Page 10 of Forget About Me

Lucy waves goodbye as he heads for the front of the store, but Puck’s got her attention now. “Hello. How are you, my little man?”

Hands itching to touch her, I step closer. “Guess you guys bonded today.”

“Oh, yes we did,” she coos. “Over worm medicine and shots and a flea bath. Lots of fun. And lots of treats.”

Puck agrees with a sharp bark.

“You were a good boy, weren’t you?” She points an index finger in the air. He sits immediately, and she gives him a treat. Then she points at the floor. “Down.” He drops, mouth split in a big doggie smile.

“Wow. You taught him that today?”

“He’s pretty smart.”

“Didn’t you used to teach dogs tricks when you pet-sat for them?”

“Yeah, I used to watch a show on PBS about dog behavior, and since we couldn’t have a dog, I experimented with the neighbors’ pets.” She shakes her head, grinning. “Sometimes they were a little too surprised at the results.”

Her smile is so addictive that I just keep going, even if a trip down memory lane is dangerous territory. “I remember the… who was it? The Petersons? Didn’t you teach their dog to play dead on a cue or something?”

“Oh my gosh, I forgot all about that. After they came home, the kids were playing cops and robbers one day, and thought they’d killed their dog!” If her smile has my heart pounding, her laugh has it bursting from my chest. “The Whitsons, on the other hand, were so happy I got their dog used to the ceiling fan that they paid me an extra fifty bucks. That dog was so afraid of fans that the whole family would just sit and swelter—until I showed up with a solution.”

“You should hire yourself out as a trainer.”

“Pfft. That was just me as a kid messing around. Plus, I wouldn’t even know how to begin running a business like that.” Her tone cools, and her expression is back to business. “Anyway, what do you need?”

She’s here to help me out with the dog. That’s it. No need to make a scene begging for her forgiveness here in the aisles of the Pet Palace. “That’s why you’re here, remember? I have no idea. I’ll put signs up around the neighborhood once I get a chance to develop a picture and go to the copy store, but I’ll need stuff to keep him for now.”

She levels a look exactly like one her mother would give Tony and me when we were in trouble.

I raise my left hand and place the right one over my heart. “I promise I won’t take him to the shelter or abandon him. I wouldn’t do that.”

Some retort blooms behind her eyes—one I’m sure I deserve—but she presses her plush lips into a hard line and snaps her fingers. “Let’s go, Puck. To the dog section. Actually”?—she spins toward the front of the store—?“let’s get a cart. You’re going to need it.”

As she leads us up and down the aisles, my eyes feast on the Lucy smorgasbord. A scrunchie attempts to contain her wavy, brown hair, but escaped tendrils frame her heart-shaped face like a stylist placed them just so. Her olive-tinted skin glows with a natural flush of pink not even the best makeup artist could achieve. When she catches me staring, her brown eyes flash with temper, so I force my eyes to the cart, which is already filled to the brim with dog stuff.

I’m pretty sure I would’ve spent far less had I asked a shop employee for help, but I don’t care. Time with Lucy is worth any price, though I don’t know how much longer I can keep everything I’m feeling reined in. My hand actually shakes as I open my wallet to pull out my credit card.

The cashier studies my card and then peers at me through gravity-defying bangs. “Can I see an ID, please?”

Dammit, not now. Gritting my teeth, I hand over my license.

“Ben Porter?” She flutters her lashes at me after she hands it back. “Are you the Ben Porter that’s in the”—I hold my breath and wait for the inevitable—“you know, the ads on the billboards? With you just in”—she lowers her voice to a whisper—“your underwear?”

Lucy barks out a laugh and answers for me. “Are you kidding? Ben’s a carpenter from right here in Arlington.” She shrugs, shoving toys and brushes and treats in bags. “It’s a pretty common name.”

The cashier continues to check me out. “I guess.” Leaning in, her top falls open to reveal not only her cleavage but her spray-on tan line as she presses the receipt into my palm. “I hope you’ll be back soon, Ben Porter. FromArlington.” She must be a local because she says our town’s name like it’s missing ther.

Lucy swings the cart toward the front door. “Thanks, Chelsea!” I scoop up Puck and follow.

Outside, she stops abruptly. A breath shudders down her torso before she wheels on me. “What the heck? You’re an underwear model?”

“Uh, yeah. I was. Well, I guess I am. I’m still under contract. It’s notjustunderwear.”

She looks me up and down. “Billboards?”

“Yeah. I’m sure you’ve seen them. They’re… around.” I wear actual clothes in some of them, but the Callum Keen logo on the waistband of the underwear always manages to peek out. And my chest is always on display.

She narrows her eyes at me. “How long have you been back in Arlington?”

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