Page 39 of Love in Training
The receptionist smiles when we head out to the front desk. “Can he have a treat?”
I nod, fumbling with the leash because there’s some guy over in the corner with a German shepherd, and the last thing I need after this frustrating visit is for Rufus to freak out again.
“Great. And here is your total for today,” the woman says. “Do you want to put that on a card?”
My heart skips a beat as I look at her screen. “I’m sorry... this washowmuch?”
She details the charges for the exam, the bloodwork, and the Prozac, minus the portion of my soul I must have handed over. I look down at my whiny, high-maintenance, inherited dog, and scowl. “I should sell you.”
“I’ll buy,” a deep voice says from across the room.
This time, I can’t even feign surprise. It has started to feel like I’m living awhy choosewhere everything in the universe wants to screw me at once. And here I am, being ordered to bend over again. Only it isn’t even fun.
“You couldn’t afford him,” I mutter.
My already-erratic pulse spikes as Drew Forbes rises from his chair and approaches. “Name your price.”
The German shepherd at his feet stays where he left it, chill on the floor. I pull out my credit card as fast as I can. “I was joking. He’s not for sale.”
But the man keeps coming. I brace myself, tightening my grip on the leash. Just when I think he’s going to get in my face and snatch the leash, though, the misanthropic trainer drops to one knee. And starts petting my dog.
“How you holding up, Ruf?”
Of course the beast responds by putting his feet on Drew’s shoulders and licking his face like it’s covered in Salisbury steak.And the man just lets him, tipping his head back and closing his eyes until an ache starts up in my chest because heisKyle. His angular, handsome face is calm, free of shadows and turmoil, relaxed and at peace—because of a canine. He doesn’t even correct the dog when it knocks his glasses askew. But when he catches me watching, his mouth dips into a frown and the spell breaks. I look away.
The receptionist hands me the receipt for a bill that almost matches my rent payment, and I just stand there hoping Rufus decides Drew tastes so good he bites his face off.
“Is he sick?” he asks, running his hands over the dog like he’s checking for illness. And from the bitter tone of his voice, any blame is clearly directed at me.
“He’s fine,” I say, tugging the leash. “Just anxious.”
Rufus finally backs off, and when he does, Drew rises to his feet until he’s towering over me. And all at once, everything shifts. My breath stutters. Kyle wasn’t a small guy, but Drew is taller, maybe even broader. It’s not so much his size, though, as his presence. Something about the way he takes up space, maybe his scent. I feel completely off-balance.
He looks me up and down in my athletic wear, and the way my skin heats in response is freaking embarrassing. “You should be running him,” he says.
His cranky tone reminds me I’m angry. “Excuse me?”
“He needs activity—he needs to run. It would help,” he says, going for condescending and landing it like the professional he is.
I school my face and straighten my spine. “Maybe I do take him running.”
He snorts. “You don’t.”
“How would you—” But then I stop. Because he sounds so certain, and then one tiny bit of data connects with anotherinside my brain, and I step back. “Oh my God. I knew I saw you at the park.”
A look flashes over his face. It’s fast, but it’s enough. I think back over the last few times I’ve walked there with Rufus. I’ll admit, I’m generally paranoid about being watched, but I’ve been looking over my shoulder more this week, and now I know why.
I lower my voice. “Have you been following me?”
“Of course not,” he says, but he avoids my eyes.
My skin prickles. “Why?”
He glances at the desk, but the receptionist has disappeared into the back to get my prescription. “No need to inflate your ego. I live by the same park.”
I step toward him, shaking my head. I’ve been honing my interview skills for years—I can tell when I’m being lied to. And while Drew Forbes following me in the park is surface-level upsetting, after the threats I’ve received this year, my tolerance for creepy men is shot.
“I don’t know what your obsession is with this dog,” I hiss. “But if you don’t back off, I will report you for harassment. I’ve got no time for any more psychos in my life.”
