Page 13 of Puppy Love

“You—what?”

“Scratch his tail. Beebo loves getting his tail scratched,” he explains, his tone continually degrading.

I study Avery’s face for a moment, attempting to decipher the rules to the game he’s trying to play. I can’t.

“You really think that is going to make a terrified, unsocialized puppy stop spinning and alligator-rolling? Scratching his tail?”

Listen, I’ve groomed a lot of dogs in my years as a groomer. I’ve baby-talked, scratched chins, and handed out mountains of beef-smelling treats that leave oily residue on my hands. I’ve tried all the holds and all the tricks, and nothing stops a doodle puppy from being a complete psychopath for its first haircut.

A dramatic scoff exits the back of my throat when Avery approaches me, his tall, broad body towering over me.

I will never, ever say this out loud, but Avery is hot. His shoulders are broad. So broad that I couldn’t wrap my arms around them if I wanted to. His eyes resemble amber, and when he steps into the sun, they melt into honey. His facial hair is always kept short but scruffy, and then his personality ruins it all. I step aside, continuing to glare. I have to admit, I’m rather excited to see Avery get donkey-kicked by a seventy-pound puppy.

“When I start scratching his tail, you can go ahead and start. You’ll need to move fast though. Is it just the back legs?” he asks, already positioning his arm under the nervous pup.

“Yeah, the back legs, and then I’ll just hand-scissor his face.”

Beebo relaxes into Avery’s touch as he softly rubs the base of his tail. I tilt my head to find the right angle, part of my tongue peeking out the side of my mouth while the clippers do the work. Minutes later, I turn them off, and the majority of Beebo’s haircut is finally done. Though it may not be as even as I would have liked, I’m grateful it’s over with. Avery grabs the hemostats out of the toolbox and sneers.

“Told ya.”

I roll my eyes so hard that it physically hurts.

Adrian, Hayden, begrudgingly Avery, and I host “theme nights” every Tuesday, where we watch Criminal Minds and cook cuisines from different countries. It was started as part of my therapy in an attempt to incorporate new foods into my rather repetitive diet. We call it “Criminal Dinner,” partly due to the Criminal Minds element, but more so due to how criminally disgusting my dish always is. A few weeks ago, we did Filipino food, and I completely botched the Bagnet Kare-Kare. While the pork was like eating a bicycle tire, the show’s third season finale didn’t disappoint. We all enjoy these nights, but Adrian loves them the most. Plus their culinary skills blow everyone else out of the water.

This Tuesday, Adrian may have done their best. Or so Hayden and Avery say.

“This might be the best Gyro I’ve ever had,” Hayden says through a mouthful of meat and pita bread.

Avery nods his head. “Agree.”

I poke at mine with a fork, carefully peeling off the outside layer of bread that hasn’t touched anything inside.

“Oh, come on Cam,” Avery groans. “It’s not like your dish. This one is actually edible.”

How I managed to fuck up garlic hummus is a mystery to me. The dry, crumbling chickpeas made their way directly into the garbage can, as did my homemade mozzarella sticks from last week.

“Respectfully,” Hayden says, before taking another massive bite, “I don’t know why we keep letting you make the appetizers.”

I shoot him a glare and toss a piece of pita bread at his face. It hits his cheek and falls onto the couch cushion, from which he picks it up and pops it into his mouth.

“Gross!” Adrian yells, little rays forming on their skin as they scrunch their nose. Hayden shrugs, and I let out a light laugh.

“It’s fine,” I say. “Probably just a little dog hair.”

Adrian pretends to throw up, and then Avery gets mad because it makes him actually nauseous.

“For someone who’s terrified of food poisoning, you’re really gross.”

“I’m a dog groomer. I accidentally eat dog hair all day long.”

I push my gyro to the front of the coffee table, Dawson eyeing it inconspicuously as he lies on the floor nearby.

“How was your first day of work?” Hayden asks, clicking through the season seven episodes to find the specific one he’s looking for.

A pit forms in my sinking stomach, and my heart palpitates. I wonder if it feels anything like Hayden’s arrhythmia: loud, fast, thrumming against the inside of my ribcage. My breath hitches.

Truthfully, the day in itself was great. The rest of the dogs on my schedule were absolute angels, and it felt so relieving to be able to do what was right for the dogs instead of just trying to make the customers happy. A weight has been lifted off my shoulders in that I no longer have to worry about random corporate policies that make no apparent sense.

---