Then I turn my head.
Oh.
Right.
Waffles.
He’s curled up beside me, snoring peacefully, with his face smushed into my pillow. Which is now partially wet.
Oh, good.
One of us was slobbering.
“It’s a dog,” I mumble.
“You brought a dog into our apartment?” Tiffany’s voice hits a pitch that could shatter my last nerve. “Like, a live animal? In here?”
Waffles stirs, lets out a tiny sigh, and resettles.
Okay, yes. Technically, this is bad.
It’s against the rules and the housing agreement I definitely threw away.
But, I mean, look at him.
He’s tiny and precious and 100 percent cute as a button. Unlike Tiffany, who is currently staggering backward like she’s going to catch rabies through the air.
“Do you even realize how unsanitary dogs are?” she gasps, gesturing wildly at Waffles. “They carry diseases!”
“You probably do, too,” I mutter, immediately regretting it.
Her eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”
This conversation is going downhill fast. “I’m just saying, I couldn’t leave him.”
Tiffany blinks.
“And you thought your bed was the answer?”
“I didn’t have a crate or anything,” I say defensively.
She glares at the pillow. “He’s literally shedding dirt.”
“It’s fine. I’ll wash everything, including the dog.”
It’s not even that bad. Just a few paw prints and something suspiciously leaf-shaped.
“Tessa,” she says, voice suddenly low and scary, “you have brought a possibly unvaccinated animal into our shared residence. This is the opposite of fine.”
I open my mouth. To say what, I don’t know. Maybe that Waffles has a great personality?
But before I can summon anything remotely coherent, she grabs her phone.
And that’s when the panic truly sets in.
“Wait,” I say, scrambling upright and holding out a hand. “Tiffany, just don’t call anyone yet. Please.”
She’s already scrolling. “What exactly do you expect me to do here? Pretend I didn’t wake up to a roommate cuddling a street animal?”
