Page 12 of Puppy Love

“You’ll have to cut labor,” she says flatly. “And tell him to smile more. There’s no reason someone who looks like that should have such a blank face all the time.”

I feel my mouth stretch into a smile, but I try not to sound overly excited.

“Okay,” I say. “Okay, I will. Thank you.”

“Mhm.”

My phone beeps, signaling the end of the call, and I quickly down the remainder of my lukewarm coffee before tossing the cup into the garbage can. A wave of relief crashes over me. I’ve been asking for an assistant manager for two years. Avery already does everything he can to help, but I only let him do so much because it isn’t fair to him to not be paid his worth. Now, he can be the same amazing Avery and help me juggle it all. I have a feeling that everything is about to get a whole lot easier.

five

Criminal Dinner

Cam

Is it too soon to quit?

I mean, I think if I asked really nicely and apologized for the three-page letter I wrote about how terrible their company is, The Dog Shop might just give me a second chance.

After Adrian dropped me off in the salon so they could go about their day, I’ve been spending the rest of mine ankle-deep in dog hair and regret.

The problem is, I’m not sure if I regret the making out or taking this job. The making out was too amazing to regret, but this job is going to pay my bills.

I’ve never been good at first impressions. I always talk too much or too little. My body throws internal muscle raves, and it always feels like Judgement Day. I’ve also been told once or twice, or six times, that I come off as “uninviting.” Dr. Burton was one of those times.

This first impression, however, might just have taken the cake.

Now, six hours into my shift, I am struggling. I’m struggling with the fact that I know what my boss’s lips taste like, and I’m struggling with this giant, stubborn dog. What Adrian failed to mention about the large doodle is that he’s only nine-months old and, on top of that, has never been groomed. The giant puppy is apprehensive and completely matted, and although I hold my patience well, not much progress has been made. He keeps throwing himself off the table as if ending his life would be a more suitable conclusion to this day than the haircut.

Maybe we have something in common.

I take a deep breath before attempting, again, to soothe the anxious pup.

“Hey baby, it’s okay! It’s okay! You’re being so brave! Yes, you are! You’re the bravest boy!” I encourage him as I gently run my clippers behind the back of his leg. “Good boy!”

This tactic is not working, but I keep trying anyway.

I might be trying to soothe the dog, but my tone is more so pleading with him at this point. Today did not start off well, and it isn’t really showing signs of improving. It’s only my first day, and this dog, due to no fault of its own or mine for that matter, is an absolute mess. I push the switch on my clippers backward, bringing the vibrating sensation in my hand to an end.

I rifle through my blue denim bag until I find the orange cylindrical bottle that frequently saves my life. I like to think I don’t have to depend on my medication often, but my periodic Xanax refills say otherwise. Beebo the Goldendoodle definitely isn’t the only thing causing my anxiety to spike.

I turn around, inhaling methodically, and my eyes travel from a dirty pair of shoes on the floor up to a recognizable, aggravating face. Avery is standing in the doorway, watching with a patronizing smile.

“What are you doing!?” I snap. I’m already getting frustrated, and sometimes, just looking at Avery puts me in a sour mood.

“I need to borrow a pair of hemostats. A dog has a splinter stuck in his paw pad. What are you doing?” Avery asks, cocking his eyebrow. His husky voice is filled with arrogance, and it pisses me off to no end. I know he doesn’t actually want to know what I’m doing, but I’m holding in enough, and I can’t stop the words flowing from my mouth.

“I can’t get this dog to sit still long enough to shave him. And the parents didn’t even want me to shave him, but he’s totally matted, and I tried talking to him and soothing him, but—”

“Do you have the hemostats?” Avery interrupts impatiently, shaking his head to dismiss anything I may have mistaken as interest.

Probably for a combination of reasons, I snap. “Wow. You’re a real charmer, you know that?!” I retaliate, the stress now boiling to anger. Avery has a special way of pissing me off.

Avery quirks a brow, no doubt finding my mental decline humorous. He watches my cheeks grow red and my eyebrows drop further down as I continue my rant.

“—because you think you know everything, but you don’t! All you know how to do is—”

“Scratch his tail,” Avery cuts in.

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