Chapter 16
“Oh come on!” I shout when my hair dryer trips the breaker, causing my house to fall silent. I forgot to unplug the microwave first. The old wiring in this house is going to drive me mad. I once had a guy come out and do an estimate and the number was so big I almost pulled a muscle laughing.
“Ugh!” I stomp my foot like a toddler. “I don’t have time for this. I have a client at eleven!” As if whatever gods are controlling my day can somehow fix it because it’s inconvenient for my schedule.
After the world’s fastest shower, I just want to dry my hair.
I try to brush through the knots while racing out of the bathroom.
Working little sections at a time toward the ends doesn’t even seem to make a difference, because I ran out of conditioner and now the texture is all wrong.
Maybe I didn’t rinse all the shampoo out.
Or maybe the water softener is busted again. Great.
Last night I was up late working on the realism drawing of my mom.
Something was off with the shadows and I spent far too much time trying to fix it—without any luck.
This morning I looked at it again, hoping fresh eyes would help, but it was no use.
I lost track of time, and now I’m running late for work.
I hate being late, it throws off my whole groove.
I make a note to ask Casper to help me with my drawing when I get to work. He’ll know what to do.
I bolt down the hall, skidding on one foot to stop in front of the breaker box.
Flip. Click. Slam. The lights turn on again.
Detouring through the kitchen on the way back, I yank the microwave cord from the wall, producing a small pop of a spark, and sprint back into the bathroom to resume drying my hair, this time with success.
Flipping my head upside down, I hold the hair dryer in one hand and my phone in the other to check the traffic report. There’s an accident on the highway, because of course there is. Looks like I’ll be taking the back roads until I get ahead of it.
Black jeans, black tee. My usual uniform. Someday I’ll start wearing more colors, but today is not that day. I grab my hairbrush and tear it through the tangles. Close enough.
Three more minutes before I need to be walking out the door. I might actually make it on time!
With toothpaste globbed onto my toothbrush, I brush while scanning my bedroom floor for shoes. I spot my combat boots and clumsily step into them.
Hurrying back to the bathroom to spit, I lean forward in the mirror and notice the white smear of toothpaste that dripped onto my shirt.
“Fuh!”
After rinsing my mouth, I dash to the bedroom, swap shirts, and haul ass through the house, throwing open the back door and grabbing my purse off the table on the way out. I’m only a minute behind when I back out of the driveway. Amazing.
Sadly, I missed my opportunity to make coffee this morning, but at least I won’t be late.
Halfway down the road, I turn down the radio when I hear a funny clanking sound from the car. What now?
I groan.
What, is everything in my life going on fucking strike? Relationships, vibrators, and as of this recent development, my car. Something is in retrograde.
I miss Logan. Normally, I would text him I was running behind, and he’d have a few words to chill me out and a fresh coffee waiting for me when I arrived. However, that won’t be today. I’m going through a cleanse, taking a break from men—or at least, attractive, emotionally unavailable men.
Another light turns red. It’s starting to feel less like a drive to work and more like a scenic tour of every intersection in the fucking city. I pull out my phone and quickly shoot off a text to Thor.
Hey, are you at the studio? I’m running behind. So sorry.
Hawthorne
Nah, I swapped with Casper, he’s opening. Who cares anyway, you don’t have a client until 11:30.
11:30? I thought it was 11!
Now, I’m remembering, I think he’s right. I was so distracted yesterday, Frankie was telling me something before I left and I totally spaced. Why does my life feel like such a mess?
Hawthorne
Schedule says 11:30. Casper can double check. Or Logan, he’s probably there already.
That’s because he practically lives at the studio.
Doesn’t matter now, looks like karma has decided to bless me with coffee after all! I should have probably saved that money to go toward the car fund in case it’s extra fucked, but I really could use a pick-me-up. Self-care matters.
After swinging through the drive-thru for an iced Americano, I flip on the radio to sing the rest of the way to work. No need to hurry if it’s just Casper and me . . . and probably Logan, but he usually stays in his office in the mornings.
I pull into the parking lot behind the shop in a spot next to Casper. Doesn’t look like Logan has arrived yet; he must be having a morning too. I grab my coffee and bag and climb out of my car, locking it up and heading for the rear employee entrance.
Inside, I make my way through the shop, nodding to Casper as I pass by the sterilization room. “Morning.”
“Hey,” he calls over his shoulder.
I set down my coffee and purse in my booth, heading toward the front of the shop to unlock the door and turn on the OPEN sign. That’s when I notice something outside the right picture window.
“What in the hell?”
I spot a . . . black bear? I squint and continue my way toward the front. No, it’s a dog! Oh my God, who would leave their dog out here all on their own?
My eyes widen when I unlock the front door and step out onto the sidewalk, where I’m quickly made aware just how massive this animal is. I blink a few times; it looks almost like Loki.
“Oh, you’re a big puppy.”
Massive. With shaggy black fur and friendly golden eyes.
I glance from left to right. We’re sandwiched on the city block between a trendy wine bar and a hair salon.
The salon won’t open for another two hours, and the wine bar doesn’t open until four.
There are no cars around. The dog stares at me.
As I close the distance between us, it begins to slap its tail on the sidewalk.
“Where is your owner, baby?”
I hold out the back of my hand for the dog to sniff before scratching . . . him under the chin.
“You’re a sweetheart.”
My fingers probe around his collar for any tags, but there’s nothing. “How long have you been out here? Are you thirsty? I’m going to get you some water.”
I swing open the shop door and go back inside. “Casper!” I yell. “Whose dog is out front?”
Casper pops his head out of the sterilization doorway as I head for the employee lounge.
“I dunno. He was there when I rolled up.”
What if the poor thing’s been out there all night? “Do you think he’s hungry?”
“Nah, he looks like he ate his owner, so he’ll probably be good till dinner.”
I wave a hand. “Oh, he does not.”
“Well, Logan should be here any minute, you can ask him what he wants to do with it.”
The employee lounge is small but sufficient.
It contains a tiny kitchen space with a fridge, sink, and microwave for people to heat up food during their breaks.
I find an old Tupperware container in one of the cabinets and fill it with water, then walk back outside and place the dish next to his fuzzy front paws.
The dog looks down at the water dish, then back up to me.
“Aren’t you thirsty?” He leans into me when I scratch him behind the ears. “Aww, you’re a good boy.”
I untie his leash from the pole and walk him around to the back of the shop where we have a patch of grass so he can do his business. He sniffs around for a while but doesn’t seem to need to relieve himself. Then I spot Logan driving into the back lot.
I sigh. “Shit. Okay, look, my boss can be kind of a stickler about animals in the shop, so you’re gonna need to give the best big puppy-dog eyes you can muster, got it?”
His golden orbs shine when he looks up, and nostalgia washes over me. He reminds me so much of the dog I had when I was a little girl. Same color, same eyes, same size. I rest my palm on his tall back. “Yes, exactly like that!”
Logan hops out of his truck and strides over to me as I step onto the sidewalk. “Did you get a dog?”
It’s the first thing he’s said to me in a week that isn’t work-related. It’s nice to hear his conversational voice again, but I wish he’d use it to open up to me.
“No, some asshole tied him up out front and left him there,” I say, glancing down at the pretty canine.
“Kelly, what the fuck? Go tie him back up again. You have no idea what that dog is capable of. That thing looks like he only knows German attack phrases.”
My arms shoot out to cover the dog’s soft ears with my hands. “Be nice!” I whisper. My furry friend wags his tail and glances up at me with his tongue lolling out. Oh, my heart. “See? He likes me!”
Logan rolls his eyes. “You don’t even know who he belongs to.”
I cross my arms. “Whoever the owner is doesn’t deserve this sweet boy. Why would they just leave him out here like this all night?”
He shrugs. “Maybe because he looks like a—”
Rising to my tiptoes, I clap a palm over his mouth. “Is your comment constructive or critical?”
Logan purses his lips when I pull my hand away.
I’ve always wanted a dog. Now might be the time, it seems the universe has put one right in my path. Maybe it’s just my hormones or the fact that this one reminds me of the dog I had when I was little, but the words fall out before I can stop them. “I’m going to adopt him!”
“Absolutely not.” He crosses his arms.
That was the wrong thing to say to me. Not when I’ve already had the morning from hell. “You don’t get to tell me what dogs I’m allowed to save!”
“He’s not a dog. He’s a direwolf.”
I pet the dog’s head. He is a bit wolfy, but he’s got a collar, clearly he was somebody’s pet. “He’s very docile.”
“He looks dangerous. And pissed off.”
I huff under my breath. “Yeah, well, apparently that’s how I like ’em.”
“What was that?” Logan cocks his chin to the side.
I ignore his question when the wolf-dog’s tail starts thwapping the ground. “Look, he’s not mad. He’s a perfect little angel! He’s adorable!”
“Kelly, that hellhound has murder mitts the size of dinner plates and you’re talking to it like it’s some roly-poly kitten. We need to call animal control.”
“No!” I shout. I inhale a lungful of air and slowly release it, fanning my fingers at my sides, attempting to stave off a hissy fit. “Okay,” I say with a calm voice. “How about I take the dog to the vet and let them scan for a microchip. Just really quick. At least let me do that.”
He glimpses at his watch. “You’re going to be covered in stencil ink and telling someone to relax their arm in like . . . twenty minutes.” He scrubs a hand over his face and sighs. “I’ll take him to see if he’s chipped.”
“And if he’s not?”
He purses his lips and stares at me. My eyes plead with him to let me keep this delightful furry monster.
“Then I’ll adopt him,” he declares.
Excuse me? I blink several times. “You mean, I’ll adopt him?”
“No. I mean me.”
“You?” I grimace. “You don’t even like dogs!”
He cocks his head to the side, eyeing my new fuzzy best friend. “I like this one,” he states.
What the fuck is happening? I survey the parking lot, hoping somebody else is nearby so they can confirm that yes, Logan has done a total one-eighty. Has he lost his mind?
Squaring my shoulders, I plant my feet in front of him, prepared to go toe-to-toe with a giant. “I have a house!”
“I have more square footage,” he counters. “You don’t have a yard!”
Logan raises a brow. “There’s a dog park across the street.”
I cross my arms. “You complain when people eat too loud.”
“I’ll wear noise-canceling headphones.”
My voice raises an octave. “You work too much.”
He shrugs. “I’ll work less.”
I shove at his chest. “Logan!”
“Yes, Chaos?” He smiles and I flinch.
I narrow my eyes. “Why are you being such a dick right now?”
“This is too much dog for someone your size.”
“That’s bullshit, and we both know it,” I say with a scoff.
“Maybe.”
I look down at the adorable pup and sigh.
If anybody needs a dog in their life, it’s Logan.
He needs a companion, someone to keep him company and form a quiet bond with.
Someone to be with him when I can’t. There’s something about this sweet animal that reminds me of him, and it’s not just the size.
I probably can’t afford to take care of a dog of this size anyway, at least not until I start tattooing full time. The food bill alone would bankrupt me.
“Shop dog?” I say, hoping for a compromise.
“We can’t have a dog in the shop.”
I sigh. It was worth a shot.
“Okay.” I hand him the leash. “You can adopt him.”
“If he’s not already chipped,” Logan adds.
He takes the leash from my fingers, gives a sharp whistle, and the dog falls right into step beside him as they march to his truck.
They’re kind of a perfect match.
Logan is driving out of the parking lot when I swing the door to the shop open and return to my tattoo bay and iced Americano. My phone buzzes in my back pocket.
BlackShirtBlackPants554: You will never replace me.
“Oh, fuck off,” I grumble, then lock the screen and stuff it back in my pocket. I roll my neck, trying to shake off the stress. My phone buzzes again, and I catch the notification at the top of the screen.
I clutch my drink, but condensation has built up around the sides of the plastic to-go cup, making it slick.
As soon as I bring it to my mouth and sip from the straw, the drink slips from my fingers and lands at my feet, exploding on impact and spraying all of my clothes and every visible inch of my workstation.
I nod at the mess. “Cool.”
Sighing, I trudge back to the kitchen area and wet some paper towels, then tuck a canister of Lysol wipes under my arm to get to work cleaning my space before my client arrives.
I was hoping to ask Casper about my drawing, but it looks like that will have to wait until this afternoon because with the way my luck is going, I’ve got my work cut out for me today.
Every time I hear the shop’s door open, I’m on my feet, checking to see if Logan is back.
He’s gone for over an hour before he returns.
The back door opens, and I step out of my booth just in time to catch him sneaking in the back entrance—dog in tow—now sporting a fresh new collar fitted with a couple metal tags.
He actually fucking did it.
I stop at the end of the hallway and plant my hands on my hips. “What happened to no dogs allowed in the shop?”
His eyes catch mine, and he holds up a finger to his lips while sneaking the massive beast into his office.
“What did you name him?” I ask.
“Dogmeat.”
My lips part. That’s the most heinous name I’ve ever heard.
He chuckles, probably at the shock I’m wearing all over my face. “Relax. Thought I’d give you the honors. Pick something good.”