Page 52 of Playing the Field
Gracie is stillout when I stagger up the driveway after a punishing afternoon workout. Somehow, I deluded myself into thinking that starting late in the day meant Coach would go easy. Not a chance, and the afternoon heat didn’t help.
I don’t see her car when I pull up, and Kyler intercepts me before I walk in the door. He has Bogie on a leash and a ball in his other hand. “Hey, I was going to take this guy up to the reservoir. You wanna come?”
My aching legs want me to say no, but I haven’t spent time with my friend since I’ve basically moved into his house, so I nod. “Yeah, lemme grab a coconut water and a bar or something. Coach killed us today.”
He waits while I pull together my snack and slap a baseball cap on my hair that’s still damp from the post-workout shower at the facility. When I return, he’s tossing the ball across the driveway, and Bogie is chasing it, dragging his leash behind him.
Half the time, he chases a ball in good faith, but then refuses to relinquish it. He’ll roll onto his back, mouthing the ball and clawing at the air until the ball falls from his mouth and rolls away. He’ll watch it and look at me with sad eyes until I relent and go pick it up.
He’s on his back, wiggling on the driveway to scratch an itch, but he hasn’t let go of the ball.
“You could’ve let him off the leash. He’s not gonna run.”
“Yeah? He knows where his bread’s buttered?” Kyler shrugs. “I figured I oughtta be able to grab him fast if I needed to.”
We watch the dog play a game with himself, batting the ball away, waiting for it to roll, and pouncing on it. He can entertain himself for hours, but there’s nothing like getting him out on a hiking trail to tackle his pent-up energy.
“I don’t see your sister’s car. What’s she up to tonight?” I keep my eyes on Bogie as though the question is a passing thought.
If Kyler suspects I have even a shred more interest in her than that, he gives no indication. “I think she’s with her friend Tatum. They went out somewhere.” He couldn’t care less, so I let it go.
Bogie comes running when I whistle, and we pile into Kyler’s truck. It’s about a five-minute drive through the neighborhood to where we park and walk. Truthfully, we could have gone on foot, but given how cooked my legs feel, I wasn’t going to suggest walking up a damn hill.
“You free after this for some food?” Kyler asks.
“Free as a bird.”
“Thought we could barbecue. Looking like a nice night to be on the deck.”
“Works for me.”
We park and start moving toward the Hollywood Reservoir, where I can see a few dozen people on the same walk we’re planning.
Bogie has his leash in his mouth even though I hold on to theother end of it. “He’s a control freak,” I explain. “Thinks he’s in charge.”
“Who’re we kidding? He is.”
When we reach the path, we let Bogie off his leash even though it’s technically not allowed. I don’t see anyone who looks like they’d care. The other people heading our way have a dog running loose as well, a big sheepdog with hair over its eyes. When Bogie lopes over, the sheep dog bounces along next to him. They sniff each other and circle and figure out whatever dogs do from those things.
I almost wish people were like that. Maybe then I’d be better at relationships.
Ky and I walk about halfway around the reservoir, catching up on his travels and my life in the weeks since I moved into his spare room. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am for that,” I reiterate. “My insurance will pay for a hotel or whatever, but we spend so much time on the road, I feel like I’d get hives in another hotel, but now that you’re back, if it feels too crowded?—"
He cuts me off. “Not another word. It’s great having you.” Kyler starts to laugh. “God, I don’t think I’ve heard you string so many words together in a while. My sister must be rubbing off.”
I don’t look at him. I can’t.
Instead, I jog over to where Bogie has grabbed hold of a large tree root and is trying to tug it from the ground, not realizing it’s attached to a tree. Or maybe he does know. Just likes a challenge.
Like me, I suppose. Going after a woman who should be getting her mind blown by an astrophysicist, not a jock who didn’t finish college.
When I manage to lure Bogie away from the root with a dog treat from the sack attached to his leash, Kyler is chatting up two women in sports bras with tanned, flat stomachs, wearing tiny, form-fitting shorts. Some things never change.
He waves me over. “Meet my friend Hunter.” He introducesthe two of them, and I see a flicker of recognition from one of them, but she plays it cool, extending her hand.
We chat for a few minutes, and they make a big deal out of how cute Bogie is and how they’re available if I ever need a dog sitter. Then they take off jogging, and we resume our walk.
“Hell, maybe I should get a dog,” Ky says. “That happen a lot, women offering you favors?”
