Someone knocks lightly on the door. Speak of the devil. Damon swings it open and takes one look at the shit on the floor then at the two of us and shakes his head.
“Might I ask what you two are up to?”
“Pimpin’ Grams’ walker,” I answer just as plainly as Grams explained to me.
“I see.” He nods and holds back a smile, stuffing his big paws into the pockets of his pants. Damn, he’s beautiful. …