Drop Dead Gorgeous

“Wise words.”

“Yeah, you gotta be firm, with your dog and your woman, ’cuz you know what’s best for ’em. Amiright?” He nudges me with his elbow and chuckles like that’s brilliant advice.

Okay, maybe for Chunky it is, but even I know telling a woman she can’t have a piece of chocolate when she wants one is a bad idea.

A really bad idea.

In fact, it seems like a sure-fire way to end up in Zoey’s morgue. Rightfully so.

“That what you do?” I’m not agreeing and not disagreeing, doing my best to play it safe. Sebastian looks me up and down, and if there were any chance I still had my man card, it’s gone in his eyes now. I might as well have pulled it out and handed it over on a fringe-rimmed, rhinestone-bedazzled velvet pillow. Clearing my throat, I summarize, “No treats. Got it.”

Sebastian’s lips twitch but I can see the pity smile.

“What do you recommend instead . . . maybe for Chunky . . . and me? Nutrition-wise, I mean. Or exercises?”

I’m not flirting, nor am I admitting that Sebastian is more manly than I am, despite the blond, flowing locks, big biceps, flat abs, and testosterone-fueled scruff on his face that makes him look like a modern-day Fabio. Nope, this is all part of my plan to organically bring up the green smoothie Richard Horne was imbibing each day.

“Lean protein and veggies. Those steamer bags of broccoli and carrots are good. Canned chicken and tuna too.”

“For me or Chunky? He’d eat anything I put in front of him, but I’d rather have a steak. Or hide the veggies in a smoothie I choke down.” I pull a face, playing up my veggie-hating. “Ya feel me?” I aim for his bro-speak tone.

“Totally.” He holds up a fist, and I bump it, feeling victorious. “I meant for the big dude. You can stick with the steak for sure. As for the vegetables, there’s a smoothie I recommend. Green Extreme Plus—you heard of it?”

“No. It tastes good?”

“Well, no. But it’s good for you.” He shrugs. “And you can put vitamins and shit in it, hold your nose, and chug it like a beer.” He upends an imaginary cold one.

“Sounds disgusting. Where do I get it?” I say with a laugh he echoes. “And what extra shit do I put in it?” I eye him up and down, much the way he did me, but I feign being impressed and add, “Can I put pure lead in it to get pumped?”

That’s as close to the truth as I can tiptoe toward. I can’t exactly ask for heavy metal recommendations.

Sebastian bows up a bit, and I’m afraid he’s gotten suspicious of my questions. There’s a short moment where I’m sure my cover is blown, and I prep for an attack of some sort.

Fuck, let it be verbal and not physical! If this guy punches me, I’m going down like a Charlie Brown Christmas tree under Paul Bunyan’s axe. I’m not that puny, but he’s considerably . . . formidable. Thankfully, it seems to be more of a showoff moment than a beatdown one. “All natural, dude. No ’roids needed.”

Well, shit. That didn’t work.

I carefully try again.

“Come on, you gotta be adding a little something. Mega vitamins? Black market testosterone?” I cajole. “You can tell me. Puh-lease tell me.” I hold up my arm, not flexing at all, and wiggle my triceps like it’s a bingo wing.

“Sorry, dude. No secret sauce, but the protein and veggies will help. So will some exercises. Let’s see if we can get you and the chunky dude on a routine that’ll help you both.”

Oh, yeah, Chunky.

That’s how I got him here.

Chunky’s having the time of his life, sniffing every blade of grass in the park and making friends with the handful of other dogs here. “Sure. Sounds great.”

I guess I might as well get some actual advice for Chunky and me, especially if I’m not getting much more information about the possibly poisonous smoothies. At least now I know that the specific brand we found in Yvette’s trash is one Sebastian recommends, which puts him closer to Richard Horne’s death.

Sebastian has Chunky and me doing laps around the dog park, dropping to the grass for push-ups at every corner. Well, I do push-ups while Chunky sits and catches his breath.

“Make sure to start slow. No more than twenty minutes total so Chunky gets used to the increased activity safely,” Sebastian advises.

“Let’s stop there, and I’ll film some activities you can do in place with the big guy. Less impact for you too,” Sebastian says with a wink as though I’m panting like Chunky is. I’m not tired, considering my near daily runs, but I am playing up a little bit.

So I smile as though I’m grateful. I hand Chunky’s leash over to Sebastian when he holds his hand out and stand back as Sebastian becomes the social media guru I saw on his profile.