still dizzy from Dax’s closeness.

  “The second crew just got here for cleanup, so you two are free to go now that this last little guy is done.”

  “Last one?” I turn back to the stacks of cages, amazed to realize they’re empty. “Wow. We’ve been busy.”

  “Great work, you two,” she says. “Will we see you again next week?”

  She’s talking to Dax, but he looks at me. “I’ll be here for sure. And maybe now that Lisa’s gotten a taste of it, she’ll keep coming back for more.”

  “That would be awesome!” Jell-O girl says with a forced chipper tone that says it’s as awesome as herpes. I can’t blame her for wanting Dax to herself.

  But right now, so do I.

  I wait until Jell-O girl has bustled out of the room with Deathmetal before turning back to Dax.

  “I think I’m ready for a shower,” I say.

  His eyes flash with interest as he steps closer, then slips a hand under my super-sexy rubber apron to skim my hip. “You need some help with that?” he murmurs. “I’ve been told I’m quite proficient with the shampoo.”

  My stomach flips, and I meet his flirtatious tone with my own. “I promise to shake if you blow in my ear.” Okay, that sounded sexier in my mind.

  But he grins back anyway and leans close to graze his lips over my earlobe. His breath is warm against my neck, and the way he’s touching my hip leaves no doubt he wants me as much as I want him.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he says.

  Chapter Eight

  Dax

  Nothing today is going quite like I thought it would.

  First, Lisa agreed to forego her spa day to wash thirty smelly, homeless dogs. Color me impressed.

  Is it wrong that I half expected her to walk out the door the second she got a whiff of wet canine? But she hung in there like a champ, putting those immaculately manicured nails to good use scrubbing flea dip into matted fur and soothing scared pups with murmured assurances that had me edging closer just to hear her voice.

  It’s the first time I ever got a hard-on at the damn dog shelter.

  But my plan to bring her back to my place for a steam shower and a soak in the Jacuzzi went sideways when every damn drawbridge in the city was up for an incoming Coast Guard vessel. The Hawthorne, the Broadway, the Burnside, even the Morrison were all conspiring to keep me from getting laid. When the bridges are up in Portl
and, there’s no getting from the industrial east side to the residential west side of the river. In other words, we were trapped in the ghetto.

  Luckily, I had a backup plan.

  “Faster!” Lisa urges, wrapping her legs tighter around me as her claws sink into the tops of my pecs.

  At least, I think that’s what she said. It’s tough to hear with the helmet muffling my ears and the scream of my motorcycle’s engine covering her voice.

  I rev the throttle in response, and Lisa’s grip tightens around my chest.

  “We’re almost there.” I take a turn a bit faster than normal, loving the way she laughs like this is a carnival ride.

  When she told me she’d never been on a motorcycle before, I had to remedy that. Blame it on The Test, blame it on my desire to feel her body pressed against mine. Either way, it got us here on the back of my Ducati.

  I pull the bike into the covered parking area in front of my workshop. Being on the wrong side of the tracks—or bridge, as it were—has an upside. This industrial part of Portland isn’t pretty, but it’s a prime spot for manufacturing the steel-walled bottles that made me stupid rich.

  It also has a shower, which is why we’re here now. If we can’t make it to either of our homes, this will have to do.

  I park the bike and tug off my helmet, pausing to tuck it in the locked gearbox on the back. Then I then turn to grab Lisa by the hips. “So this is where the magic happens,” she says.

  “Yep. Headquarters for CoolTanks double steel-walled reusable water bottles.”

  “It’s nice,” she says, though nice is hardly the word to describe this rundown warehouse on the fringe of Portland’s inner-eastside. It’s butt-ugly, but it gets the job done.

  I set Lisa on firm ground, then fumble the straps on her helmet. Tucking it under my arm, I grab her hand and start tugging her toward the shop. “Right this way.”

  I sound like a fucking tour guide, or maybe like a sixteen-year-old boy who’s hoping to get laid for the first time. But since Lisa devised The Test to get no-strings sex and a glimpse of life’s seedier side, maybe that’s not the worst thing.

  I unlock the rolling steel door and shove it back. The smell of metal shavings and heated plastic rushes toward us, a scent as familiar and comforting as my morning bacon.

  But not to Lisa, who hesitates in the doorway and lets go of my hand. She takes a few steps forward, and I brace myself for a snide comment about the dust and dirt and disarray.

  “Wow.”

  I’m instantly on alert for judgment. “It ain’t the Ritz Carlton,” I mutter, determined to beat her to the punch.

  She tosses an eye roll over her shoulder, then ignores me and moves toward the far corner of the room. It’s then that I realize what’s captured her attention. A funny lump clogs up my throat.

  “It’s amazing.” Lisa reaches up to brush a hand over the sculpture. “Did you make this?”

  “Yeah.” I nod, equal parts embarrassed and defensive. “I—uh—usually keep it covered. Sheet must have fallen off.”

  “Wow,” she says again, circling the sculpture like an art critic. “I love mixed metal, and this piece is especially fantastic.”

  “Thanks.” My chest swells, but I keep my pride in check as I watch her hand trace the lines of the sculpture. It’s a little abstract, but still obvious it’s a wolf. At least to me, since no one else has seen it.

  “Wolves are such majestic creatures,” Lisa murmurs, answering the question I’m too chickenshit to ask. “And you’ve captured it so exquisitely. All the sharp angles and powerful curves. It’s really beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” My throat is tight, and I’m not sure why it feels so strange to have Lisa here marveling over my work.

  “What made you choose a wolf?”

  I take my time answering, choosing my words carefully. “School mascot.”

  “High school or college?”

  The words spark something unpleasant in the core of my chest. “High school. Not all of us had the money or the smarts for college.”

  Lisa ignores my sharp tone, but studies me. She’s watching my face like she knows there’s more to the wolf story than I’m saying. Like she knows the reason I’m being kind of an asshole.

  “You’re really talented.”

  “Thank you.” I swallow back the lump in my throat and shrug. “I’m not really an artsy kinda guy. It’s just a little side project I’ve been playing with.”

  I don’t know why I’m trying to downplay this, but the intense way Lisa’s studying my face says she’s onto me. That she knows there’s a story here.

  But she doesn’t push. “Sometimes,” she says slowly, “those little deviations from the norm have a way of changing the way you look at things. At yourself.”

  I nod, not sure I want to get into this. Not sure how to feel at all. Part of me is guarded, but part of me wants to hear what she means.

  “It was like that for me and decorating,” she continues. “I thought I just wanted to play with throw pillows and buy expensive furniture with other people’s money, but it turned out I had a knack for design. For determining how things function within a certain space.” She smiles a little sheepishly. “I guess I like when I can surprise myself that way.”

  “Yeah. I can see that.” I don’t know why I feel vulnerable and edgy. I shrug and nudge the sculpture with my toe. “It’s been fun, but I’ll probably junk it when I’m done.”

  “Don’t!” She says it like I’ve just threatened to toss a puppy off a bridge. “You have to keep it. It’s beautiful. Raw, but full of movement and energy.” She gives me a smile that’s almost shy. “I hope you do more of it.”

  Her words leave me feeling awkward and exposed, so I grab her hand and nod toward the far corner of the space. “Come on. Let’s get cleaned up.”

  She laughs and lets me pull her toward the corner bathroom. I say a prayer the housecleaning crew has come through sometime in the last month, but even if they haven’t, I know it won’t be pretty.

  I’m not wrong.

  “Oh,” Lisa says. “This is—quaint.”

  “Is quaint another way to say disgusting as hell?”

  The space is barely larger than a coat closet, with a sink, a toilet, and a standup shower. It’s clean and pretty new, since I had everything installed six months ago when I doubled my workforce and implemented a program encouraging employees to bike to work. A shower comes in handy for that.

  And for post-dog washing hookups. At least that was the hope. Now, I’m not so sure.

  “It’s not disgusting,” Lisa says. “It’s just—small.”

  A flicker of annoyance flares in my chest, which is stupid. It’s an employee bathroom at a metal shop, not a luxury spa.

  But something about the judgment puts me on edge. It’s a painful contrast to the hard-on throbbing in my pants at the sight of Lisa in her damp pink T-shirt. I’m deciding which response to ignore when she turns back to me with nipples clearly visible through the thin cotton. Lust surges through me again as she smiles.

  “God, I’m dying to get out of those clothes.”

  I swallow hard. “No objection from me.”

  “Are we—uh—showering separately, or together?”

  I love that she’s unsure. That she didn’t come here with an agenda for some elaborate shower seduction.

  “Are you normally one for showering solo or with someone?”

  She laughs. “I don’t like to share water. We’ve also never seen each other naked before, so—”

  She trails off, and I realize she’s right. And the flush in her cheeks makes it clear she’s nervous about that.

  “Hey,” I say, stepping closer and lowering my voice. “I’ll never push you to do anything sexually that you don’t want to do. Test or no Test.”

  “Thank you.” She bites her lip. “I guess I do get a little prudish about nudity. I suppose if I’m being true to The Test, I should work on that?”

  She won’t get any obj
ection from me there, but I want this to be her call. I settle for nodding sagely, waiting for her to decide.

  The instant she does, there’s a mischievous flicker in her eyes. Then she grabs the hem of her T-shirt and yanks it over her head.

  “Guh,” I manage, to stunned to form words as I stand there gawking like a redneck at a tractor pull. I don’t know if I’m more impressed by her pink lace bra, by what’s inside it, or the fact that she had the cojones to bare it all.

  Either way, there’s no way in hell I’m going to leave her standing there topless by herself. I yank off my T-shirt as well, though what I really want to do is reach for her. Or unzip my fly. My dick strains painfully at the front of my jeans, struggling to escape.

  Lisa stares at my chest, eyes sweeping over my shoulders and down my abs. Her throat moves as she swallows and returns her gaze to mine. “God, you’re big.”

  “Maybe it’s relative,” I tease. “It’s a pretty small bathroom.”

  She smiles back and runs her palms down her thighs. “I suppose I should take off another article of clothing.”

  “Totally up to you,” I say, even though everything inside me is screaming for her to just get naked already.

  “Hmm… Do shoes count?”

  I hesitate. “If that’s what you want to take off next.”

  She looks at me from beneath her lashes and lowers her voice. “What do you want me to take off?”

  Wait, what? Is this a trick question?

  Or is Lisa toying with something else here? Like maybe she gets off on being told what to do?

  I hesitate, then take a risk. “Your toes are hot and all,” I manage. “But I’d rather see your tits.”

  It’s a jarring word, and I wait for her to slap me. I’ll apologize if I’m wrong, but I don’t think I am. Lisa Michaels likes dirty talk. She just never knew it before.

  Her eyes flash with desire, and I watch the emotion play out on her face. Lust. Uncertainty. Longing. No one’s ever talked to her like this before, and she’s not sure she should like it.

  Seeming to decide something, she lifts her hand and toys with the front clasp on her bra. I can’t tell if it’s an unconscious gesture or if she knows what she’s doing. Either way, I sense she wants me to call the shots. To tell her what to do next.