Pretty Dogs (Dirty Strays, #2)

by Riley Nash

I don't know what to say, because there's no way to verbalize how much I love him right now–the kind of love that rips you open, chokes you, makes you helpless, hurts you and shelters you.

"Spread for me." I kick at his ankles with my sneaker, pushing them apart. "Show me my hole."

I rest my forehead in the hollow of his throat and count backward from five. Three...Two...One. "Did I just drip cum on someone's car?" There it is. I grin to myself; he sounds mortified.

"Dallas Santra." My brain is completely empty and peaceful, and I have no idea what's going to come out. "I fucking dripped cum...What?" he snaps kind of impatiently.

"I love you more and more every time I breathe. And after the last breath, I'm gonna find you again and stay with you until all the planets and suns melt. When there’s nothing left, I’ll still be holding you."

"What if this is our wedding vows?” Blinking up at me, he rakes his hair back out of his face. "I'm not getting married naked on some stranger's car hood."

"Beckham Alexander. You're the only thing in my whole life that's always felt right, from the very start. You're the reason I get out of bed in the morning and go out in the world and try my best. Everything I do is so that I can come home and see your smile again. Sometimes I think love is too small of a word for us. But I don't have a bigger one, so I love you."

Despite what he thinks, my boyfriend-slash-unofficial-husband is incredibly smart and proficient at almost everything he tries. There’s just something about the kitchen that drains away his brain cells until he’s nothing but a blundering neanderthal with the common sense of a pea.

All four of us breathe a sigh of relief when we finally pull up the bumpy driveway full of potholes late that night. It would have been madness for me to stay with my mother, because my soul needs this shitty little brick house.

Beck draws up the medication slowly, making sure the boy has a clear view. He narrates everything, even though it’s less medical terminology and more, “then you detach the big thingie and swap it for the skinny guy”.

But this is what we do. We love the things that shouldn’t be alive. We fight the rules of nature, because fuck whatever says that we have to stay the way we were born. The things that should poison us just make us stronger. Even though we shouldn’t be here, in a place meant for something beautiful, we find the cracks and we grow toward the light.

Scout sticks his lower lip out thoughtfully and fishes another cookie out of the massive pack of Oreos Anjali put in his stocking. “Maybe it’s just that I have to wear pants here.” Roman pats the top of his head. “The doctor says you’re going to live.” I love when that boy absolutely roasts someone in his quiet, sweet voice. No one ever expects it, not even Scout.

“Mom and I have a gift for you, too.” I frown at him. “You already got me socks and whiskey. What else would I want?”

“And I want you to know that it would make me so happy if you called me mom. I love all of you boys, but you and Dallas are my sons. Even if you’re not comfortable calling me that, I’ll always love you and be the best mother I can for both of you.”

“The extra gaps all around it are for our future kids,” Dal observes wryly. “One, two, three, four,” I count, tapping all the open spaces. “You think that’s enough?”

We’re going to practice on Calvin until we’re good at this parenting thing, then find the kids who don’t feel at home in their bodies, and the ones who wander the streets looking for someone to love them. They’re going to have an amazing grandma, and a bunch of weird uncles.