Matchmaking: Doggy-style (Meet-Cute #4)

Chapter 1

ONE

There he is: the British man of my dreams.

My heart pounded as fast as my mischievous Boxer puppy darted toward the alleyway.

All ears, paws, and boundless enthusiasm, Nova would do just about anything to prolong our walk. In this case, he needn’t bother, as our third circling of the block was about to result in the “accidental” run-in I’d manifested.

The object of my adoration glanced my way, a slow smile spreading across pouty lips perfectly highlighted by sandy-colored scruff. While I was only nearing the start of my workday, Graham had already reached the end of his. Wavy strands of barely brown hair told a tale of the hours he’d spent raking his fingers repeatedly through, loosening the hold of his sculpting gel until his hair appeared slightly longer up top.

Not that I paid super close attention to how he looked in the morning—uptight and impeccably businesslike—versus the evening. Hair mussed, tie loosened with an aggressive yank that caused my legs to quake, the top buttons of his shirt undone and hinting at clavicle.

Okay, so I noticed a lot—it’s not my fault our living room and kitchen windows lined up.

Or that I occasionally let Nova out to pee while Graham was cooking dinner, a skillset that’d skipped over me when talents were passed out. Sometimes I’d be up early, too, fumbling to get ready for the sunrise yoga class I’d eventually decide to skip in favor of more sleep…

Then bam , he’d be stepping into his living room, face freshly shaven, wearing the hell out of a suit.

Idiosyncrasies like that were totally normal things to know about your neighbor.

Who you also happened to be in lust with.

“’ello,” Graham called in my direction, all British-like without the H-sound, and I nearly melted into a puddle on the sidewalk.

Not only would I let him walk over me, I’d welcome it.

Admittedly, his rugged jawline, lean muscles, and impressive stamina caught my eye the day he’d moved next door, but it’d been the swoony accent that’d done me in. It wasn’t so much me with the acousticophilia, but my lady parts. Certain sounds jolted my libido into motion, and it’d been throbbingly persistent as of late. As much as I’d like to chalk it up to a spell drier than the Sahara, my urges were noisier and more persistent whenever Graham Edwards was around. That went double whilst he was speaking, and see how good I was getting at ye old language from the Motherland?

Seriously, pop a monocle over one eye and I’d be the very picture of sophistication and class.

Now bored with whatever was happening—or not happening, as it sadly were—Nova lowered his dark snout to the ground, sniffing at some mystery spot. Then he let out a yowl, barking and tugging against the leash, dragging his oversized paws as I towed him to my side once again.

Didn’t my canine-wingman remember the goal was to create an opportunity to talk to Graham before heading to the Drunken Kraken to sling drinks all night? I couldn’t go another week waiting for fate.

Only one thing to do, and that was to lean into my Aries Moon side and shoot my shot. “Hey,” I said, only for a section of pink and blond hair to fall forward and obscure my view. Taking that as a sign I should do a flirty ear tuck, like in the movies, I go to complete the move…

Only to smack myself in the face with Nova’s leash, and ew , ew , ew . A month’s worth dirt, sand, and grime just touched my lips, and I didn’t even want to consider the word that rhymed with goop.

I sputtered, heavy on the raspberry noise and, rather than abandon ship, powered on through. “It’s so good to see you. I’ve actually been hoping to run into you again…”

With Graham coming closer, more details stand out, from his thick eyebrows forever furrowed in concentration to the bob of his throat and the divot in the stiff upper lip I’d like to acquaint myself with to the take-out bag of Chinese food dangling from one hand.

An ocean-scented breeze wafted across my skin, swirling more hair in my face and causing the rows of bright, merry-colored flowers in front of Mrs. Garcia’s turquoise bungalow to bob.

Instinct left me winding my hand around the leash as if my life depended on it. “Supernova Maximus Jones, don’t you dare ?—”

As if I’d literally dared my unruly puppy to do it, the bundle of tan, white, and black fur lunged for the flowers, sights set to destroy. Despite my preparations, the sharp jerk sent me off balance, my dog cranking up the naughty in the time it took me to recover, going from Nova to Supernova in a fury of explosive glory.

Dirt and flower shrapnel went flying, the stinker digging claws into the damp earth with unfettered glee, leaving me no choice but to abandon decorum—along with the useless leash—and dive like my volleyball coach taught me to in high school, sacrificing my body for the sake of the team.

Fingers grasping for Nova’s collar, my knees hit the dirt, squashing plants I meant to save. Finally, after some grunting on both our parts, I managed to snag my mangy mutt around the middle and get my feet beneath me.

As I hefted him in the air, he continued to pedal his legs for all he was worth, sending shredded leaves, broken stems, and a smattering of soil across my arms and face. Normally I’m cool with living my life solo, but lately I’ve been experiencing bouts of loneliness, which led to adopting a puppy. And while I fell in love with Nova at first sight, I was a little in over my head, and that returned me to wishing for a partner to share not only the burden, but all of life’s ups and downs.

Summoning the scowl I gave patrons during last call, I did my best to remain firm when I spun Nova around, practically touching my nose to his squashed, black snout. “ Dude . You’ve had your pick of plants to maim and piss on for blocks, and you choose the one flowerbed that’ll have Mrs. Garcia demanding both our heads? It’s off-limits. Just like the expensive underwear you keep dragging out to the living room to chew.”

Nova whimpered, and with my metaphorical monocle shattering alongside any pretenses of being a refined, graceful woman, I fought the urge to do the same.

Somewhere between waving at Graham and getting into a mud-wrestling match with my puppy, the Brit had closed the distance. There was no way he didn’t hear that last part, and my face flamed with the heat of a thousand suns.

A daisy with a happy yellow center floated to the ground, only one forlorn and crumpled petal remaining. I kicked it aside and lowered my gangly pup to the ground so I could focus on the present.

So I could focus on Graham.

The guy I’d been crushing on for a month bent at the waist, and did I extend a hand, or…? How’d they do this in England again?

Panic overloaded my nervous system as I contemplated whether or not to curtsey in return—if push came to shove, these linen shorts did flare a bit at the hem.

“Out for an evening stroll?” Graham asked.

Nova panted, tongue lolled, and I nodded in response.

Details from my daydreams of this moment gave way to reality: Graham wasn’t bowing; he was patting my puppy’s head. In retrospect, that made more sense. People across the pond didn’t go around bowing all day long.

Except to royalty, maybe? Is that still a thing?

The wild wagging of Nova’s tail implied he’s as affected by the Brit’s cooing as I was. “So, who wore out whom?”

Sweet Saturn, I volunteer or plead guilty or whatever.

Right when I thought Graham’s gaze would lift and latch onto mine with the same passion from my daydreams…

The turncoat at my feet barreled into my crush’s arms with the same sort of reckless abandon I used to enjoy before too many people took advantage and hurt me.

A handful of seconds later, my puppy added the pièce de resistance, going belly up on Graham’s feet.

It worked like a freaking charm, too.

“Who’s a good boy?” Graham rhetorically asked, giving the pink and white belly the sought-after pets, and I couldn’t even blame our— my —sexy neighbor for squatting and indulging, as I’d done countless times myself. “Nova’s the best boy, isn’t that right?”

As the tail-wagging and laughing carried on, drunken butterflies fluttered higher and wilder, spreading a sense of urgency that left me breathless and raw.

Although, if I was being honest, I did feel a tad left out.

I’d never expected to feel so jealous of a dog— there was licking —but here we were.

At long last, Graham tipped up his chin, his full attention sending a spotlight of golden warmth over me.

Then I noticed the foreboding scrunch of his brow and slight cock of his head. “Sorry. I’m afraid I c aa n’t quite recall y oo r name.”

My gut was a runaway rollercoaster, completing a loop-de-loop over the swoony accent before plummeting down to my beaded flip flops, and I had to work to prevent my smile from following suit. Being new to San Diego meant he’d met a ton of people in a matter of a weeks, so it’s totally fine he couldn’t remember my name.

Not great, but fine.

And, uh, at least my dog was memorable?

“Mine’s Graham.” He stood and extended his hand, so evidently exchanging names as I showed him where to retrieve “the post”—all while thwarting Nova’s attempts to catch a bee that’d inevitably sting him—meant nothing. “In case you’ve forgotten mine.”

As if that could ever happen. “No, I remembered. Like an elephant, I am,” I said, tapping a finger to my temple and, for some inexplicable reason, affecting a cockney accent to rival Eliza Doolittle’s in My Fair Lady .

Electricity coursed an exhilarating path from our adjoined palms, zipping up my arm and sending frissons of delight and deoxygenated blood to my heart. The organ pumped in time with the pulsating current, and I got lost in eyes the color of malachite. Intense green with concentric rings around dilating pupils that, just like the crystal, encouraged me to take a risk.

“Are you withholding your name as penance? I understand, but if you’ll be so kind as to give it to me once more”—he swiped his thumb across my knuckles, the drag of his callused pad compelling me to comply—“I promise to commit it to memory and never forget it again.”

“Let me guess. You wish that I was wearing a collar like Nova’s.”

Graham blinked, his eyebrows arching sky high. “I… Uh…”

My attempt to tease away the awkwardness got lost in translation, and I rushed to fix it. “With an engraved tag you can read, I mean. Not in a kinky, BDSM sort of way. Not that I’d ever kink shame, as I enjoy getting a bit risqué myself.” Oh-my-Stars, Zoie. Stop. Talking.

He continued to blink, mouth agape, and I still hadn’t given him a proper answer. “Zoie. Is my name for you to remember.” Why was I suddenly speaking in robot?

No idea, but sadly, it wasn’t a new, unexpected development. This was the very thing Ethan and Zac gave me shit about. When customers hit on me during my shifts at the bar, I could flip my hair and flirt with the best of them—it was called living off tips.

But if I found them attractive and held any actual interest, my tongue either tangled itself in knots or ran too free, spilling personal details at an alarming pace.

Not that my name was anything I wanted to withhold—if anything, I longed for Graham Edwards to use his dulcet tongue and purr it directly in my ear.

A fantasy that’d be pretty hard to fulfill if he couldn’t remember it.

I shifted from foot to foot, struggling to say something clever while fighting my urge to offer him a free Tarot card reading or launch into the healing properties of crystals.

Did you know your irises are the exact shade of green as a gemstone that opens the heart to unconditional love?

A lot of guys rolled their eyes over energy fields they didn’t understand or know how to tap into, which was why I’d abstain from adding fun facts about how malachite also alleviated menstrual disorders. Dudes got so weird about that stuff.

Over the years, I’d experienced a myriad of reactions to the way I discussed the metaphysical and checking in with the universe. Some indifference. Plenty of derision. One of my dates freaked and called me a witch, which honestly, I took as a compliment. Although the haste with which he ended the evening suggested he hadn’t given it that way.

Females tended to be more open to the idea, although I’d gone on a date with a woman who mistook my belief of the metaphysical as clairvoyance and bade me to look into the future and see if we were going to work out—sadly, we were not, no crystal ball required.

Thus far, the intrigued men ended up being predominantly interested in getting into my pants, and while I’d fantasized about Graham and I becoming intimate enough to share a pair, I was done with meaningless hookups, regardless of gender. I always got the short end of the stick, in the most literal and disappointing of ways, too.

“Zoie, Zoie, Zoie.” Every time Graham repeated my name, he increased the volume, rolling it around that refined mouth of his. Once more and I might spontaneously combust.

Plastic crinkled, the noise instinctively disconcerting.

Then came the sinking realization Nova’s leash had gone slack. My brain recognized the eerie calm before the discovery of the destruction, same way it’d done a few nights ago, when I’d arrived home from my closing shift at the bar to see what thirty pounds of bored, unsupervised puppy could do.

Flipping on the lights had created a disco ball effect, refracted rainbows dappling the wreckage of my living room. Sequined pillows were one of my decorating staples, for glitzy and sensory reasons.

I guess I should say used to be , since their remains had been strewn about in gaudy flashes. Shreds of fabric. Clumps of fluffy white stuffing. A few, extra-tall, mismatched high-heels from my clubbing days—naturally, Nova fetched them from the closet and gnawed them up and down.

By the time I finished cleaning the whole showgirl-esque crime scene, including the suspiciously yellow clumps of stuffing near the bottom, I was seriously debating whether all dogs really do go to heaven.

Since then, I’d pored over websites with tricks and tips on training my pet to be obedient. Remaining calm but firm, I used my sternest voice and commanded Nova to “Leave it.”

I received the tiniest side eye, and then he returned to chomping at the plastic bag Graham quickly swung higher.

My dog took that as a challenge, but last second, a bouncing grasshopper deterred him.

“Sorry, we’re still getting things figured out,” I said, nearly dislocating my elbow when Nova lunged at the bug. Story of my life, and while I advised others to give it over to the universe, lately it just flipped the bird in return.

Everything within me stilled the instant Graham’s eyes locked onto mine. Here it was, the scenario I’d envisioned upon taking this walk.

Gravity thickened and pinned me in place, making it impossible for me to move like I want to.

No, wait—that was the leash my adorable troublemaker had wound around my calves and my ankles, a fun reality I registered as I tripped and plummeted toward the sidewalk, legs irrevocably bound.

Instinct took over, leaving me gripping anything within reach, which in the here and now, happened to be Graham.

Poor me, I know.

My fingers gripped sturdy shoulders, only my momentum was stronger than expected and still sent me forward, my palms slippery thanks to my frayed nerves.

Down I went, hands dragging down his arms, until I came to rest with my face pressed up against his crotch. Fuck my life.

Vaguely, I noted the bulge was impressive, and cheeks aflame, I popped to my feet.

Our bodies knocked together, and I wobbled, Graham steadying me with one hand braced against my hipbone. “Thanks,” I rasped.

“Best catch the rascal, yeah?” Before I could wade through his accent, he released me and whistled, the sound sharp enough I lifted my shoulders toward my ears.

But my dog…?

He paused, ears perked and head cocked.

“Come ‘ere, boy.” Graham patted his thighs as he pinned my insubordinate pup with his green, green eyes, the command clear.

Just like that, my dog came trotting over like he’d known how to obey the entire time. “Have you a treat?”

After a two second ADHD delay, I realized Graham was asking me and not Nova, because duh . But also, what sort of magic was this, and where could I hone my craft? If I’d uttered the word “treat” aloud, there’d be no crotch or boob unturned.

I withdrew a couple of training chews and both Graham and I showered Nova with praise and pats as he ate them from my palm. There were even false proclamations of him being a good boy.

Make no mistake: he was the bestest dog ever, and I loved his smooshy, droopy face and excited wiggle butt walk. But a good dog he was not.

For instance, he was pushing his snout against the fly of Graham’s fitted slacks, his sniffing and noisy exhaling a sure sign he was leaving a trail of slobber across the pressed and formerly pristine black fabric.

And even though my doggy’s actions caused secondhand embarrassment, I could hardly blame him.

Come to think of it, I’d done similar, just with slightly less snuffing.

From start to finish, this entire incident had been a disaster. I must’ve misread my horoscope or the signs, and I gnawed the inside of my cheek, wishing for a way to undo, undo, undo.

I’d go back in time and cave to Nova’s angling for a longer walk. We’d try again tomorrow or the next day, after more hours to prep and definitely after Mercury was no longer in retrograde.

Maybe then I wouldn’t be standing here mourning the loss of my shot with a guy who’d just forget my name again by tomorrow.