Page 79 of Love in Training
I clap for him, and when I do, all I can think is how happy this would’ve made Kyle. Watching his beloved dog having the time of his life in a place that existed in his dreams. The way Drew moves is so like him, I can only imagine what the brothers would have looked like working here side-by-side. Drew cuts a slightly larger figure than Kyle did, but they were both so clearly gifted with animals, it’s obvious they could have done something special together. Not to mention these men were blessed with the kind of genetics that go wild on social media. If Drew and Kyle had ever done dog training videos together, it would have been an instant thirst trap.
This makes me snort. Then clap my hand to my mouth. Because both men would havehatedthat.
I must’ve made too much noise, because when I look up, Drew is staring right at me. And while Iknowhe couldn’t know what I’m thinking, the look in his eyes sure feels like he does.
Thankfully, Rufus chooses that moment to barrel straight into him, nearly knocking him down to grab the tug toy out of his hands. I cover my mouth, trying not to laugh as mydog runs a victory lap and Drew accounts for all his fingers. Once he’s recovered himself, Rufus baits him into a tug-of-war, and it seems truly unclear who will win based on the flex of Drew’s shoulders and biceps versus the whole-body pulling and growling Rufus is doing. Eventually, whether it’s earned or a forfeit, the dog comes out a winner.
And the next thing I know, Drew is walking to where I’m sitting, holding out the toy.
“You try it now,” he says, sage eyes burning into me.
“Me?” I sit forward, glancing at the agility equipment like a kid who wasn’t paying attention in class. At the park, Drew had me run Rufus through commands occasionally, which I admit was good practice. But since we’ve been at K9 Academy, I’ve been a strict observer. I haven’t been watching closely enough to know the right words or gestures to use.
“You’re his handler,” he says firmly. “He needs his commands to come from you.” His voice is brusque, though maybe slightly less barbed than times in the past, which makes it harder for me to bristle a response.
I have no interest in being a dog handler, nor do I even know how. But when the dog looks at me expectantly with those bright golden eyes, I groan. He probably won’t care if I screw up as long as he gets a reward.
“Fine.” I sigh, slipping off the half wall and taking the toy from Drew’s hand. As I do, our fingers touch, and a light shiver passes through me. I look up at him in surprise, and he returns my stare, pulling his hand back slowly like he felt it too. I clear my throat. “Where do I stand?”
“Take your position here,” he says, moving to a random spot on the floor. I square my shoulders and follow. When I’m close enough to touch him, but still a comfortable distance, he says, “Good. Now make sure Rufus is where you need him to be.”
The dog looks at me like I ought to know what this means, and when it’s clear I don’t, Drew steps closer, positioning himself parallel to my body. The masculine scent of soap and sandalwood tickles my nose, making my pulse pick up. I straighten my back, focusingallmy attention on mimicking his posture. We haven’t been this close since the night we spent on the floor of my apartment.
“Say, ‘Rufus, place,’” he rumbles, breath warm against my ear.
I clear my throat and repeat the magic words while pointing to the floor directly in front of me, since that is also something Drew is doing.
The dog is in the spot before I can blink, sitting and wagging his black-tipped tail, looking back and forth at us like this is some fun new double-trainer game. I keep my eyes on him, afraid to turn my head and find out exactly how close Drew is.
“All right, now he knows what’s expected,” Drew says. “But he’s still going to be looking to you for any changes. Just make sure you maintain your connection.”
I nod, though focusing on his words and not his scent is now a significant challenge. I close my eyes briefly, breathing him in. “Okay.”
There’s a pause, stretching just long enough to be awkward. Then he clears his throat. “Um, you can tell him to start any time.”
My eyes fly open almost as fast as the blood rushes to my face. “Rufus, go!”
The dog takes off through the tunnel. Clears the tire jump. Heads up the A-frame and down the other side. He pauses on the table, even though I forget to tell him to wait. Quickly, I position myself between that and the next obstacle.
“Release!”
He leaps down, clears the next hurdle, then picks his way carefully through the weave poles. Once that’s completed, he’s flying through the tire jump, circling back toward me, and I’m so focused watching him come in for the finish, I gasp when Drew’s big hand closes over mine. He extends my wrist out away from my body, and I whip my head to look at him, a question on my lips. Before I can ask, the toy is snatched out of my hand and Rufus is whipping it back and forth, trying to shake it to death.
Drew looks down, and when our eyes meet, I’m aware we’ve ended up in a strangelyDirty Dancingstance—his arm still extended in the air gripping mine, his other hand resting on my waist. Our faces separated by inches.
His breath catches, and my pulse races beneath my skin.
“I—sorry,” he says, letting go and stepping back, taking all the air with him. “I didn’t want him to knock you over.”
I draw my arm down, bringing my hand to my wrist, trapping the lingering warmth of his touch. “Oh. Thanks.”
The dog whips the toy into my legs with a painful smack, and I lean down, grateful for the distraction.
“Good boy!” I say, grabbing the end of the rope and pulling, because that’s his favorite. I can feel Drew watching, but I’m so confused about what just happened, I can’t bring myself to look at his face.
“Yes, that was excellent,” he says, and I relax as he resumes his usual clipped tone. “He still followed your direction, even when you mixed up the obstacle order.”
“What? I didn’t mix it up.” Rufus nearly pulls me over while tugging the end of the rope.
