All Kinds of Tied Down Read Online Free

know, the dog won’t deter anyone at all.”
    Again I was flipped the bird before the three of us went out the front door. Locking it behind me, I leaped off the top step of the small stoop.
    “One, two, three—go!” I yelled, and I bolted away from Ian, running down the sidewalk like a crazy man and charging across the street without looking, knowing that in my Lincoln Park neighborhood the only thing I was in danger of being hit by would be a snowplow.
    It was dark but the streetlights were on, and the sky was a beautiful deep blue with indigo patches that would soon be lit up with stars—though I might or might not be able to see them for the light pollution. I loved the time of night when people were sitting down to dinner and I could see into their homes for just a moment as I jogged by on my normal run. The houses blurred at the moment, as I raced toward the park with Ian and Chickie close behind.
    “Miro!”
    I didn’t stop, and I heard Ian curse before Chickie was suddenly running beside me. Ian had allowed him to run free off the leash.
    Veering right, I ran by one of the poles that kept cars off the gravel path between the field where kids played soccer and the playground with the swings and jungle gym. Chickie caught up with me again, and when I took a different route down toward the jogging path, Ian was there, hand suddenly fisted in the back of my jacket, holding on.
    I slowed down, laughing, and he yanked me into him, bumping; his chest pressed into my back. We were both still moving, so he lost his balance when we collided and would have gone down if he hadn’t wrapped an arm around my neck for balance.
    His hot breath, his lips accidentally brushing against my nape, brought on a shiver I couldn’t contain.
    “Why’d you run?” he asked, still holding on, his other hand clutching the front of my jacket, his arm over my shoulder, across my chest.
    “Just to make sure Chickie had fun,” I said, feeling how hard my heart was beating and knowing it had nothing to do with the sprint I’d just led him on.
    “Yeah, but you’re cold,” Ian said, opening one hand, pressing it over my heart for a moment before he stepped away from me.
    I was freezing the second he moved. “Yeah, I am,” I agreed quickly, patting Chickie, who was nuzzling into my side. “Let’s jog back, get the blood pumping. That way we’ll get warm.”
    Ian agreed, and we jogged together along the path, Chickie flying forward, only to come loping back, making sure Ian was where he could see him.
    We made a giant loop and made it back home right before we both turned into Popsicles. Since I hadn’t seen Chickie relieve himself, I told Ian he should probably walk him around the block once more.
    “But I’m hungry,” he whined.
    “Well, I don’t know what to tell you. Your dog did not take a shit, and he needs to.”
    Ian pivoted to look at his dog. “Chickie!” he yelled.
    Chickie took one look at his master and squatted right there on the patch of grass beside the curb. Ian’s expression of disgust and disbelief sent me into hysterics.
    “You scared the shit outta the dog!”
    “That’s not funny.”
    I couldn’t even breathe, it was so funny.
    As Ian pulled plastic bags from his pocket, I doubled over, and Chickie came barreling up the steps past him—right to me—and licked my face, very pleased with himself.
    “Stupid dog,” he muttered as I continued to howl. “Stupid partner.”
    The man was cursed with both of us.
     
     
    I AN TOOK off his hoodie and pulled on a zippered cardigan of mine before he came into the kitchen and watched me put together our sandwiches. I had picked them up from Bruno & Meade, a deli I loved, and what I liked about it was that it didn’t assemble to-go orders. They gave you everything that came on the sandwich, all the ingredients, but the bread was sealed separately so it didn’t get hard—or soft, depending on which kind you ordered—and everything else came in Ziploc bags