Page 57 of Highball Rush
I eyed the dog for a second. He watched me with his one eye. It was a clear bluish-green, so light it almost lacked color. He cocked his head, the tips of his ears flopping forward. The little guy did something weird to that tangled knot of feelings I was carrying around. Poked at it. He was awfully cute, and Callie had said I seemed like a dog person. Kinda made me want to—
“I’ll take him.”
“What?”
Shit, I’d said that out loud. I crouched down and he got up to sniff my hands. His nose was wet and his fur soft.
I glanced up at my sister while I absently petted the dog’s head. “I said I’ll take him. Been thinking about getting a dog anyway.”
“All right,” she said with a smile. “He ain’t very big, but he’s strong and he has a mind of his own.”
“Sounds like someone else I know.” I winked at her.
“Very funny,” she said. “So, what’s his name?”
“Doesn’t he have one?” I checked his collar, but it looked new and there wasn’t a tag.
“I didn’t ask the pieces of crap who left him. They don’t deserve to name a sweet boy like that. Although now that I think about it, maybe if I’d known his name, he would have answered to it.”
He licked my hand. “I’ll come up with something.”
“Okay, you are now the proud owner of this very cute dog.” She brushed her hands together. “I’ll dump the dog stuff I bought for him in your truck.”
I scratched his head one last time and stood, keeping the leash tight in my grip in case he decided to run off. “Thanks, Scar.”
“I’ll see you later. I’m gonna go tell Dev we’re done dog-sitting.”
I watched my sister go, the leash dangling from my hand. Damn it, what had I just done? I looked down at the dog. He lifted his chin, his tongue hanging out. He was cute, all right.
Apparently I had a dog now.
18
GIBSON
Callie was still getting her nails done with Shelby, so I waited outside. I’d stopped at the Pop In for a couple of bottled waters and a plastic dish. It was hot out and the dog—little guy really needed a name—had been thirsty. He’d happily lapped up the water, his big tongue slapping against the dish.
I sat on a bench outside the salon, the dog’s leash still firmly in my hand. Scarlett had been right, he was stronger than he looked. For the most part, he sat near my feet, but once in a while, something would catch his interest and he’d try to dart away.
“Come here, buddy,” I said, patting the bench beside me. “Come on up.”
He jumped up, his tail wagging furiously, and stood in my lap.
I leaned back and shoved his butt down so he’d sit. “Not in my face, buddy. Sit. That’s right, sit.”
He plopped down on my lap and rested his chin on his front paws. I shook my head, scratching behind his ears. Weird dog.
Callie and Shelby came out of the shop, laughing together. The dog sat up and his tail started smacking against the bench.
“Hey, who’s this?” Callie sat on the bench next to me and the dog went right to her, his tail wagging so hard his backside wiggled back and forth. She laughed, petting his head.
“Aw,” Shelby cooed. “He’s so cute. Whose dog is he?”
“Mine.”
“What?” Callie asked, still laughing softly. The dog kept trying to sniff her boobs.
Couldn’t say I blamed him.
