“Guess we’ll see.”
Zoey scratches behind Chunky’s ears, baby talking to my chubby dog, “Do you know where we’re going?”
I see what she means because she looks damn sexy loving on Chunky and I can foresee a future with Zoey holding a swaddled baby and using that same tone. My man-ovaries are exploding too.
“He might. But he won’t tell you. Isn’t that right, Chunkster?”
We get in the car and drive off, Zoey’s faith in me meaning a lot more than words can say.
“Okay, okay . . . now, what are we doing?” Zoey asks. “Seriously, Blake.”
“Well, I did a little social media investigating,” I explain, chuckling when Zoey lifts an eyebrow of her own. “No, not creeping. And not on you. On Yvette Horne.” Zoey’s other eyebrow jumps up to match the first, and I rush to make this sound less sinister. “Her accounts are all public, no private profiles I could find, and thankfully, no Only Fans accounts. That was a rabbit hole I wish I hadn’t gone down. Let’s just say it’s . . . not for the faint of heart.”
“What do you mean?” Zoey asks. “I mean, I know what Only Fans is, but did you find something?”
I shudder at the memory. “Not Yvette’s, but to check and confirm, I had to search around. I had no idea there were so many people wanting to be sugar babies and daddies. So. Many.” Wide-eyed, I look at Zoey and mouth once more, “So. Many.”
Zoey laughs. At me? Or at the idea of sugar relationships? I don’t want to know, so I drive full-steam ahead into what I did find.
“Yvette’s pretty active on Facebook. Lots of check-ins, daily posts, sharing quiz results that apparently mean she’s 96% like Elsa and 78% like avocado toast, and most importantly, I found hundreds of pictures. Some of them with the dog we saw. Or well, the dog I saw.” I give her a side-eye, checking to see if she’s thinking about where her head was when I saw the dog, and though she fights the smile, her lips tilt up at the edges.
“Rusty,” Zoey says out of nowhere, but then she explains. “When I went to do the initial exam on Richard Horne, the dog out front was fighting with a deputy. He called the dog ‘Rusty’.”
“Yeah, that’s the dog’s name. So there are pictures of the dog and the same guy I saw leaving Yvette’s house, and she’d tagged a location.”
“A tagged location?” Zoey asks, shaking her head. “Nope, she’s not that smart, is she?”
“Not super-smart,” I agree. “But the guy’s name is Sebastian, and he’s a dog trainer. Apparently, he’s got some deal going with social media, like he’s some wannabe Dog Whisperer or something. Says he can train any dog. And it’s big, I guess. Guy’s got a hundred thousand followers! Did you know dog trainers were that in demand?”
“I can’t imagine why,” Zoey says, turning around to look at Chunky in the back seat. “I only know the most well-behaved, calm, healthy dogs. No needy little sausage rolls that beg for peanut butter.”
Chunky, hearing the word ‘sausage’, squirms wildly, trying to get to Zoey and making me groan. “No, Chunkster, no sausage. Kibble, doctor’s orders . . . kibble!”
Zoey stage-whispers to Chunky, “He is a mean old thing, isn’t he? I’ll see if I can find some peanut butter-flavored dog biscuits that won’t get us in trouble. Would you like that?”
I’m creating a monster. An adorable, sweet, beautiful monster . . . and I’m not talking about Chunky.
“So I basically cyber stalked this Sebastian guy, and based on his videos, figured out that he meets clients at the dog park we’re going to,” I reveal. “I thought we could stop by, maybe set up a conversation. We can’t just confront him and ask about Yvette.”
“Ah, that’s where Chunky comes in, I guess? You’re not just trying to get in my pants.”
“Don’t need Chunky for that,” I boast, and Zoey giggles.
Unaware that’s he’s instrumental in a murder investigation, Chunky lets out a cute growl, and I look in the rear-view mirror to check on him. He’s staring at the back of Zoey’s head with puppy dog eyes, and I think I’ve been replaced in the big guy’s heart. Of course, she did promise him peanut butter-flavored treats, and the way to any guy’s heart is through his stomach.
* * *
Chunky growls again, pulling on his leash as we pass by an oak tree that has a squirrel running around the trunk. Too bad Chunky would never be able to catch it.
The dog park’s up ahead, and as soon as we get through the gate, I unhook Chunky, letting him run and make friends with the half-dozen or so dogs that are doing . . . dog stuff. I see three sniffing asses, one hiking his leg, and a few others chasing each other.
But I’m quickly distracted by Zoey. She looks so happy, a smile on her face and the sun shining on her face. She’s beautiful.
“You’ve got some fur on your shirt,” I note, wanting to reach up and brush the fuzz off her chest.
Zoey looks down and laughs softly. She brushes off her chest, smirking when she sees where my eyes are still going. “I see how you are.”
I shrug, not denying a damn thing. “Yup.”
I’m about to say more when, out of the corner of my eye, I see a woman approaching us. Going by the leash in her hand and graphic logo on her T-shirt, she’s obviously a ‘dog mom.’ “Hi, haven’t seen you guys around before. I’m Brianna.”
“Hi, I’m Blake, and this is Zoey. And that guy over there is Chunky.” I point to Chunky, who’s in the middle of a pack of playing dogs.
“Friends? Dating? Married?” Brianna asks boldly.
“Uhm, friends?” Zoey offers uncertainly.
“Just friends?” Brianna says, looking incredulous. “I though you two looked cute together. So, are you new to the area?”
“New to this dog park,” I reply. “Say, you—”
Before I can casually ask if Brianna knows anything about the social media famous dog trainer who visits this park, she starts yelling. “Boopie! Boopie, no!” Following Brianna’s eyes across the park, I see what looks like a schnauzer trying to get his freak on with a labradoodle, except other than the obvious height issue, I’m pretty sure the labradoodle is a boy, too.
“Rainbows in the dog park,” Zoey notes as Brianna hurries off with a huff. “Hope that didn’t offend her.”
“It was funny,” I retort. “But . . . friends?”
Zoey stumbles, trying to find words as she grows pinker and pinker. “Just, ahh, you know, to be a couple we . . . well, ah, God, I don’t mean that . . . you know, Blake?”
“If you’d go out with me, you could say we’re dating,” I point out, and Zoey turns even redder. “What is it?”
“Holly says I should go out with you,” Zoey says. “Says I should take a chance.”
Interesting, but . . . “And you? What do you say?”
I can see her trying to retreat behind her walls as she twists a toe in the grass. “I want to, but . . .”
Nope. No ifs, no buts, no candy or nuts. “Enough said. That you’re even thinking about it says those walls are tumbling down. I can’t wait to see you free and open.”
Zoey goes to protest, but before the doubt can be given words, I pull her to me, kissing her deeply. She kisses me back, her hands going around my neck and drawing me in deep too. The world disappears, and I only faintly hear Brianna come by, chuckling. “Just friends . . . Hmph.”
I smile against her lips and pull back, looking into Zoey’s eyes. She goes to open her mouth to say something, but before she can, one of the other dog parents calls across the park to someone. “Hey Sea-bass!” We both freeze, eyes going wide with hope.
I turn my head to see Sebastian, looking more like a fitness model than a dog trainer in his tight T-shirt and low-slung gray sweat pants. He waves to whoever greeted him and opens the gate.
“Our guy?” Zoey asks, going to look, but I cup her face, looking into her eyes.
“Don’t look.”
“Then how am I going to know where he is?”
I smile, cutting my eyes to
the side. “He’s by the gate, petting the pair of Great Pyrs.”
“Great what?” Zoey asks.
I laugh softly. “Think the canine version of a marshmallow . . . huge, fluffy, white.”
“What are we waiting for then?” Zoey asks. “He could be starting a lesson. Let’s go over there.”
“Not yet, too direct,” I reply, stroking a thumb over Zoey’s face and relishing the softness there while still keeping an eye on Sebastian. “Trust the salesman. Some people, you have to ease up on them so you don’t scare them off.”
Zoey snorts. “You’re not clever. I know you’re talking about me.”
I focus everything on her, not smiling this time. “Wasn’t trying to hide it.”
Zoey takes a big, shuddering breath but nods. She hears me. She understands. “So, what’s the plan?”
I let her change the course of conversation, knowing I’m getting dangerously closer to her core and that she needs time to adjust to that. “Watch him.”
Zoey takes a half step back, still looking at me. “And then?”
I put an arm around her shoulders, leading Zoey away from Sebastian and toward Chunky, who’s now lying on the grass with his legs splayed into the air. Chunky’s lucky that Boopie isn’t still around. He might end up gettin’ more than a friendly sniff like that. “I don’t know yet.”
Zoey stiffens but keeps walking with me. “What? What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I mean I don’t know. I’m playing this by ear. You have a plan?” I ask as we reach Chunky, who promptly flops over. Kneeling, I pet his head, rubbing his ears until he licks my hand and runs off.
Zoey watches Chunky but hisses at me, “I just found out about this an hour ago!”
I laugh, knowing Zoey too well. “That means that you’ve had an hour to obsess over whether he would show and what to do about it. Don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking about it.”
Zoey stops and blinks like an owl realizing for the first time that it can spin its head fully around. “I didn’t . . . haven’t . . .”
“You really didn’t think about it?” I pry, not believing her. But then another idea strikes me. “If not a plan, what were you thinking about, Zoey?” Her cheeks pinken, and based on that alone, I’m pretty sure I know the answer, but I have to hear her say it.
I know it’s greedy, but I want to be something she dedicates that sexy mind to figuring out, thinking up imaginary situations and playing them out like movies in her mind, replaying our conversations and kisses, and getting to know me on her own terms by filing my information in her mental filing cabinet. I bet it’s one of those giant ones with an antique card catalog behind double brass doors.
Finally, she looks up at me, her eyes screwed up with courage. “You. I was thinking about you.”
There’s so much she doesn’t say, but she doesn’t need to say it. Instead, I pull her close again and kiss her tenderly because I need to taste the courage on her lips. “Thank you.”
Zoey smiles hazily but then finds her prickly grit and pushes me off. “Don’t get all cocky. I was mostly imagining how stupid you’ll look when you get hurt after I warned you, threatened you, and basically begged you to leave me alone for your own good.”
I mock flex, acting nonchalant and macho. “I’m not exactly known for doing things for my own good,” I start, keeping up the machismo act before breaking at her concerned look. “Nah . . . you know me. I get my annual physical, drive the speed limit, eat healthy. Hell, I even put up the basket at the grocery store. I’m a good guy, if I say so myself.”
But staying away from Zoey doesn’t feel good. It feels wrong. I want to be with her, closer to her, inside her in so many ways. I slip my hand around hers, and shoulder to shoulder, we watch Chunky running around.
“I think you’re a good guy too,” Zoey says after a bit, so I know she’s been thinking about us. Her decree sounds promising, but it’s not until she puts her arm around my waist and snuggles into my side that I breathe. I take the win, staying close as we slowly work our way over to Sebastian.
As we approach, I hear Sebastian talking to a man about dog food brands he recommends. “What do you think about Advance Nutrition’s diet dog food?” the man asks, his hand resting on the giant head of a small bear masquerading as a wrinkly-faced gray mastiff-looking thing. “My Princess is on it.”
“That’s a dog?” Zoey asks, and Sebastian looks over at her interruption, grinning instantly when he sees her. He even does a quick head to toe scan before he dips his chin at me in that ‘no offense, dude’ way. I lift my brow an increment before slowly returning the chin dip.
“Oh, this is just a big, sweet baby . . . with really big poops,” he says to Zoey before answering the dog owner’s question. “AN’s pretty good, actually, but there’s a dog version of the 30-day Whole Foods routine . . . if you really want to lean her out.”
Honestly, all I see is the friendly dude from his social media. Not a poisoning murder suspect.
“Hmm, my boy’s on AN too, but I haven’t heard of that 30-day thing,” I comment, joining the conversation just like I do when I’m making a life insurance cold intro. Find something in common and just join in, fostering the connection. “Would that be okay for my other dog?” Zoey looks at me, well aware I only have Chunky, but what I also now have is a plan. “I’ve got an Irish Setter-Golden Retriever girl at home. She’s not overweight like the Chunkster here, but I can’t imagine making two dog dinners, you know? I’m not a short-order cook.”
I’m playing it cool, trying to get him to talk, especially by dropping the exact designer-mix breed dog Yvette has while asking for advice.
Sebastian chuckles nonchalantly. “Yeah, man, I hear that. But the 30-day is good for all dogs. I’ve got a client, also an Irish Retriever, that’s so sweet, but he’s willful as hell.”
“Another Irish Retriever?” I ask, mock surprised. The mastiff owner quickly thanks Sebastian and leaves, pretending to lead his dog when I’m pretty sure that monster could be hooked to the front of his truck and pull them both home. But I’m focused on Sebastian. “Those are pretty rare. Mine’s a shedder, the Retriever side, I guess.”
Sebastian agrees, “Yeah, they tend to create a small hair storm. With Rusty, we have to vacuum after him almost every day.”
“Oh, don’t I know it!” I exclaim. Looking at Zoey, who’s catching on, I grin. “How long ago did you make me buy that new robot vacuum, honey?”
“Last month. It was that online sale,” Zoey fake-reminds me, joining in. “No way was I using that big vacuum any longer.” She bends her elbows, not flexing her toned arms so it seems like she’s a weakling.
“I wouldn’t know,” Sebastian offers with a flex of his own.
I clear my throat. “Shedding aside, I love these guys though. Even if they kill my budget with special food, vacuums, chair legs . . . ugh.” I roll my eyes dramatically—for Chunky and Jessie, my imaginary Irish-Retriever.
Sebastian’s eyebrows lift, and I see he caught scent of the bait I just laid out. “Chair legs, huh? You know, I offer obedience lessons. I could help you out on that.”
“Could you?” Zoey asks, smiling hopefully as though Sebastian were her savior. I know she’s playing her part too, but that doesn’t stop the growl from trying to rumble in my chest. Especially when she adds, “I mean, last week, Jessie got ahold of my favorite bra, and . . . well, you know.”
Sebastian laughs, his eyes flittering to Zoey’s chest naturally before coming back to her eyes faster than a single man normally would. “I understand.”
“Is it a breed thing?” I ask. “For Irish Retrievers? You know, did the other owner, I dunno, get things eaten?”
Sebastian laughs. “No, nothing like that.”
I nod, seeing the opening but knowing it’s not quite big enough yet. “Well, if you’ve got a card or something, man, I’d love to check my schedule at home, see if we can set something up?”
Sebastian’s quick to his pocket
, pulling out his wallet and a business card and offering it to me. “Here you go. Email’s best, but that’s just so if I’m with a client, I don’t forget to call back.”
“Thanks,” I tell him, tucking the card in my pocket. “Well, we should get going. Chunkster!”
Chunky comes bounding over, nearly taking me to the ground again, but I manage to clip his leash on. I wave to Sebastian, but he’s already scanning for his next potential clients.
Zoey keeps her cool until we’re at the gate and leaving before elbowing me in the ribs. “What the hell was that?”
I grin, knowing this is one area where my experience far outstrips hers. “Long game. If we’d asked more about Yvette, he would have gotten his guard up. It’s why I kept it to the dog. Now we can find out more about him, and maybe Yvette.”
Zoey thinks, then nods at my logic. “So . . . like a sale.”
“Just like a sale. Some are fast, some are slow, but you take whatever time’s needed.”
Zoey gives me that single eyebrow lift that says she knows what I’m up to. She knows I’m talking about two things at once again. “Smart man.”
“I know,” I say cockily, but I soften the pseudo-arrogance with a smile. “Now, we wait,” I continue as we reach my car and I open the back for Chunky, who promptly hops in. I know he’s going to give Zoey the full-on puppy dog eyes treatment, but safety is always first. “I figure at least a day or two before calling.”
“Why?” Zoey asks, standing in the door I’ve opened for her. “I don’t understand.”
I crowd into her space, loving the way her breath hitches as she looks up at me. “It’s how it’s done. If you really want the biggest sale, you don’t pressure, you don’t push. You draw them to you so that everything’s smooth as butter when the deal’s closed.”
Zoey gives me a questioning look, sure we’re not talking about Sebastian anymore. After a moment where I swear I can see her mind processing—contemplating me, us, and an amalgamation of possibilities—she gets in and I close the door.
We should get going, but I pause, needing a breath myself. Because yeah, she’s my biggest sale. Selling myself to her by making her wonder how she ever lived without me and ensuring that she never wants to again.
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