Page 61 of Puppy Love

Cam

“You’re a fucking dog whisperer,” I yell in a hushed tone, letting all the air I had been holding hostage out of my lungs. I’ve tamed some beasts in my job, but that was a fucking dragon. Violet looks at me all smug.

“You can say it, y’know,” she says in a raspy, airy tone. I scoff at her cockiness.

“Say what, exactly?”

“That I was right,” she responds.

I laugh. “Yeah. Good luck.”

She shoots me a glare that isn’t at all daunting.

Now that the dog has warmed up to Violet, he’s starting to warm up to me as well. And even though both of our dogs are fully vaccinated, I hold them tightly to my side to avoid contact. I feel bad; from the playful stance and excited whines, I can tell the dog really wants to play. But like I said, he looks like a disease.

13“I guess we should take him to the shelter?” I suggest, scooting further to the left to avoid contact between the dogs.

Violet’s brows furrow, and she frowns. “But look at him!” she says, pointing to the rugged canine. “He has nobody to love him!”

I immediately shake my head.

“Nope. Nuh-uh,” I say firmly. “I do not have the space for another dog.”

Violet squats, squishing his face between her hands.

“But look at this face.” She says it in a baby-talk tone, and even the dog looks up at me with big sad eyes, like he’s trying to work it with her.

I continue shaking my head. “Not happening. If you love him so much, you take him home.”

Violet stands, crossing her arms. “I can’t.”

“Well then, I guess he’s gonna have to go to the shelter,” I respond. It isn’t like I don’t care about the dog. I want him to have a happy family just like the rest of them. But if I took home every stray dog I’ve found, I’d have like nine dogs. Violet sighs all dramatically, like her sadness about the situation will make me change my mind.

It won’t.

“Can we at least show him what love is?” she pleads. Then, she starts to sing “I Want to Know What Love Is” by Foreigner. I look at her, now about four feet away because I absolutely refuse to let Dawson anywhere near him. She looks ridiculous, holding the leash of this emaciated, hyena-like dog while singing an eighties hit song. Ridiculously cute, that is.

You wouldn’t think Violet is the “cute” type. She’s tattooed and pierced and stands like she’s taller than five foot two. People like that are usually described with words like “intimidating” and “sexy.” And while she is sexy, nothing about her is scary. Maybe she can be a bit dominant during sex, but that’s the furthest it goes.

I glance back up at her, listening to the absolutely terrible, off-pitched cover she’s still singing. Her eyes catch mine, and I am so fucking mad because I can’t help but give in.

“Fine,” I grumble, making it a point to increase the distance between us. “But stop creeping over here. I don’t want Dawson to catch something.”

Violet breaks into a giant grin.

“But he’s not going in my car,” I say firmly. “I don’t want any of whatever it is getting spread around.”

I look down at the dog. He’s actually really cute, once you look past his cracked teeth, irritated yellow eyes, and patchy body.

“Deal,” Violet says. “Meet you at my place?”

I nod, gesturing to Dawson. “I’m going to drop him off at home first.”

“Okay,” Violet says, patting her leg to beckon Reese to her side. Reese isn’t even mine, but it stresses me the fuck out that he is anywhere near that dog. “See you there.”

When I get to Violet’s house, which is unsurprisingly yellow by the way, I take my time looking around. Our “appointments” are usually at my place, so the only other time I’ve been here was that day after the tattoo. And to be honest with you, I didn’t really have the opportunity or desire to look around then.

Both Reese and the stray are loose in the living room, like Violet doesn’t care what objects the stray may spread his disease to.

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