Too Fast To Fall (Fast Track #2)

Chapter 1

Gus

One thing is true of all dogs, including me. We crave attention. And love. And belly rubs. But more than anything, attention.

Love is my weakness. I need it. I’ve been like this since I was a puppy. When I don’t have love or attention, I get in trouble.

I feel bad when it happens. But is it bad to get in trouble if it eventually leads to love? I think not.

Today I’m in trouble again. Another unhappy dog sitter and my human, Emilio Baquero, are arguing. I’m stuck in the middle.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Baquero,” the dog sitter says. I don’t remember her name.

Emilio is sitting on the couch in his driver’s room. I love him so much. He’s the best. I hate that he’s been having a hard

year. His parents aren’t together anymore. His girlfriend left. His season isn’t going well. I don’t know much about being

a Formula One driver, but I don’t think it’s easy.

“I don’t know how to say this, but . . .” That’s the dog sitter again. She sounds frustrated. She points at me. I try to make

sense of it. Of what she’s trying to say. Hold on. Is she? Oh, God. Is she going to say what I think she’s going to say? Am I a bad boy?

“Gus is a nightmare.”

I am so relieved. At least I’m not a bad boy. My reputation is intact.

“A nightmare? He’s the sweetest dog in the world.” Emilio is right. I am sweet. I’m adorable. Floppy ears. Golden coat. Paws that are too

big for my body. You know what they say about big paws. Ha ha.

“He’s . . . he’s . . . an escape artist,” the dog sitter says.

An artist? Interesting. I want to love her for saying that. I don’t. She’s the worst. Why did I escape? Please refer to my

earlier commentary about love and attention.

“You’re quitting? Now?” Emilio asks.

I hate seeing him sad. I nudge at his arm with my nose. He smells like he’s been in the car. Kind of sweaty from practice.

I still love him. No matter how he smells. He’s my guy.

“I have a race tomorrow. Qualifying is in a few hours,” Emilio says.

I whimper. I’m sorry. I feel terrible. All I wanted was some love.

The dog sitter grabs her bag. She opens the door. “Not my problem.”

And . . . she’s gone.

Emilio sighs. He cups my face in his hands and peers down at me. He has nice eyes. A little sad, but still full of love. “What

am I going to do with you, Gus?” He ruffles my ears. “I wish I could find the right dog sitter for you. Someone nice. Who’ll

love you like I do.”

I wag my tail so fast I’m surprised I’m still standing. That’s exactly what we need. And as soon as Emilio finds this person,

I swear I will not let them go.