Page 50 of Bad Boys Don’t Date Clumsy Girls

Chapter Nineteen

Lunch drags on longer than normal. I tell myself it isn’t that I’m disappointed when Dylan doesn’t come into the breakroom to eat with me. I’m simply surprised. Is he still working on the wall? Is he avoiding me by hanging in the lobby? No, that would be weird. Maybe he ate outside on his bike? The early spring weather isn’t horrible. Chilly for my liking. But he has that sexy leather jacket to keep him warm.

Checking on him would send the wrong message, so I force myself to sit tight. I stare at the door leading into the lobby the entire time I’m eating. When it finally opens, I startle. My heart races with anticipation. But it’s only an employee grabbing a sweater from their locker. When my half-hour break is over, I make my feet carry me out to patio A to start the afternoon kennel cleaning instead of going into the lobby to see where Dylan went.

I take my time getting the supplies out and filling the mop bucket. I even pull out the big push broom and sweep the entire patio, which I rarely do. When Dylan still hasn’t shown up, I give in and start the kennels. When it comes time to clean Popeye’s kennel, I pause. Biting my lip, I stare down the expanse of empty patio and consider the still closed gate. I remind myself that Dylan is only a temporary volunteer anyway and I shouldn’t become reliant on his help. But my current hesitation is more about Popeye than myself. The dog has had enough hardship in his life. I hate to think Dylan’s absence will be another one to add to the beast’s list. I shake my head in a silent scolding. Popeye shouldn’t be any more reliant on a temporary volunteer than I am. With resolution, I forge ahead and let the huge grump of a dog out. This time, Popeye looks up at me as he passes. My heart swells with the brief eye contact. I want so badly to reach out and pet him, but don’t want to push my luck. One step at a time.

I’ve just finished the last kennel on the patio Z and am pulling the bucket through the door when Dylan says from right beside me, “Why don’t you take the cats this afternoon and I’ll do the cages?”

With a squeal, I involuntarily jump away from him, tripping over the bucket. I try to steady myself with the mop handle that I still clutch in my hand, but that just sends the bucket tipping further. Dirty water sloshes over the side and spreads across the patio.

“Oops.” Dylan grimaces. “Sorry about that. New plan. I’ll clean this up. You can move on to cats.”

“It’s no big deal. I’ll just put Sadie away before she tracks water all over and then I’ll hose down the patio. Never a bad thing to hose the patio off now and again. The dogs won’t get let out again until after 5:00. Plenty of time for the patio to dry between now and then. Even with the chilly weather.”

“They get let out again?” Dylan asks. He chases Sadie down, scoops the little terrier into his arms, and carries her through the water to set her inside her kennel.

My traitorous heart pulses with appreciation that he took care of that for me. I can’t help but notice how much more proactive he is now than he was that first weekend when he’d just wait for me to tell him what to do. “Yeah, they’ll be let out two more times today, as a matter of fact. And once in the morning before we get here. Feeding times start at 7:00 am and 5:00 pm. They cycle through the kennels the same way we do when we clean them, but instead, a staff member feeds them in the same groups we let them out in. Then they let them out to do their business at the very end of the day.”

Dylan stares at me, slack-jawed. “I can’t believe I never thought about how they were fed. I take it they’re let out one last time for the night so they can pee or whatever.”

“Exactly.” I frown at the disappointment on Dylan’s face. “What’s wrong?”

His dark gaze grows stormy as he scowls at the ground. “I can’t believe I never wondered about that.”

“Well, Dylan, that’s not what you’re here for.” I duck my head to get a better look at his distress. “Hey, it’s not a big deal.”

“I was feeling pretty good about the work I was doing here.” Dylan seems to be talking to himself. “But it never even struck me that there is so much more to the animals’ care.”

On instinct, I match Dylan’s rising anxiety with my own. With a glance at the door, I’m already considering my escape options. But I don’t really expect Dylan to start yelling at me if I stick around. I need to stop being such a scaredy-cat. I draw a deep breath in through my nose, swallow my fear, and place a gentle hand on his arm, hoping he doesn’t notice the slight tremor. “Dylan, you’re doing a lot for these animals.”

He freezes. His gaze sweeps from my hand up to my face. The pain in his gaze surprises me and compels me to take a step closer. I drop my hand to my side.

“Popeye actually looked at me today.” When he doesn’t seem to understand, I continue. “He’s been here for months, and he’s never once looked at me. But your work with him is helping him to feel more secure here. That’s a huge, huge step for him.”

Dylan looks across to patio A, still uncertain.

“Abused animals can take a very long time to trust again,” I continue. “Sometimes they never do, but you are teaching him to trust again.”

Dylan shifts his attention to me, and the trust I see reflected at me makes me inhale and step backward.

His expression instantly folds into concern and confusion. Blossoming panic drives pesky tears to obscure my vision. When I see Dylan reach for me, I abandon the bucket and the spilled water and race toward the gate.

I call over my shoulder. “I’ll take care of the cats.”

“Ava!”

But I ignore him and slam into the shelter. My entire body is trembling. Keeping my head down, I speed walk through the lobby and lock myself into the bathroom, before finally letting out a shuddering breath. I clamp a hand over my mouth to keep a sob from escaping. When my breathing is no longer hitched, I curl my hands around the corners of the sink and lean forward, but I keep my head down to avoid seeing myself in the mirror. What would I see if I looked right now?

A coward.

A big, huge coward.

When I can avoid it no longer, I slowly raise my head until I’m staring at my reflection. Sure enough, the girl who stares back has eyes as round as a rabbit’s, a chicken heart, and a yellowbelly. Because what she just realized is that Dylan Scott isn’t just teaching Popeye to trust again, he’s teaching her too. But is she embracing it? Is she taking the time to learn from it? Build new strength from it? No. The coward in the mirror runs from it every chance she gets.

As I examine my likeness in the mirror, I try to envision myself as a secure, confident person. I consider what it would be like to be like Sam. Yet, I can only picture Sam being like Sam. Anytime I attempt to imagine myself walking straight-backed, I morph into Sam. When I try to picture myself behind the wheel of a car, I become Sam. When I try to envision a normal conversation with Mom, the image splinters completely. Not even Sam has ever done that. No one has had a normal conversation with my mom that I know of. I can’t look at myself anymore, so I drop my chin and stare at the sink. There’s nothing in my life that gives me the self-reliance to feel confident.

I’ve been hiding in my room or running to Sam’s or escaping to the shelter or school my entire life. The image I hold of myself is of a girl who hides behind shaggy bangs, whose shoulders curl forward. Someone who takes small, shuffling steps. Somebody who never, ever raises her voice. A person who doesn’t speak her mind for fear it might create a scene.

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