“I’m back!” Will called out, bending to ruffle and tug on Sammie’s ears. She seated herself politely at his feet, although her front paws were rising and falling excitedly in what Brent liked to call “the traditional dance of her people.”

When he straightened, Brent was standing in front of him, eyes bright gold. 

“Whoa. What’s gotten into you this time?”

“You know what’s gotten into me. It’s that damned kilt,” Brent growled. 

Will did know how Brent felt about the kilt, but when you were in a pipe band, there was no getting around wearing a kilt on Burns night. The band, short on handsome tenors, had agreed that former LEOs who were current law school students still qualified for membership.

Will snorted. “Well, ‘A Man’s a Man’ isn’t going to sing itself, and it would be weird for the haggis to be presented while a guy in khakis sang. That’s not how they roll at the Caledonian Heritage Society. The kilt is traditional.”

“Nobody was looking at a haggis while you were singing, I guarantee that,” said Brent, hand reaching under the kilt and sliding up Will’s thigh to his bare ass. He groaned. “Do you have to be this traditional?”

“Look at his paws, Brent. They’re the size of salad plates. He’s going to be huge. Like, a hundred pounds, easy,” said Will, staring at the screen.

“It says he’s sweet, though. Easygoing. Good with kids and other dogs.”

“Great Pyrenees and what?”

“Saint Bernard.”

Will groaned. “He’ll drool everywhere.”

I had a ton of fun writing it! The edits to the rest weren't exactly fun, but they were satisfying. Free Will's a much better read now.

--Amour