Bad Dog - Too Bad It's Fake

I nodded and watched her as she retreated into the kitchen. She was a lovely young woman, and when we met four years before, she had been working as a publicist. But she’d lost her job in a downsizing around the time I had first started up the clinic, and she had taken it really hard.

She had thrown most of her time and energy into her work and didn’t really seem to know what to do when she wasn’t doing that anymore. It was actually my idea that she get a puppy, to give her something to focus on. She coupled this with a newfound baking hobby, and since then, her slender frame had developed some curves to it, and they flattered her.

“Milk or sugar? Or flavored creamer?” she called, and I heard the clink of cups as she rummaged around.

“Just milk, please,” I called back.

Baking had ended up turning into more than a hobby for her. She became passionate about it and opened a little café that served coffee, tea, and her pastries, and now she just glowed from the inside out.

The coffee was soon ready, and Sharon poured out two cups of it with her homemade scones, bringing them over to the table where I waited. She poured a liberal splash of milk into each mug and dosed her own with some sugar.

“So, what’s on yer mind?” Sharon asked, putting the coffee mug down in front of me.

“What makes you think there’s something on my mind?” I asked her, wondering if I seemed rude for only coming over when I needed something.

“Come on, hen. It’s me yer talkin’ to.”

“Right, I was going to ask about Warren.”

As though on cue, Sharon’s four-year-old pit bull lumbered over and plunked his huge head down on my lap, waiting for pats. It was a ritual started back when he was still a puppy and the weight of his head didn’t bruise my thighs.

I gave him several pats before he was satisfied, dropping down and curling up next to me. His tail thudded happily on the floor.

“What about him?” Sharon asked, taking her first sip of tea.

“I was wondering if I could borrow him and take him to the dog park on Saturday.”

“Um, any particular reason why?”

“I met a hot guy with a pit pup and I’m trying to impress him,” I said sheepishly, knowing there was no point in trying to lie.

“How hot?” Sharon asked, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

I sighed.

“So, so hot.”

“Well, what kind of friend would I be to leave ye hangin’?” Sharon said, laughing. “Of course ye can take him. Saves me havin’ to lug the great beast down there, anyway. He gets awful crazy if he misses his park day but that don’t mean I always like to take ‘em.”

“You’re my hero,” I told her, “Thank you!”

“Ye haven’t tried to walk him,” she retorted with a laugh, “Don’t thank me yet!”

I was sure it would be no small feat. But it didn’t matter, because I was going to get to see Sam again, and for that, I would do anything.

Chapter Three

Ronda

There were several things to think about before our meet up.

My outfit, for example.

After much deliberation and over a dozen changes, I settled on a blue summer dress and a pair of white Doc Martens I hadn’t worn since high school but somehow miraculously hadn’t lost track of. Making sure to eat before I left, I went over to Sharon’s place.

It took more than one attempt to rouse Sharon from her Saturday morning hibernation. Warren usually spent the better part of the night on the couch, at least going by the sagging cushions covered in a thin layer of his wiry hairs. It made me wonder if Sharon snored or something.

“Where’s the bloody fire?” Sharon grumbled from the other side of the door once she’d come to it.

“Sorry to rouse you out of hibernation,” I laughed, “But I need your dog.”

“Oh, aye, yes, I forgot, give me a minute,” Sharon said, disappearing back into the house.

A minute later, she came back with a similarly groggy looking Warren, already on a leash.

“Have fun,” Sharon said with a wink.

“Hopefully,” I said.

And with that, I was off to try and seduce the hot guy with the adorable puppy.

I knew approximately where the dog park was, since I had driven past it enough times and even taken some of the clients’ dogs there when they were staying at the clinic overnight, usually after surgery. I was surprised by how full the parking lot was.

Apparently, there were a lot of pets in L.A., despite not too many of the rental properties allowing them. Then again, it was in a pretty high-end neighbourhood populated mostly by the rich and smug. They weren’t really the types to let others tell them what to do.

After unloading Warren from the back seat, I headed with him towards the park gates. Despite Sharon’s insistence that he was a handful, Warren was behaving like an absolute angel for me.