Page 34 of Love Puck

Those shorts should be illegal.

The way the cutoffs hugged Jillian’s ass—fuck. And watching her long legs every time she moved or walked.

Or breathed.

Fuck.

Barnes had put us in the room with the elderly animals. And absolutely zero people had come in to see them.

Well, a few did.

And once they realized how old these animals were, they quickly retreated.

Jillian had made fast friends with one of the dogs. He was a sixteen year old Jack Russell terrier, named Wyatt.

“You are the cutest,” she told Wyatt and gave him a hug. Wyatt loved the attention and sat in her lap on the floor.

“You should adopt him. He’s really taken with you,” I said to Jillian as I picked a yappy Chihuahua.

Jillian looked over at me. “I don’t have time to take care of a dog. I can barely manage what I’m doing now. And I’m gone so much. It wouldn’t be fair to him.”

Wyatt gave her face a quick lick, and she giggled.

Fuck.

I missed her laugh.

“You’d be fine,” I told her the truth. “He could go to doggie daycare with Hailey, Angel, and Gordie.” That was true, too. “I bet you guys could take turns dropping off and picking up.”

She bit her lip for a second. “It’s a big commitment. And I don’t know if I could even care for him properly.”

I frowned and wondered what she meant.

“You know,” her voice took on a more serious tone, then she whispered, “because of his missing leg.”

I couldn’t help but burst out laughing at that. “Why are you whispering? I don’t think Wyatt can understand you. And anyway, I’m pretty sure he knows he’s only got three legs.”

She scowled at me. “You don’t need to laugh at him.”

That sobered me up. “I’m not laughing at him. I’m laughing at you. Wyatt can handle himself. He’s getting around just fine.”

And he was.

The elderly dog didn’t move too quickly. But he moved.

Wyatt got where he needed to go. Yeah, he did it a little differently. But he didn’t seem to mind.

In fact, he seemed like a good-natured dog. Barnes said Wyatt’s owners passed away. They were elderly, too.

No close family that could take the dog.

Wyatt’s time was running out in more ways than one.

“He’s just a dog. You can handle a dog,” I said, and I believed it, too. You could tell how attached she was to him already. And while Wyatt didn’t seem like the picky type, he sure seemed to love her.

But that was understandable. I knew exactly how he felt.

A few people filtered in and out during the rest of the afternoon. But no one was interested in these older animals.

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