Page 16 of Not Just a Trick Play

“Have you been walking dogs a long time?” Surely the requirements can’t be outrageous.

“Nah. I was a developer in the Bay Area. One day I woke up, decided I didn’t want to sit in front of a computer for the rest of my life, packed up, and came back home. That was six months ago. Now I’m ‘finding myself,’” she says, making air quotes. “At this point, I’ve done it all: professional line sitter. Singing waitress at Caroline’s in Times Square. Do you know what special kind of torture it is to perform ‘Defying Gravity’ ten times a night? It’s like vocal boot camp.” She shudders. “Ieven gave babysitting a shot, thinking it’d be a breeze since I’m practically drowning in nieces and nephews. But the Stroller Mafia Moms are a whole different breed of crazy. They expect you to feed their kids artisanal goat’s milk and homemade quinoa cakes. That gig didn’t last long.”

“How did you get started with this, then?”

She gives me a sly smile. “A degree in animal husbandry.”

“Oh.” My shoulders droop.

“I’m kidding!” She laughs. “The real secret is merciful friends who work all day.”

“I see…” Well, that rules me out, seeing as I don’t know a soul in this city—except for that chap from last night. Oddly enough, I found myself more drawn to him in that brief encounter than people I’ve known my entire life. Perhaps instead of his name I should have asked if he had a pup?

Her expression turns curious. “Do you want to be working with dogs?”

I harrumph. “I want to be working, full-stop. It seems impossible to find employment here. Not that I need anything fancy. Something temporary will suit me just as well.” Scooping poop’s better than returning to Fordwich with my tail between my legs and watching Ben and Margo plan their wedding. At the inn. Where I live. I suppose he wanted to take advantage of that employee discount… Ugh. No. Just no.

When the piano man strikes up another tune, I allow the stress of the day to drain out of me. My eyes droop shut. Peace. Jet lag. Bliss. Whatever. For this one moment, all is right in the world.

Does it last? Of course not. Polka Dog whines and a second later, I jolt up at the feel of a warm, wet sensation on my left foot. I glance down and let out a horrified gasp at my yellow-tinged trainer. “Bloody hell!”

The woman’s eyes widen in shock. “Crap, she peed on your shoe! I am so, so sorry.” She rummages through her bag and pulls out a tissue that appears to have been used for something else. Mustard? Though smelling like an authentic hot dog stand is better than reeking of piss. I take it and dab at the white canvas. But it’s no use—the pee has soaked through to my sock. I’m destined to walk around the city stinking of urine. Lovely.

“I suppose I’ll be beginning my tour of New York at a launderette.” I shoot a dirty look at the dog. Little beast.

“Actually, my mom’s place isn’t too far. You can wash your shoes there.” She stands without waiting for me to agree.

“Oh no, that’s not necessary. I’ll manage.”

“No way. Let me make it up to you.”

Well, it’s either follow her or traipse about in stinky trainers. Plus, she’s the first friendly face I’ve met in the city, and I’m reluctant to cut short our conversation. “If you’re sure it won’t be an imposition…”

She waves me off. “Not at all. Luna peed on you.”

I shrug and get to my feet, hoping that her mom’s place isn’t a dungeon or a murder den. Who knows, maybe this pee-soaked mishap will lead to a new friendship, but I’ll be thankful enough if I end up with a less smelly pair of shoes.

CHAPTER EIGHT

JAKE

Today’s apologytour concludes at my mother’s brownstone in the West Village.

My sisters and I each have bedrooms here, though none of us have ever lived in this house. Never seems as if Mom’s the only occupant—some sibling or another is always coming or going whenever I visit. I can only hope the current lineup doesn’t include Beatrice or the twins.

I jog up the stoop but halt in front of the door, keys in hand. Enter, or change my name and move across the planet?

I debate the merits of a spontaneous trip to Thailand versus facing the family tribunal. Just as I’m mentally checking into a Bangkok beach, the door swings open.

“What are you still outside for? You a vampire? Waiting to be invited in or something?” Of course, Helena’d be here. She’s the in-house lawyer. Our very own She-Hulk, defender of the peace until you piss her off. Her presence also means her trouble-causing clone’s inside.

One step into the foyer and I’m enveloped in the smell of pumpkin spice. It’s like a Starbucks threw up in here.

After giving my sister a quick hug, I glance at the passage to the living space and drop my voice. “How bad is it? What exactly does she know?”

Helena snorts. “Everything. She’s got a Google Alert set up for you, remember? Her watch pings every time you’re mentioned.”

I groan and rake my fingers through my hair. “Fuck.”

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