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That’s their problem with Zoey? Jealousy over her hair?
I sigh heavily. “Jesus, people are weird as fuck.”
I see the blinds shift in the front window of Zoey’s trailer and I know she was watching the whole scene with her neighbors. She’s probably freaking out that I’m running for the hills too.
“Bye, sugar snookums! I already miss you!” I call out, smooching the air loudly three times, then add, “Can’t wait to see you later!” I’m being loud enough for the whole damn trailer park to hear my over the top, lovey-dovey, corny declarations and make it real crystal clear what I’m doing with Zoey Walker.
As a final declaration, I kiss my fingertips and blow with all my might to send that kiss Zoey’s way. I hope she’s laughing her ass off, not giving a shit what the neighbors must be thinking. The blinds open again, and I see her uncertain smile, which I answer with a big grin of my own.
Play along and don’t worry a bit, Zo. Those grumpy, gossipy women aren’t going to scare me away. Not when I finally have you.
* * *
I wait the socially acceptable two days to call. Not Zoey.
Hell, I call her by that first afternoon just to hear her voice and pout when she’s dealing with a DB and has to work late.
But I do wait to call Sebastian.
Thankfully, he’s more than willing to meet me at the dog park again and show me some beginner workouts for Chunky. I’d suggested that instead of obedience training for Irish-Retriever Jessie, since she’s not real and Zoey vetoed trying to find a fill-in dog. Probably for the best, anyway, and maybe I can get something useful for Chunky out of this investigation.
We can work a deal if you let me film your big dude for the Tok, ya know, Sebastian messaged me. I’m sure Chunky will get a big head from all the likes because who wouldn’t like a peanut butter ball of puppy cuteness?
“Thanks for coming, Sebastian. I could use some help. Well, I’m okay,” I joke, patting my own flat belly, “but The Chunkster is looking a little rotund, so some advice to get him into game day shape would be great.”
“No worries, man. We can all use a little extra pump time.” He holds up an arm, flexing to show me his bicep, which I’m man enough to admit is impressively large. “That’s how we get the goods,” he adds with a wink, dropping his arm to pump his hips in the air.
Is he for real?
“Yeah.” I laugh awkwardly.
Sebastian gives his bicep an affectionate pat and then flashes a big smile. “I got you, big dude.”
Thankfully, he’s talking to Chunky, not me. “Let me get some filler film of him goofing off.” Sebastian pulls his phone out and starts filming Chunky, who’s sniffing around the grass a few feet away. Completely oblivious to the beginning of his fifteen minutes of fame, Chunky chooses that moment to squat and poop. “Oh, shit! Literally.”
I grab a bag off the leash thrown over my shoulder and clean up while Sebastian huffs out in annoyance and drops his phone to his side.
“Sorry,” I say in surprise, placating Sebastian’s instant mood switch.
Damn, bro. It’s not that serious, just a sixty-second TikTok.
“Take two,” Sebastian shouts. Sebastian is acting like a movie director ordering around a B-list actor in a scene. But Chunky’s no actor, he’s a dog. And while he’s trained, he’s no Lassie or Beethoven. “Good, good,” Sebastian hums. “I’ll do the voice-over later.”
“Oh, okay. So, what do you recommend I try with him?” I’ve got a good veterinarian whose recommendations I trust implicitly, and Chunky is doing well. But that doesn’t mean I won’t take some advice, especially since Sebastian required prepayment for a consult.
Plus, I need to establish some camaraderie before I start asking questions that might raise suspicions. Not sure what detective guide I’m following to decide that, but it seems logical. I can’t exactly ask flat-out if Sebastian knows what happened to Richard Horne and expect him to hang around for the follow-up questions.
“You said he’s doing well on his nutrition? Under doctor’s orders that include adequate protein, carbs, and fat, plus vitamins and minerals?”
Damn, Sebastian flips from vapid influencer to well-spoken and informed like most people change underwear.
“Oh, yeah, prescribed food all the way. He’s down seven pounds in six months and is more active, but we could all do better, you know?” I confide. “I try not to give him treats, but those pretty puppy dog eyes . . . they get me every single time. Isn’t that right, sweet boy?”
Sebastian smirks at my baby talk, and I feel like he just swiped my man card right out of my wallet. Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything but silently watches Chunky for a moment more. “It’s not a treat if it’s not good for him, dude.”
