Page 34 of Smooth Talk

She’s still looking at me with a smile ghosting her lips and a rosy tint to her cheeks, “sorry we’re late. We couldn’t find someone’s boots.”

“Better late than never.” Now I sound like my father; great. “And it looks like you both found adequate footwear.” Adequate footwear? Way to go with the flowery compliments, asshat. I’m usually so good at this shit, but she’s throwing me off my game. I’m having trouble thinking, let alone getting words to come out. “You ladies ready to catch your lunch?”

Harper is enthusiastic, as usual. Poppy, slightly less so. “I’ll grab everything, y’all go make yourself comfortable in the Gator.” I gesture toward the ATV. Clearly, Harper’s never ridden in one before. She’s looking at me, not the vehicle, and her big blue eyes have doubled in size.

“We gots to ride a alligator?” she asks skeptically. I chuckle.

“Nah, it’s just the name of the little truck we’re riding in today. See, it’s printed on the side over there?” I say pointing to the rear of the vehicle.

“Oh, okay; yeah.” She sounds relieved. “You’s a good fisher Mr. Max?” She asks and I can’t help but toot my own horn a bit.

“Fu, f-f-fish yeah, I am,” I manage to stutter out. Poppy’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. And maybe I have, I did almost drop an f-bomb in front of her precious, innocent five-year-old. I need to start censoring the shit, erm crap, out of myself. I do it for work, it shouldn’t be too difficult to do it for Harper. Poppy just shakes her head at me and asks Harper if she’s ready to learn how to fish.

“Fish yeah!” Harper replies loudly. I manage to stifle my inappropriate laughter. Poppy’s going to kill me, so much for not fucking this up. Maybe Gun will save the day.

I grab all the gear and put it in the back of the ATV, drop the tail gate to make the jump easier for Gunner. He’s used to riding up front with me. It’s usually just my dad or Jake, and we don’t mind catching a bit of dog slobber in the wind. I don’t know if the same can be said for Harper and Poppy. The girls slide into the back seat together just as Gun loads up in the back. He pokes his head between the two of them, happy as a pig in sh-crap, and proceeds to lick them both from chin to hair line. I audibly inhale, eyes wide, waiting for sounds of terror to fill the air.

It’s as much of a test for him as it is for me. If they can’t handle a bit of doggy drool on their faces, it’s going to make a relationship difficult. I don’t know what I’ll do if they don’t like my dog. Besides O and Jake, he’s my best friend. My wingman. Giggling erupts, from both Monroe girls, settling my anxiety immediately. They love him. And he clearly loves them. That, or he’s putting on the best wingman act this side of the Mississippi, and he deserves extra treats tonight. I have a feeling it’s the former. (He’ll still get the treats though.) Gun’s acting is for shit, especially when it’s for my benefit. Remember what I was saying about my neighbor earlier? The self-proclaimed pussy—erm—cat-lover.

I tried to get him to play super dog once to garner a little sympathy for myself when he busted out of his leash, (read: when I let him off leash to run off some of his puppy energy— relax, we were on my property). She’d threatened to call security if I didn’t get my big hairy beast under control and away from her precious kitty-cats (that she allows to have free reign over the neighborhood btw). But that’s a story for another day. And clearly our town has leash laws. That I obey. I’m running for mayor for Chrissake.

Anyway, it’s better to know early on if the person that garners your affection is worthy of it. And any lady that can laugh with a face full of canine saliva is well on her way to proving it. Gunner’s climbed out of the back and laid himself across Poppy’s lap. He’s panting happily while she strokes his ears. And now I’m jealous. Of my dog. Lucky bastard.

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