MC Chronicles: The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 2: (Motorcycle Club Romance Novel) by Bink Cummings

Author:Bink Cummings [Cummings, Bink]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-02-02T00:00:00+00:00

“Where’s he at?” I ask, descending the basement steps of Big’s house with Big following a few steps behind.

“He’s in the basement. I kept him down here for the weekend. Wanted him away from all the chaos at the clubhouse,” he explains as my hand curls around the cool handle of the basement door. The last time I was down here was the night before I left Big to move to Chicago. It seems like such a long time ago, almost like another life.

Turning the knob and shoving the reinforced door wide, the same dark red walls capture my attention, but I don’t hear or see any dog as I scan the wide-open space.

“You sure he’s down here?” I ease into the room, looking left and right. It’s not changed a bit.

“Yeah, he’s probably in my bedroom sleeping. Go on back and check,” Big urges, stepping down the final step into the basement behind me.

I listen to his instructions and pad my bare feet along the cool wooden floor and down the hall lined with vintage Harley pictures. “Pretzel?” I call out. The sound of a soft whine and a tail slapping the hardwood is my greeting as I stop in front of Big’s closed bedroom door.

“Pretzel, is that you?” I crack the bedroom door open. A wet nose nudges the gap wider trying to push its way out, so I release the knob to let him root his escape. Wiggling his body like an eager crack fiend, Pretzel comes barreling out of the bedroom. Colliding with my legs, he rectifies his excitement by placing his hind end on the floor to sit posed and obedient. Sure, when I had him before he sat most of the time on command. This time he went to it intuitively. I’m delighted the training Big placed him in was money well spent.

Crouching, I slowly reach out and touch my pup’s resolute head. You wouldn’t know this dog was excited if not for his bright puppy dog eyes and wildly whipping tail. My hand runs down the crown of his head and the length of his back. I don’t know the commands he’s learned to obey, but this militant doggy pose isn’t lax enough for me. Shuffling backward on my crouched feet, my back touches the hall wall, and I use it to guide me safely down to sit on the floor. Tucking my legs into Indian style, I wave my hands and tell Pretzel to come. He listens, shaking out of his obedient form, and transforms into the happy go lucky dog I’ve loved for years. His wet nose roots my tucked legs, and I reach out to wrap my arms around his muscled doggy form, and pull him into my lap the best I can. Like a dog always does, he rolls onto his back, offering up his belly for a good rubdown. I follow his lead, and scratch his upturned form.

“That’s a good boy, Pretzel,” I baby talk, scratching his doggy armpits, as his body is splayed before me.

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