My Neighbor's Husband

Margot turns to me with a sassy look.

“For your information, Alexander Skarsgard, who plays Eric Northman, was voted the Hottest Man in Sweden for five years in a row,” she says archly. “So he’s truly a Viking.”

I let out a snort, pulling her close.

“Yeah, but doesn’t Sweden have something like five million people, total? Please, honey. That’s like winning the local Miss Spudtown beauty contest. Anyone can win when there’s no competition.”

She smiles at me with a teasing look in her eye.

“So you’re saying you could win the local Miss Spudtown competition?” she asks.

I nod furiously.

“Hell yeah! I definitely could. If there were Mr. Spudtown competition, I’d be all over it.”

She looks thoughtful.

“Not just all over it, but you’d win the grand prize right?”

I nod again.

“Definitely. All the judges would vote for me. I mean, who can turn down this kind of all-powerful, overwhelming masculinity?” I jest, lifting my arm and curling it to make my bicep bulge. “I’m practically Popeye these days. Get me some spinach.”

She lets out whoops of giggles, almost falling over on the couch.

“Okay, maybe you’re better looking than Alexander Skarsgard,” she concedes. “I’m only saying that because I prefer black hair over blonde. But since you’re so confident, Dane, then maybe you could help out at our town’s next fundraiser.”

Oh shit. I know what’s coming next.

“You know they’re having that auction,” Margot begins slyly, shooting me a coy look. “You’d be perfect for it.”

I pretend ignorance.

“Sure, I could throw in a prize. What are they looking for? A fruit basket? A towel set? An all-expenses paid trip for two to Thailand?”

Margot laughs.

“No! I mean, yes, but you have something even better to offer.”

Uh oh. It’s coming. I wiggle my eyebrows at her.

“What? I’m not giving them my house.”

She giggles again, her brown curls shaking.

“Well, you could offer doggie dates,” she says. “You’re so good with Buster, and I heard this guy in the next town over did it. What he does is he and his dog take out another dog on a “date,” and then he writes a short essay about their “doggie date.” People pay a lot of money for this,” she says when I shake my head. “You’d be helping our town so much.”

I hold up my hands.

“Margot, I do love Buster, and I’m indebted to him for bringing us together. But this “doggie date” thing is a no-go. First of all, I’m not into dating, dogs or not. Second, I hate picking up poop and with two dogs, there’d be double the amount. Third, I don’t want to write an essay after going out on a doggie date. That’s just adding insult to injury. Who really wants to sit at their computer and do more work, after coming home from a date that they never wanted to go on?”

Margot looks crestfallen.

“But it’d be for a good cause. You know, the guy who did it raised three thousand dollars in a year just by doing these doggie dates, and you’re so handsome that you’d get lots of bids,” she wheedles.

I shake my head.

“You’re trying to butter me up, and I’m not falling for it, honey. I’ll donate three thousand dollars to the charity instead. How about that?”

But Margot doesn’t look happy.

“No, because it’s not the same. Money talks, but action speaks even louder. You know the town’s only holding this benefit so that the local elementary school can get a new auditorium. I mean, they’d appreciate the donation, but they need items to auction too otherwise this event will be a dud. I think this doggie date thing could really work.”

I stare at her.

“But honey, why don’t you do the doggie date yourself? I’m sure people would pay good money for their dogs to go on a date with you and Buster.”

She perks up.

“I could,” she begins slowly.

“You should,” I add, urging her on.

But then Margot offers me a compromise.

“How about we do it together, Dane? We’ll say doggie dates offered by Margot, Dane and Buster. Starting bid, fifty dollars with a one thousand word essay afterwards.”

I’m still reluctant because the truth is that I don’t really want to go on doggie dates. But I’m motivated by my girlfriend’s giving heart, not to mention her insistence.

“Okay,” I say grudgingly. “But the starting bid has to be at least one hundred dollars, and I’m not writing that essay.”

She giggles.

“A thousand words is nothing, Dane. It amounts to maybe two paragraphs, tops.”

I shake my head.

“That’s the deal, sweetheart. I cannot pick up a pen and write about my date with two dogs. I just can’t. It would wreck my masculinity and people would begin to mistake me for a beta male.”

Margot giggles before placing a sweet kiss on my cheek.

“Then I’ll do that part,” she whispers in my ear. “Thank you, Dane,” she adds. “The dogs of our town appreciate it. As does the elementary school.”