Page 42 of Infinite

As if totally taking her side, the big mop of a dog whines at me.

“Hale Wilder, you’re scaring him,” Becca accuses.

I watch the dog hunker down at my feet, his head down. “I wasn’t trying to scare you,” I tell him. He whines, earning me another reprimanding glare from Becca. “Okay, pooch, now you’re just making me look bad.”

I bend, letting him sniff my hand. He wags his thick tail, hard enough to send the leaves the breeze stirred along the night to flutter away. But when I stroke his head, his tail really starts thumping. This dog is a hot mess and I can so relate.

“Tootles,” Becca says. “Do you think Hale needs more cutesy?”

“Tootles?” I ask, giving the poor mutt a good scratch behind his ears. “Damn, Becca. The poor thing has it bad enough looking like a giant rug with a tongue. Did you have to call him Tootles?”

The photographer in pastels blinks back at me, horrified. He glances briefly at Becca. “Um. I’m Tootles. The dog’s name is Twinkles.”

I rise, ready to shut the door in everyone’s face when Becca shoots forward. Her ball of fuzz in barrettes bounces up and down in her arms, appearing excited just to be alive. “I recognize that look,” she says, all enthusiastic-like. “You don’t think this is a good idea. I’ll have you know, it’s only because you haven’t given it enough thought.”

“Are we talking about Tootles or Twinkles?” I mutter.

“Maybe both, shug,” she replies through her teeth. “He’s a good boy.”

“The dog?” I ask. He wags his tail when I look at him. “I suppose.”

“A very good boy,” the photographer says, like that will somehow change my mind about wherever Becca is headed. “He’s already licked me twice and we just met.”

“Well, he does seem right friendly, Twinkles.”

“I’m Tootles. Benji Tootles. The dog is Twinkles,” he reminds me.

This poor fucker. I don’t know if his momma or daddy are alive. But if they are, and depending how the next few hours go, I may have to drive to their house and smack the shit out of his father for giving him such a stupid name.

“You used to get beat up on the playground, didn’t you, son?” I ask.

Tootles’ face turns roughly the color of his pink scarf. “Um. Yes. But I went to a school that didn’t appreciate creativity or fashion.”

As soon as he says it, I feel bad and offer him my hand. “I don’t appreciate them as much as I should either, Tootles. But if you went to my school, I wouldn’t let anyone fuck with you.”

I mean as much. Me, Becks and our friends, we were pretty well known in school as the cool kids to be around. But we were never cruel. Not like some of the kids a man like Tootles must have seen in his time.

Tootles smiles at Becca as he releases my hand. “You’re right. He’s nice.” He motions to me. “I wasn’t certain when I first spotted you.”

“Hale’s bark was always worse than his bite,” Becca assures him. She tosses her hairandmea look that informs me I need to behave. “Tootles was intimidated when you stepped out of the house and growled.”

“I didn’tgrowl,” I say, all the while likely growling.

“What do you call asking me, ‘What the fuck is that?,’ instead of a decent good morning?” She skips past me. Twinkie, or whatever the dog is called, follows behind her, tail wagging and trying to keep up. What the hell? I thought me and him were starting to bond.

Becca puts the prissy dog down and rubs her hands. “It’s chilly in here. But that may work to our favor, seeing we’re going for a more wintery feel. Hale, did you get the linen pants and the light white shirt I sent over this morning?”

I stop in the middle of making coffee just to raise an eyebrow at her. “Those things were for me?” Shit. I haven’t seen her in a few days, so I was hoping she was having clothes delivered here with the expectation of staying.

“They’re designer,” Becca says, as if that’s going to make me jump on board the feminine-looking clothes ship.

“And linen breathes really well, in case you were worried,” Tootles adds.

“Yeah. That’s what I was worried about, Toot.”

“It’s Tootles,” Becca tells me. “That’s his professional name in the fashion industry. Kind of like Law Roach.”

“Who?’ I ask.

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