Page 64 of Love in Training
I open my mouth, but stop to consider. For all his crabbiness and bad attitude, I have to admit Drew does not make me feel unsafe. Kind of the opposite. I had every reason to be wary of him at first, but the night he stormed into my apartment, he kept his distance. He wasn’t pleasant, but he never acted creepy or tried to touch me. He’s texted me since, but only about the dog. I think about waking up on my floor with his hand over mine the morning after the storm, and while that memory ought to be intolerable, oddly, it felt safer than waking up next to any mansince Kyle. My face warms. Drew’s never been threatening at all. He just clearly hates my guts.
“No,” I finally say, not wanting to explain our shared tragedy to my boss. “I mean, it’s uncomfortable, but not in the same way. He’s really good with Rufus. I think he’s just a jerk to everyone.”
“Hmm.” Randall nods. “In my experience, people who work with animals tend to prefer their company to other people.”
“That’s probably for the best.” I snort. But when I glance at Rufus all I can think is how relaxed Drew seemed kneeling on the ground while the dog licked his face until his glasses fell off.
“Did you ever find out what kind of training Rufus received with the military?”
“Uh... no.” I actually don’t even know who to ask besides Theo.
“I think most of them are used to sniff out explosives or drugs, but he might’ve had some protection training.” Randall shrugs. “Maybe he could help keep the bad guys away.”
I look at Rufus, whose tongue currently hangs out the side of his mouth. If I hadn’t personally seen how terrifying he was the times he lunged at Darius and Brian, I might laugh this off. But then I remember the creepy guy in the hall outside my apartment, and the way Rufus stared at the door and growled until the hall was empty. I find myself digging my fingers deeper into his fur. And even when I realize it, I don’t let go.
“I guess I could ask his trainer.”
“It doesn’t solve the safety issue,” Randall says. “But it might help.”
I let out a low breath, rising and picking up my bag, trying not to think too hard about how Randall managed to turn a conversation about safety concerns into distilled motivation. Against my better judgment, my mind is already churning through possibilities, wondering who Colin Vanderpool’s“partner” might be. I’m itching to send emails. Make phone calls. Start digging.
“Thanks for the coffee,” I say, swiping the paper cup off his desk to take with me.
He smiles, managing not to looktoopleased. “For what it’s worth, it was made by a very bored-looking barista.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
Washington Park is surprisinglyempty on Friday evenings. It’s one of the city’s larger green spaces, and during the week, you can hardly walk across the grass without dodging a rogue ball or game of one kind or another. Usually, there are volleyball nets everywhere, yoga classes, groups of people playing spikeball, families having picnics. But the whole place is cleared out this evening. A few joggers and dog walkers pass through, but the crowds and parties are absent, the lawn abandoned. I suppose everyone is either out at clubs or on dates—maybe touring art galleries on South Santa Fe Drive.
I cringe, remembering my mom’s invitation. I love her, and I’m happy she’s finally doing something for herself, but I’m almost grateful to have an excuse not to go. Art galleries really aren’t my thing—too much small talk and schmoozing.
Lucky for me, I’m on a double date with anxiety and my dog.
Actually, I willnotcall it that. Not with Drew here.
I adjust the leash in my hand as I make a turn, scanning the path for the umpteenth time before focusing back on Rufus.
“Are you expecting someone?” Drew asks.
I frown. “No, why?”
“You keep looking around like you are.”
My face heats. We’ve been moving Rufus through a single routine for the last twenty minutes. The same one we’ve been repeating with him all week. Walking him back and forth between the trees, having him sit, lie down, or walk at our heels. Drew hardly speaks except to address the dog, so I’ve been lost in my head pretty much since we got here. Ruminating on some ideas I want to follow up on about Unmatched. Worrying about what else I might find next time I open my email. And apparently keeping an unconscious eye out for stray bad guys.
I didn’t expect him to notice.
“Just practicing situational awareness,” I say. “Doubt you’d understand—not really a Y chromosome thing.”
His brows draw together. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, then exhales instead. “Why don’t we run him through one more time and call it a night?”
“Thank God,” I mutter under my breath. It has been a grind squeezing Rufus’s training in on top of everything else each day. Don’t get me wrong, my personal life has devolved into a sad rotation of dog walking, work, YouTube strength training videos, ramen noodles, and Netflix. But at least I can do most of that from the security of my locked apartment.
This week was a lot, though, and I’ve been looking forward to having a couple of days to myself. I’ll hunker down tomorrow, touch base with a few contacts I hope will send my research in the right direction, and catch up on a couple of staff articles on local events I promised Randall. Maybe do some living room Pilates. If she’s feeling up to it, Lydia might want to dog walk with me. I just really need a couple days where I don’talsohave to see Drew Forbes.
We move through all the training motions again, the same way we have all week—him watching as I march between the trees with Rufus at my heel. Although this time I could swear Drew’s gaze follows me as closely as the dog. I stop, use the voiceand hand signals he’s shown me to have Rufus sit, lie down, and stay. I walk away, ensuring he doesn’t move, then give him the command to release. The dog runs to me, wagging his tail when I offer his tug toy like it’s the greatest thing since dry kibble.
