Page 4 of Sully

Glinda was a two-hundred-pound pure black Great Dane who was too big for any of our washing stations and needed to be bathed inside a walk-in shower meant for employees. That was something Courtney said she’d had installed half a year into owning the place, along with a wardrobe cabinet full of fresh clothes because she said she was a little tired of leaving work smelling like wet dog.

I was pretty sure she only felt that way because Courtney, unlike me, was a bit of a social butterfly and left work to go see friends more often than not.

I left work to grab drive-up groceries to avoid having to brave a busy grocery store, then went home to my empty apartment where no one was around to care what I smelled like.

Not even, as much as it broke my heart to admit, another dog, since my stupid apartment building didn’t allow animals.

“Well, to be fair, Glinda doesn’t even really like her owner very much,” Courtney said, shrugging. “She’s a big scaredy cat who knows how to use her significant body weight to her advantage. I take a shower each time I shower her. And she has to go to the vet to be sedated to get her nails trimmed.”

“Her brother is a sweetie pie, though.”

“Funnily enough, he doesn’t care for me. Okay. So, that’s it for today.”

“You finished Spinelli already?” I asked, thinking of how long it took to de-shed a husky.

“Yep. He went home five minutes ago. Just in time. Gotta clean up, and then I need to shower and dress for my date.”

“If you want, you can head out early,” I offered.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t do that.”

“Sure you can. I don’t have anywhere to be. And I kind of like cleaning up. I’ve got this.”

“Have I mentioned how happy I am that I hired you?” she asked.

“Not in the past half an hour.”

“Well, I am. Even if I know I should probably feel guilty about it.”

“Guilty? Why?”

“Because humans needhumanrelationships. And working here lets you hide from them all day long.”

“There’s nothing to feel guilty about. This is my happy place.”

“And I love that. Really, I do,” Courtney said. “But, also, please… go out and see people on occasion.”

“Does my weekly trip to the craft store count?” I asked, getting her to roll her brown eyes.

“No, no, it does not. Unless you meet some super fine man who fucks you silly in the yarn aisle or something. Okay. You’re the best. I love you for this. Wish me luck.”

“Luck with what?”

“Getting fucked in the yarn aisle,” she said with a silly little chest wiggle before rushing out.

Alone, I handed Mr. Butters off to his mom—who had a cup of whipped cream in hand—then went through the motions of scrubbing the place from top to bottom.

Honestly, I was happy to be busy.

Because as much as I did truly enjoy my quiet little life, I also wasn’t immune to the occasional feelings of missing out. Especially since starting to work at the Fur Seasons Spa and around my very social boss.

I understood we were completely different people, but I couldn’t help but wonder what it must be like to have her massive, ever-changing group of friends who dragged her to everything from wine and painting nights to weekend getaways. Or, of course, the revolving door of men who were practically tripping over themselves—and sometimes each other!—for her attention.

It was fantasy, of course.

I imagined myself in Courtney’s shoes the same way I’d imagine myself in the shoes of some action chick in a movie or the human girl in a book that some sexy fae guy was all head over heels for.

I didn’t actually want it.

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