“Do you know someone named Percy who lives here?”
“No.” He frowns.
“We’ve got his number,” Cookie says. “Let’s call him.”
We sit on the chairs, one of two furniture groupings in the lobby on either side of the security desk. Cookie calls the number. After a moment, he says, “Voice mail.” He listens, then ends the call. “I think she gave us the wrong number. That was someone named Dennis.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Why is this happening?” I look down at the dog and sigh. “Well, let’s go up to my place and figure out what to do.”
I grab the leash lying on the lobby floor, but I carry the dog into the elevator and we ride it up to the seventh floor. Cookie comes with us.
“What are you going to do?”
I sigh. “Nothing, tonight. It’s after midnight. Guess I’m stuck with him.” I cock an eyebrow. “You want him?”
He shakes his head. “I mean, I could take him, but look. He’s not leaving you.”
The dog is attached to my ankles. When I sit on my couch, he jumps onto my lap before my ass even hits the cushion. “Fine. I’ll keep him. Tomorrow I’ll…I don’t know what. How am I supposed to find his owner?”
Cookie rubs his mouth. “Shit. I have no idea. Let’s sleep on it.”
“Yeah.”
Cookie leaves to go to his own place.
Dog and I look at each other. “Well,” I say. “That was an exciting evening.”
He tilts his head, regarding me with dark eyes.
One corner of my mouth lifts. “Look at you. All jowly and sad.”
His head tips the other way.
“Okay. I’ll get you some water.” He follows me into my kitchen, while I fill a bowl and set it on the floor. He slurps some water, then sits on my feet.
“Well. It’s bedtime.” I’m at a loss here. “Let’s go.”
He stays close as I walk down the hall to my bedroom. The bed is high and he’s not that big, but somehow he manages to leap up onto it.
“Make yourself at home.”
I wash up and strip out of my suit. I hang it in the closet and toss my shirt into the laundry bag for the cleaners.
Dog presses himself against my legs when I’m settled under the covers. This is weird.
I have a hard time falling asleep. Must be the adrenaline rush from the rescue. Doesn’t seem to affect Dog, though. Eventually I too fall asleep.
Chapter 2
Lilly
“His wife thinks he’s having an affair with me.”
My best friend Carlin stares at me. “What the fuck?”
“I know.” I cut off another piece of pancake. “He’s actually having an affair with Parvati.”
“Oh my God! But you got fired.”
“Yep.” I swallow. “Again.”
It took me months to finally find a job, after the clusterfuck at my last place of employment. Working the front desk at the No Tell Motel was a far cry from the career in hospitality management I imagined when working my ass off for my degree in Hospitality Industry Studies at NYU, but at least it was a job.
I shove more pancake liberally drenched with butter and syrup into my mouth.
Carlin sits at the small table in the apartment we share. “Oh, Lilly. I’m so sorry.”
“I know.” I attempt a smile. “At least I paid my share of this month’s rent.”
Things got pretty tight over my months of unemployment. I racked up an impressive credit card debt. I ended up taking out a loan at the bank to pay it off, and I still owe money on that. Carlin was generous enough to pay my half of the rent many months so I didn’t go homeless.
“Don’t worry about the rent,” she says. “We’ll find something else for you. Fuck ’em.”
I nod, trying to appear optimistic. “Of course I’ll find something else.”
I rise from the table and move into the tiny kitchen where more pancakes await me. I fork up a couple onto my plate. “Want any?”
“Wow, you’re really carb loading. Oh, what the hell, sure.”
She joins me and pulls a plate out of the cupboard. I slather butter all over the tasty circles then pour syrup and hand it to Carlin.
“I think I put on ten pounds just now,” I tell her. “But I love pancakes.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“Right?”
“You got this, Lilly. You know that, right?”
“Of course!”
I don’t know that. There were a lot of days when I was unemployed where I could barely get out of bed. Why bother? I had no purpose, no meaning to my life, and the constant rejection destroyed any self-esteem I may have had. I used to be a confident, ambitious young professional with my whole life in front of me. Now?
I swallow a sigh.
I’m not going there again. Yes, I was using some unhealthy coping mechanisms—pancakes being one of them—but I’ve learned. This time I won’t spend days in bed, drink a bottle of wine every night, and not shower for days.
I hope.
“Let’s make a plan,” Carlin suggests. “You love making plans.”
“No, you love making plans.”
“Come on.”
“I need a day or two to wallow, okay?”
She eyes me worriedly. “I guess.” She pauses. “It’s Friday night. Let’s go out.”
“That’s not wallowing.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll get the squad to come over here. We’ll wallow with you.”
I shrug. “I’m okay with that.”
She starts sending messages.
I’m still dressed in the black skirt and white shirt I wore to work this morning, although I’ve pulled the shirttails out. I came home after being canned and started making pancakes. “I’m going to change.” I slide my plate into the dishwasher and drop the cutlery in.
“Sounds good.”
I climb the curving staircase to my tiny loft bedroom while unzipping my skirt. First I toss it onto the chair in the corner, but with a sigh I pick it up and hang it in my closet. Likewise with the shirt. Since I’m not leaving this apartment tonight, I dress in leggings and a long, loose sweatshirt that says Time to wine down. Very appropriate.
Then I lie down on my bed.
I can’t believe this happened. I didn’t do anything wrong. I was good at my job. Even though it wasn’t what I wanted to do, I didn’t look at it as beneath me. I did my best. And my dickbag boss who screws around with his employees fired me, the one not screwing him.
I’m so tired of getting fucked in ways that don’t end in an orgasm.
I close my eyes against the tears that sting the corners. Nope. Not gonna cry.
Last time I lost my job, I was trying to do the right thing. I knew it could cost me my job. I didn’t know it would cost me my whole life. I’ve second-guessed my decisions back then about a million times. I’m still pretty sure I’d do it again. I have to live with myself for a lot of years. Hopefully.
But this? This wasn’t fair. I mean, I know life’s not fair; but this is fucking ridiculous.
I’m not going to be a victim. I’m not going to quit. I know I have much to be thankful for, including the friends who are coming over to help me mourn.
I just need a few minutes to…remind myself of all this.
I might have fallen asleep, because the sounds of the door opening and closing and voices jerk me to wakefulness. Okay. Time to be brave.
I rub the inner corners of my eyes with my ring fingers, run my hands through my hair, and straighten my shoulders before joining my girls.
“Hey.” Adriana spots me and heads right to me to wrap me in a hug. “What the fuck, Lilly?”
“I know.” I submit to her warm embrace. “ ‘What the fuck’ is right.”
“I can’t believe t
his,” Maya adds. “Don’t they know who you are?”
“I’m afraid they do, and that’s why they fired me.”
“You said it was because the boss’s wife thought you were having an affair with him,” Carlin says.
“Maybe that was just an excuse.” I shrug and move to the dining table where Carlin has set up a bar. I grab a wineglass and fill it with pinot grigio. “Maybe they just wanted to get rid of me.”
I feel the collective sigh of my friends, because this is a definite possibility.
“Well, fuck them,” Maya says.
“Yeah.” Adriana holds up her glass. “Let’s get drunk and set shit on fire.”
I have to laugh. “Sounds good to me.”
I love my friends. We met in college and formed a bond that has lasted all these years. Okay, it’s not that many years. We’re all twenty-six. But we’ve stood by each other through all kinds of shit—breakups, family deaths and divorce and midlife crises, and my epic career flameout. They’re what’s most important. I’ll get things back on track. Right now I’m going to drink wine and eat Cheetos and let my friends prop me up.
* * *
—
I’ve given myself the weekend. I cleaned and organized my bedroom and the kitchen cupboards. I threw out a bunch of crap I don’t need anymore. Now it’s Sunday afternoon and I’m taking Lola for a walk in the park.
Lola is my neighbor Kent’s Jack Russell terrier. While I was out of work, I started walking Lola pretty much every day. Kent works long hours, and Jack Russells need lots of exercise. He was already paying someone to walk her and thought it might as well be me, since I needed the money and had the time, and I love him for that. I also love Lola. I love dogs in general. I also volunteer at an animal shelter once a week.
A couple of neighbors saw me walking Lola and asked me to walk their dogs too, which I was happy to do and it makes me a few extra dollars.
There’s a park at the end of my street and I head that way. It’s a nice fall day—in fact it’s gorgeous. The sky is a brilliant blue, the trees are turning, and the sun is illuminating the leaves into glowing gold, fiery red, and rust brown. A few leaves layer the path in the park and it’s so pretty.
Lola and I are strolling along the path when out of nowhere a dog appears, bounding up to us and jumping Lola.
I let out a scream. “Lola!” I pull on the leash and dash toward them to rescue her from being demolished by the other dog. Okay, okay, it’s a smallish dog, just a pup, but still, he’s aggressive. And Lola’s not happy either, growling and snarling. Oh my God, it’s a dog fight! What do I do?
I hear a man yelling, “Otis! Come back! Jesus, Otis, stop.”
Lola is snapping and barking, but the other dog doesn’t get the message, still jumping her and pawing at her. His tail is wagging wildly, although it’s not much of a tail, just a furry little quivery stub. His tongue lolls out of his jowly mouth. Lola is freaked out, and so am I.
But I have to save her.
I try to pick her up, prepared to feel the other dog’s teeth sink into my arm. She’s squirming and jumping so much I can’t get hold of her and I’m grabbing air and stumbling around, and then I fall on my ass.
Then Lola jumps the other dog, trying to pin him. Now I’m worried she’s going to kill him.
The yelling man sprints up and grabs the leash dragging behind the dog. “Shit, shit, shit,” he growls. He seizes the dog’s collar and pulls him away from Lola. He glares at Lola. “What the hell?”
“What the hell is right!” Anger flares inside me. “What is your dog doing off the leash?” I demand. I grab Lola’s leash and tug her toward me, pulling her into my lap where I’m sitting on the grass.
“He’s on a leash! He yanked it out of my hands when he saw your dog.”
“She’s not my dog.”
He frowns. “Whatever.”
“You should have better control of him!”
“He’s not dangerous! He’s just a puppy. Your dog attacked him!”
“He attacked her!” I run my hands over her and bend my head to hers. “Are you okay?”
I know she can’t answer, but I talk to her like this all the time. Please, please be okay. Not only do I kind of love her, but Kent will kill me if I let something happen to his precious pup.
The man crouches down and lays his hands on his dog. “You okay, Otis?”
I scowl at him. “I’m sure he’s fine. Lola’s not an attack dog. She was defending herself.”
I watch him check out his dog and I’m even more annoyed. He’s very attractive. Very attractive. Dressed in worn jeans and an old hoodie, his dark hair falls over his forehead in a defiant tumble but is neatly trimmed around his ears and neck. Stubble darkens his square jaw, and his eyes make me think of the syrup I pour over my pancakes—warm, liquid brown but with a cheeky glint in them. He’s also got amazing shoulders and long legs, and I’m fascinated by his hands, which are a bit rough but with neat nails. Everything about him screams danger. Hot, sexy danger.
Too bad he’s a jerk.
I drag my attention away from him, which is definitely not easy, and push myself to stand. He rises too and holds out a hand to help me, but I ignore it. I take a few steps to a nearby bench and sit there. Lola jumps up onto my lap and licks my chin.
The man and his dog follow us. The dog looks more worried than the man, with his furrowed forehead. Goddammit, even the dog is cute.
“I’m Easton,” the man says. “This is Otis.”
“I don’t care who you are,” I snap. I’m shaking a bit now, the adrenaline rush in my veins dissipating. God, I was so scared there for a few minutes.
Otis plants his butt in front of me and Lola, staring at us with sad but hopeful eyes. Shit.
Easton sighs. “I’m sorry. He caught me off guard and pulled the leash out of my hand.”
I purse my lips, looking at Otis, not Easton. “He does look apologetic.”
“He always looks like that. But I’m sure he is. He gets in trouble a lot.”
“Maybe you need to take him for some obedience training.”
“I would, if he was my dog.”
“He’s not yours?”
“It’s a long story.” He sits on the bench too and rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know how I ended up with him and I can’t get hold of his owner so I’m kind of stuck with him.”
“Oh.”
“And I have to go out of town tomorrow.” He shakes his head. “He’ll destroy my apartment while I’m gone.”
“You can’t leave him alone while you go out of town!” I turn alarmed eyes on Easton.
“I know, I know,” he says hastily. “What am I gonna do, though?”
I don’t know. Not my problem. I slump back onto the bench and rub my hip where I landed on the ground.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I might have a bruise. But that’s okay.” I sigh. “It’ll just match my bruised spirit.”
His lips twitch and his eyebrow lifts into a slightly wicked arch. “Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good.”
“I haven’t been having the best luck lately. You could say my life is like the love child of a train wreck and a dumpster fire.”
Easton chokes on a laugh.
I focus on Otis again. He’s gazing longingly at Lola. Clearly he just wants to be friends. I cautiously set Lola on the ground and watch as Otis sniffs around her.
“He is hard to resist,” Easton says, watching them too. “He seems to like women. What else is going wrong in your life?”
I’m not about to share all my woes with a douche stranger. “Nothing.”
He shrugs. “You’re too pretty to have a dumpster fire of a life.”
I roll my eyes, even though my heart quivers at the compliment. Because, yeah…he’s gorgeous. “T
his isn’t the time for flirting. Read the room, dude.”
He laughs, and it’s a fantastic laugh—low and deep and rumbly. “I’m not flirting. I’m just being extra friendly to someone who’s extra attractive.”
“Oh my God.”
Lola is now checking out Otis, sniffing his butt. Otis responds by checking hers out, and they do the canine version of shaking hands and introducing themselves.
“I admire how you jumped in to save your dog—er, your friend’s dog—when she was being attacked. That takes guts.”
I study him with narrowed eyes. Is he for real?
He gives off an air of bold confidence and a reckless charm, but his smile is genuine and his expression sincere. That annoys me even more.
I reach out and rub Otis’s head. I’m not mad at him. “He’s not vicious. And it wasn’t his fault. He’s a baby. He just needs to be controlled better.” I give Easton a pointed look.
“I get it.” Easton holds up a hand. “I’ve learned my lesson.”
“How old is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“What? You don’t know how old he is?”
“Like I said, I got stuck with him.” After a beat he adds, “Although I admit he’s fun.”
“Of course you are. Aren’t you? You just need to grow up and learn how to behave.” I lean forward and kiss Otis between his big brown eyes. “You’re a good boy.”
“I don’t suppose you’d want a job dog sitting?”
I snort and flash Easton a sideways glance.
“Really. I don’t want to just get rid of him to a shelter.”
I give him a look with my chin down. “You don’t even know me.”
“Babe. You’re gorgeous, smart, and gutsy. And you like dogs. You rescued a dog that’s not even yours. You have to be a decent person.”
Heat washes down through me at the compliments from this hunk of hotness, but I laugh. “Wow, you do know me.”
He smiles too, a sexy bad boy smile that heats me up and makes my belly flutter.
“Seriously, you don’t even know me.”
He nods at Lola. “Someone else trusts you with their dog.”
Must Love Dogs...and Hockey Page 2
