Chapter 7 #2
“Well,” she says as she hangs her coat on a wall hook, then turns to me and holds out her hand for the leash.
“It got me thinking . . .” She pauses for a minute when I hand her the leash and my fingers accidentally glide across the silky skin of her inner wrist. I feel that touch everywhere, like a spark between us that sends lightning through my veins.
Given her inability to form the next words, maybe she feels it too?
“It got you thinking . . .”
She shakes her head slightly. “It got me thinking that maybe I could use my photography skills to help people. So I started looking for some volunteer opportunities, and there was an animal shelter looking for someone to come in and take good photos of their pets to be used on their website. They were hoping better photos would lead more people to come in wanting to adopt pets.”
She lets the brown ball of energy at the end of the leash lead her into the kitchen, where he sniffs around the base of every cabinet. I move to the stove and turn the burner back on, letting the sauce the chicken is cooking in come back up to a simmer.
“So you went there intending to take photos and left with a puppy?”
“Well, this guy was going to be put down this weekend if someone didn’t take him!” Her voice is passionate and defensive.
“He’s adorable, and obviously adorable puppies get adopted,” I remind her. “What’s wrong with him?”
“According to the shelter, he has a lot of energy. The first family that adopted him had a toddler, and this guy was constantly playing rough with him, knocking the kid down, asserting his dominance, that kind of stuff. The second family that adopted him apparently wanted someone who was already housebroken and didn’t want to put in the work to train him.
They brought him back after he ate the wife’s Louboutins. ”
“Louboutins?” I ask.
She looks at me like I was raised in a jungle by apes.
“You know, those heels with red soles that are a total status symbol. Needless to say, that lady was pissed and apparently didn’t want a dog who was going to eat her thousand-dollar shoes.
Why anyone would leave those sitting around where a puppy could get them is beyond me.
” She rolls her eyes as she sinks to the kitchen floor and lets the puppy come over and sniff her.
He is adorable, I’ll admit that. But I have a feeling that she has no idea what she’s in for. Puppies are like babies, they need constant care.
“So what are you going to do with this guy during the day, while you’re at work?”
“What do you mean?” she asks.
“I mean, you’re not going to let a puppy wander around the apartment when no one is home, chewing on whatever he can get his mouth on, right? Pillows, shoes, the legs of chairs . . . puppies will chew on anything, especially if they’re teething.”
“They told me he was crate trained.”
“Did they give you a crate?” I ask. She certainly didn’t come in with one.
“Yeah, it’s still in the back of my car. He rode over here in it. I didn’t trust him not to run wild in my car and get us into an accident.”
She runs her hand down the fur on his back as the puppy rubs the top of his head under her chin.
Her other hand comes up to stroke his belly, and fuck, I have to turn away before I start imagining those hands running themselves all over me.
It’s obviously been too long since I’ve gotten laid, because what the hell is wrong with me?
I grab two forks and resume shredding the chicken in the pan with a bit more vigor. There’s something cathartic about quickly slashing the tines through the meat, ripping it apart. It’s a good way to take out my sexual frustration.
“So what’s your plan for how long he’ll spend in the crate versus out of it?”
“I—” she stumbles over her words, “I haven’t really thought about that.”
“You don’t strike me as the type to do anything without a plan.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll develop a plan.” She looks back down at the puppy and continues petting him as if that will manifest a plan for her.
“Good, because you’re on your own with that thing,” I tell her.
Dogs are a commitment, and I don’t do those.
In fact, I think that the only reason a single woman would get a dog is because she wants to settle down.
In the absence of a significant other, Sierra’s probably trying to fill that void with a dog.
She might think she got this puppy to save him, but I bet it’s more about wanting something to love now that Peter left her.
“I didn’t ask for your help,” she says.
I glance down, expecting to see pain in her eyes because I know that was an insensitive thing to say. I assumed she’d need help and my policy is always honesty before all else, so I wanted her to know that I’m not here to be her dog trainer.
Instead of those gorgeous brown eyes reflecting hurt, I see nothing but defiance.
Good. Independent and strong. I like that in a woman.
Nope, I have to remind myself, not thinking of Sierra like that.
“You interested in chicken tacos for dinner?” I ask.
“I’m going to forget how to feed myself if you keep making me dinner,” she says.
“Well, we can’t have you starving in the future. Guess I’ll just have to eat these all myself.” The resulting look on her face has me laughing. “Kidding! I would never deny you tacos.”
“Thank God.” She sighs. “Honestly, I don’t even think I could let go of this guy long enough to cook something. Who knows what he’d tear apart while my back was turned?”
I glance down at the little monster, who’s currently cuddled up in her lap, his body surrounded on all sides by her folded legs. His eyes are drooping shut, like all the excitement of coming home has worn him out.
“I think he’s falling asleep,” I tell her, because I know she can’t see his face.
“Oh, great, so if I want any peace, I’m probably stuck here while he naps.” She strokes his back gently.
“Do you have a dog bed for him?” I ask as I start plating our tacos.
“No. The crate has some bedding in it and they said he should sleep in it at night, but I guess it’d be good to have a dog bed for when one of us is home.”
I don’t correct her assumption that I’ll be letting her dog out when she’s not home.
“You really didn’t think this through before bringing him home, huh?”
“Saying I’d foster him wasn’t exactly a premeditated moment for me. I just saw his adorable face, so full of love and curiosity, and there was no other choice.”
It’s hard not to admire her intentions, even though I disagree with her decision.
“What do you want on these tacos?” I ask, then list out the options. “Salsa? Sour cream? Lettuce? Guacamole?”
“Yes.”
“Yes to which?”
“All of it. I’m starving and it smells amazing in here. I want all the tacos and all the toppings.”
“I like the way you think,” I tell her as I build us identical plates of tacos, then bring the plates over to the corner where she’s sitting with a sleeping puppy in her lap.
I hand her a plate and sink down next to her with my back against a cabinet.
It’s not the most comfortable way to eat dinner, and I should probably let her sit here alone, so she realizes how stupid it was to get a dog—how tied down she’ll be—but whatever. I’m not that much of a dick.
“You don’t have to eat on the floor just because I got myself into this mess,” she says.
I glance over at her. Her blond hair is held back in a low ponytail with loose pieces framing her practically makeup-free face.
She looks sweet and wholesome, completely at ease sitting on the floor with a dog napping in her lap.
Her innocence tugs at a thought that’s been forming in the back of my mind.
“How long were you at that shelter before they told you about this puppy?”
“I don’t know, not long. He was one of the first dogs I photographed,” she says.
“If he was being put down this weekend, why would they have you take pictures to advertise that he’s available for adoption?”
The hand that was reaching for her taco stills in midair, hanging above her plate. “Uh . . . I don’t know.”
I give her a half smile, one that’s more you’ll laugh about this someday than I’m laughing at you.
“They totally pulled one over on you!” I can’t help but laugh.
“Crap,” she says, then looks down at the dog. Her voice changes so that it’s almost like she’s talking to a baby when she says, “We’ll just have to make you the best damn dog ever. People will be lining up to adopt you!”