Page 38 of Game On

Dorian waggled a finger in her face. “You and I are not going to be friends.”

She licked his finger.

* * *

The next afternoon, Dorian stood in his foyer in his boots and winter coat and regarded the little dog. She was as well-trained as Jamie had said, and tame too, doing nothing more nefarious than trailing Dorian around the house. But she hadn’t been left alone in the house yet.

Dorian considered his couch and the throw pillows and the shoes lined up by the door. Dogs liked to chew things, didn’t they?

“I guess you can come with me?”

Poppy perked up and trotted over, nosing at his boots.

“Okay, then. Let’s go for a car ride.”

In his SUV, Dorian eyed the tiny dog in the big passenger seat and pictured her flying at the windshield if he got rear-ended. “Do they make car seats for dogs?”

Poppy didn’t answer, just sat there with her tongue hanging out as though they were going on a grand adventure. Hell, maybe for her, they were.

Carefully, Dorian backed out of the driveway, going slow so he didn’t jostle her. “Maybe we’ll stop at the pet store on the way back and get you a car seat, huh? This can’t be safe for you.”

But it was this or find his house in disarray. Dorian would’ve left her with Jamie, but Jamie had gone apartment hunting right after practice and wouldn’t be home until dinner.

He drove ten kilometres below the speed limit all the way to Kitsilano Beach Park, earning himself honks and one raised finger, all of which he ignored. Did they make Dog On Board window stickers for cars like they did for babies?

“Do you like music?” he asked Poppy, turning on the radio to one of his preset channels. She didn’t seem all that impressed with Top 40 or classic rock, so he channel surfed until she gave a soft woof. “Classical music, huh? You sure have some high standards.”

He fished into the bag of treats he’d brought for her and held a dog cookie in his palm, smiling when she took it so gently that he barely felt it.

She was cute, he couldn’t deny it, all fluffy and black with long ears and big eyes. He’d read online last night that Shih-poos were playful, but Poppy had been the dog equivalent of laid-back since she’d arrived. Was she sad that her owner died? Or maybe she was sad that nobody wanted her? How much could she understand, anyway?

“Your family didn’t want you either, eh?” He scratched the back of her neck. “I know what that’s like.”

The parking lot at the park was virtually empty except for Matt’s electric-blue SUV. Not a surprise. No one was coming to the beach on the first day of March, so why Matt wanted to shoot his intro video here was anybody’s guess.

But hey—Toussaint wanted to film his at his favourite rock-climbing gym. To each their own and all that. Dorian’s job was to film and edit, not judge.

Although he did judge—rather harshly—when he stepped out into the cold. They couldn’t have done this indoors?

He clipped Poppy’s leash to her collar, lifted her out of the car when she hesitated at the height, and grabbed his tripod. “Want to meet Matt?” he asked Poppy.

She ignored him, sniffing along the edge of the lot where it bumped up against the grass.

Matt and his partner, Pierce, sat on one of the benches near the beach. The sky was blue with a few fluffy clouds, the ocean was calm, and the mountains on the other side of the inlet were white-capped and solid. Dorian couldn’t have asked for a better day to shoot outside, despite the cold.

Matt spotted him first, and his eyebrows flew up when he caught sight of Poppy. “When did you get a dog?” he asked as he rose.

“She’s Jamie’s. Well, sort of. He’s fostering. Sort of.”

It wasn’t an official foster situation, Jamie had told him after returning from meeting his sponsor last night. Fostering involved questionnaires and applications and a home inspection to ensure the dog would be safe. But since his contact in Charlotte had vouched for him with some lady in Vancouver who’d desperately needed a temporary placement for Poppy, this was less fostering and more a favour for the friend of a friend.

“Oh my god.” Pierce, tall and lanky but with understated muscle that Dorian never seemed able to achieve, crouched and ruffled Poppy’s ears. “You’re just the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said in baby-speak. “Yes, you are. Yes, you are. Just the cutest thing ever.”

Poppy ate it up.

“What’s her name?” Pierce asked.

“Poppy,” Dorian said.

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