Page 52 of The Pretender

She smirks. “Now, now. This isn’t how this game is played anymore.” She turns, intent on leaving me with the same comment I once said to her when she inquired what I was doing.

I grab her by the elbow and haul her into my sweaty chest. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going? You better not be going on some ‘save the tree frogs and their plastic ecosystems’ expedition with fucking Vance. We had an agreement.”

She pushes her palm against my chest and frowns. “Slow down, Major Douche. I’m just going to work. You know those places where broke people go to earn money?”

I narrow my eyes. “I know what a job is. The question is, why are you working? Don’t you make enough in sponsorships?”

I know I do. Seems like she would too.

“I do, but believe it or not, sometimes I like helping more than just tree frogs.”

I narrow my eyes, and she sighs. “I work with rescue dogs.”

“Dogs?” How did I not know she had a job before now? “You work at the pound or something?”

She hitches her bag up her shoulder. “No, not the pound. It’s a rescue shelter for military dogs that have lost their owners. Some don’t adjust without their owners and fall into a depression. My uncle runs it.”

She rolls her eyes. “When I get back, maybe you can pop another Midol, and we can talk strategy on the phone.”

I’m not so sure about that. Talking to her is worse than seeing her. Hell, everything that deals with Valentina sucks.

“What kind of dogs are they?”

I’ve always wanted a dog, but due to my sister’s condition, the only time I ever got to pet one was when they would bring the therapy dogs, so she could pet them. My mom said she couldn’t take care of me, my sister, and a puppy too.

“Different kinds. Mostly German Shepherds but there are few others. Why?” Vee is suspicious and rightfully so.

I shrug and put my hands in my pockets. “I’m just thinking maybe it would be cool if we did a shot of you and the dogs. Everyone loves dogs, right?” It’s true. “Animal videos go viral just as much as human ones. Who's to say that we wouldn’t knock it out of the park with a dog video?”

“These aren’t puppies.”

“I know that,” I argue, “but they are rescues, which is even better. Who doesn’t like a couple doing charitable work with dogs?”

What could go wrong? Famous last words.

“So, what do you think? Want to try a video there? If it’s terrible, we don’t have to use it, and besides, it’ll be good publicity for your uncle’s charity, right?”

Vee still doesn’t look convinced, but I can tell she’s going to say yes. Even if she would like to junk punch me, she won’t, because, like me, she wants to win.

“I’ll call Brick. He can meet us there,” I say, pushing my new mower onto the patio because I have no idea what I’ll do with it until next week.

“Us?” Her voice is amused. “We aren’t riding together.”

I open the back door and nod for her to follow. “Why not? Aren’t you all about conserving fuel and shit?”

Her head tips to the sky, and she exhales loudly.

“I need five minutes to shower,” I promise. “You can have a popsicle while you wait.”

The last bit gets her, and she drops her head and follows me in.

* * *

The shelter Veeworks at is a small outfit deep in the country. All rolling hills and wheat fields. “You make this drive every day?” I ask her.

“Not every day. Just a few days a week. My uncle doesn’t want me too distracted from my studies and sometimes I think he just likes being out here by himself with the dogs.”

“Oh,” I mumble. “Was he like your dad?”

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