20. Rory
Rory
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
All I can do is watch, frozen in amused horror, as Spam takes off, streaking across the grass to the edge of the fence.
He runs around the perimeter while Nate stands, bewildered.
Two of the other dogs, a large husky and a miniature poodle with a pink bow on her head, come running toward Spam, apparently excited to join him in causing havoc.
Spam yelps. He’s clearly having the time of his life.
He twirls in a circle, chasing his tail for a few minutes. Then, apparently bored with that game, he starts to hump the husky.
“Stop that!” Dolores snaps.
I’m not sure if she’s talking to Spam, all of the dogs, or to the owners, who, like me, are staring at the scene as it unfolds before us.
None of us are making any strides toward settling the dogs down.
But then, this is obedience class. If any of us knew how to control our dogs, we wouldn’t be here in the first place.
The one holdout from the chaos so far, a golden retriever who frankly looks like trouble, finally realizes he’s missing out on all the fun.
But instead of heading for Spam, Spam’s new boyfriend, and the poodle voyeur, the golden heads straight for Dolores, jumps up on her, and starts humping her leg.
I double over with laughter, my cheeks and belly aching.
This is the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in months. Maybe ever.
It’s all Spam’s fault, and I don’t care at all. I haven’t laughed this hard in weeks. I’ve barely smiled since we got Mom’s diagnosis, and I know I promised to prioritize her.
But all I can think of right now is the way Spam looks, trying to have his way with the husky, the fact that Pink Bow is looking on in canine delight, and that Dolores has completely lost any control over this class.
“Bruno!” The husky’s owner heads toward the dogs, apparently ready to break this thing up.
At least someone is taking action.
I’m laughing too hard to be of any use, and Nate is standing in the center of the fenced-off area, arms crossed over his chest, just watching the whole thing with a smirk.
It’s not like my neutered boy dog could impregnante Bruno even if he wanted to, of course, and it’s certainly not like Spam is hurting the other dog. The husky is at least four times as big as my little guy, despite whatever view of the situation Spam seems to have.
As his owner moves toward the two dogs, Bruno appears to finally sense that he’s, at least physically, the dominant one of the two and shakes off Spam.
Rather than heading for his owner, though, the husky trots off in the opposite direction.
And Spam, instead of following his new friend, heads for the poodle.
She—I assume it’s a she from the bow, but I suppose you never know—is now relieving herself on the grass.
Dolores pushes the golden retriever off of her for the second time, while that dog’s owner stands next to them, apologizing profusely, but clearly not in control of the animal.
At this point, none of the owners have any control over their dogs, so at least we’re in good company.
Dolores’s face is a shade of purple.
Something swells in my chest at the sight. Pride, maybe?
See, Nate? It wasn’t all my fault. It wasn’t just that Spam needed to be trained. And he’s not the one humping a human.
For some reason, this feels like an accomplishment.
Or maybe it’s not so much pride as schadenfreude, a tiny spark of pleasure at everyone else having a rough go of it.
Leave it to the Germans to have a word for the concept of taking pleasure in someone else’s misfortune.
I’m not sure I should be this proud of owning a rogue canine, but at least it’s not entirely my fault. Spam was just…made differently.
Or dropped on his head as a puppy. There’s really no way to know.
But brain damage or not, I love my little weirdo.
Nate finally heads toward me, ignoring what has become a canine playtime instead of an obedience class.
“I think we should go,” he says when he’s close enough to be heard over the barking.
I snort. “I think we might be asked to leave if we don’t.”
Spam streaks along the fence at top speed. As he nears us, Nate makes a quick move, anticipating the way Spam tries to dodge us, and cuts off the victory lap.
He scoops Spam into his arms with surprising agility.
Spam, still vibrating with excitement, licks Nate’s face.
“Come on, crazy,” he says.
There’s something in his voice I can’t quite place. I’m expecting frustration, maybe even anger that Spam managed to derail not only the obedience class, but our date, too.
But there’s no edge to Nate’s voice. It almost sounds like he likes the little menace, the way his vowels round and his tone smooths over the situation.
Obviously, the stress of this failed obedience class is getting to me, because Nate does not like Spam. He’s made his position clear.
And my heart is not melting at the thought of Nate and Spam bonding.
I mentally shake my finger at my heart.
Do not fucking melt.
I take a deep breath, reminding myself to stand firm, as Nate clips the leash to Spam’s collar so the little rascal can’t escape.
The three of us walk toward the gate. We pause as we near Dolores, who is still fending off the golden retriever’s attention.
Well, Nate and I pause. Spam pulls on the leash like he has a million better places to be.
“We’ll be heading out now,” Nate says politely.
Dolores’s face is the color of an eggplant.
I wait for her to tell us we’re the worst dog owners ever or that Spam is the worst dog on the planet or that we’re never allowed back, but all she does is nod.
She’s probably just glad to be rid of us. I would be, if I was in her position.
As we walk to the car, the other owners are slowly reeling in their dogs, and peace is being restored.
It’s a little disappointing, actually. The complete disobedience in the setting of an obedience class made for a fun date.
Nate sets Spam in the back seat, where the dog perches quietly in the center seat.
The little runt is the picture of obedience.
Nice timing, Spam.
“Now he behaves,” Nate mutters, echoing my thoughts as he slides into the driver’s seat.
I bite my lip. If I was Nate, I’d be upset by today’s events, the fact that we were, essentially, kicked out of an obedience class. As a K-9 officer, he has a reputation to uphold, after all.
But then Nate starts laughing, gripping the steering wheel with both hands, his body shaking. “When Spam started humping that bigger dog? Oh my God. I thought Dolores was going to lose her shit.”
His laughter is the catalyst for mine.
“And the poodle, just standing there watching them.” I can barely get the words out around my laughter.
“Fuck, the poodle.” Nate laughs even louder.
Spam yips, adding his voice to the conversation, which just makes everything even funnier.
Nate reaches across the console and wraps an arm around my shoulder. I let him pull my body towards him as much as the setup of the SUV allows.
His body is warm, familiar, and when he lands a kiss on my forehead, I start to melt.
This is the Nate I know.
He couldn’t have done something like what Yvonne suggested. I’m sure of it.
I’m not sure what he’s hiding. I know there’s something, and that’s what’s keeping me from opening up.
But it can’t be that he stalked me or kept me single.
I just can’t reconcile this man, the one who’s laughing so hard at a poodle that tears are forming in the corners of his eyes, with the kind of person who would manipulate another person’s life.
This man who brought my parents casseroles—dear God, I hope he didn’t make them himself—and who cleaned their kitchen, just because. Who’s going to these lengths to prove himself to me.
Unlike everyone else I’ve dated, he’s not giving up on me. On us.
When I really look back, it’s true that every guy I dated broke up with me.
But it’s also true that I wasn’t in love with any of them.
I kept the relationships going because I thought I just needed to stick it out. That if I hung in there, something would work out. That the feelings would grow.
But maybe it was always Nate. Maybe that’s why nothing ever worked out.
My laughter starts to fade.
Because of Nate, but not in the way Yvonne suggested. But because I was always in love with him.
The realization hits me like a ton of bricks, and I push it away just as fast.
No. It’s not that simple, and it can’t be that easy for him.
“Oh my God,” Nate says, wiping his eyes. He sits back in his seat. “That was…”
“Right?” I hope he can’t read my smile from this angle. It stretches across my face, so obviously fake as I fight to push away any feelings about Nate and think back to the nonsense of the day.
I rub the sleeve of my jacket over my cheeks. “That was an amazing date. Thank you.”
He lifts one side of his mouth in a sexy smile. “Our date isn’t over yet.”
The words send a zing of adrenaline straight through me.
This I can handle.
I may not be ready to consider my feelings about Nate, but I’m open to exploring my feelings about his body, if that’s where we’re going.
God, I hope it is.
So far, neither of our dates have exactly gone according to plan, unless Nate planned on us getting kicked out of the obedience class and on him getting nailed in the balls with a bowling ball.
Some would suggest that we should stop while we’re ahead, or on the flip side, that maybe it’s time to cut our losses.
But despite the apparent failures of our dates so far, there are bright spots. The laughter, the comfort we have around one another. Maybe that’s enough to give this another try.
But before we move on, I need to ask. I’m ready to hear his side.
I swallow, summoning my courage. “Why did Yvonne say you were keeping me single?”
Nate opens his mouth then closes it again.
My stomach drops as I watch him search for the right words.
I was coming around to the idea that maybe I misjudged him. That maybe he is a good guy, that I should give him another shot.
Was I wrong?
My heart beats faster, the beat of my pulse thrumming in my ears as I wait on pins and needles.
Finally, he lets out a deep sigh. “I don’t know why she said that, Rory. But I never did anything to keep you single.”
I rack my brain. I could swear Yvonne said exactly that. But is it possible that I misheard something?
Maybe, I guess. The meaning behind her words was obvious, though.
“Well, I don’t remember exactly what she said. But it was about you keeping tabs on me. Meddling in my life, or something.” I search his face, needing answers. “Why would she have said that?”
Nate shakes his head. “I never did anything to meddle in your life or in your relationships. I followed you on Instagram, but that’s it. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
That stops me short, my brows pulling together into a line of confusion.
“Instagram?” I barely even post anything. What would my social media have to do with anything?
He shrugs, giving me that lopsided smile again. “It’s about the only social media platform I know. You didn’t post often, but enough to let me know you were okay. As much as I could tell from pictures.”
I think back. I don’t remember Nate following my account, but then, I don’t spend enough time on the app to really figure out who’s following me and why. I think I would have known if I saw his name, though.
“It wasn’t under my name,” he says, as if he can hear what I’m thinking.
“It was just a generic account. I never posted anything. Just looked at your pictures when you posted and watched reels when those started to be a thing. Mostly dogs doing funny things. And pandas,” he adds sheepishly.
“It’s hilarious. I don’t know why it sucks you in. ”
The fact that Nate uses social media to watch pandas falling off things softens the idea that he followed me.
It’s not really stalking, is it? If someone watches your publicly available content? It’s not like I was posting anything I wanted to hide.
I frown, remembering. “But when I brought it up, you…”
You looked guilty, is what I want to say, but I’m not sure how to word it.
“You didn’t really give me a chance to explain, Rory,” he says gently.
I shake my head. “But there has to be more. I asked you about it, and you looked…like you were hiding something. Like you knew exactly what I was talking about.”
That’s when he looks away.
And my stomach drops.
He’s still hiding something, even now.
“What is it, Nate?” I’m ready to hear his side of things. But this goes two ways.
He has to be ready to tell me his side.
All of it.
“Rory…” Nate pushes a hand through his hair. “Yes, there’s something I have to tell you. But it’s not bad. I promise. And it’s not about you, even. It’s just…something I don’t tell many people.”
Am I just supposed to take his word for it?
My mind goes into overdrive, wondering what it could be.
If it has anything to do with why he suddenly seems to have extra free time to stop by my parents’ house all the time to help out.
Spam yips, reminding me that we’re not alone in the car. And while it’s not like we can’t have a conversation in front of the dog, it’s not exactly fair to keep him cooped up in the back seat while we talk.
“Let’s go home. To my house. And we can talk. Okay? I don’t want Spam to pee in my car, and this might be a longer conversation.”
He looks earnest, almost pleading.
I pull in a breath and then let it out. “Okay.”
“Thank you, Rory,” Nate says. There’s a hint of relief in his voice. “I want to earn back your trust. I know it might take a while for you to trust me again, but I want to tell you everything.”
And this time, I think I’m ready to listen.