Page 75 of Puppy Love

Then, he asked if I was making sure I was sticking to my original boundaries.

I lied and said yes.

The thing is, I’m not not sticking to the boundaries. Not exactly. I’ve set an alarm every Tuesday to remind me about Criminal Dinner, and the non-disclosure part still stands. But the schedule part, well... that’s taken a bit of a hit.

After that night in the shower, I realized Violet was right in the beginning. Not about it being a booty call, but that you can’t predict when you’ll need one another. You can’t schedule your need for a distraction. So, I scratched that part out, with a thick black sharpie. Violet grinned as I did it, and even gave me a high five, which I thought was her mocking me at first. Then, I realized she was being serious.

“Do you ever just lie there and smell his paws?” Violet asks.

My head snaps up to look at her, her shiny chestnut hair strewn across the pillow. Reese’s head rests on the quilt covering my lap, his loose jowls squished against my bare thigh. Shaved patches cover the majority of his bruised skin, but small scabs are beginning to form over the punctures. Next to me, Dawson is cradled in Violet’s arms, like he’s a fifty-pound baby. His toes spread as he stretches his arms out, the pad of his paw grazing my cheek. I giggle.

“It would be a crime not to,” I say, grabbing Dawson’s foot and shoving it into my nose. I take a deep inhale, the earthy scent of dirt and the salty smell of corn chips wafting into my nose. Violet laughs.

“My sister thinks it’s the grossest thing ever.” I roll my eyes.

“People smell newborn babies fresh out of the vag. If I want to smell my dog’s feet, I’m gonna.”

We lay there for a moment, silently staring at one another, before breaking into laughter.

“He really likes you,” Violet says after a moment. I look at her, her gaze fixated on Reese who has completely melted into me. So much love fills her eyes when she looks at him, like he’s the only one in the world.

“I love him,” I respond, dragging my thumb gently across his ear. “I’m really glad he’s okay.”

Violet nods, running her fingertips gently across his skin, avoiding any bruises and punctures. “You have no idea.”

I pick my phone up off the nightstand to check the time. Have I really been here for six hours?

“It’s Saturday,” I remind her. Violet quirks an eyebrow at me, before realization pools in her eyes.

“Oh right, Adrian’s art show,” she says. I nod. “Well, I’m super excited for them.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek, thinking about the words dancing around my tongue. I shouldn’t say them. I know I shouldn’t. But they’re right there, forcing their way out.

“Are you gonna come?”

It isn’t an absurd question, even though it feels like one. Adrian invited the entire staff, and even told them to bring friends and family. Greenrock only has one art show a year, hosted in the very tiny Greenrock Valley Gallery of Fine Arts. Violet scans my face, a hint of confusion behind her eyes.

“Do you want me to?” she asks.

Instinctively, I shake my head.

“No,” I blurt out, though I immediately know it’s a lie. “Well, no, not that I don’t want you to, but I don’t not want you to.“ I correct myself. “I just know it will mean a lot to Adrian if more people come.”

Violet nods slowly but doesn’t say anything.

Then, after a moment, her lips part.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” she says. “Because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

I swallow, knowing that is a completely valid reason for her not to go. Still, it doesn’t stop the strange twisting inside my stomach.

“Well,” I say, not really understanding why the words are coming out. “Maybe it would be better if you did. I mean.” I gesture to her. “Maybe it will come off stranger if you’re the only one who doesn’t go, you know?”

A smile tugs at the corners of Violet’s lips, her pierced brow rising.

“Are you asking me to come, Sparky?” she asks. I roll my eyes and look back down at Reese. My fingers glide gently over the shaved spots along his body. On his ear, his cheek, his neck, his ribcage. The one on his leg is the worst though. It tore, rather than punctured, most likely from the other dog not letting go. Black stitches poke through the raw skin, holding him together.

“I’m asking you to come for Adrian,” I say firmly, still not meeting Violet’s eye. I slide out from under Reese and gently lower his head onto the mattress. “I couldn’t care less, personally.”

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