Page 55 of Bad Run

“What the fuck, Blake?” I hiss.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were going to lose control of the hose.” Blake roars with laughter. The dickhead.

Sometimes I wonder if this guy has a serious bone in his body.

“Yeah, well, I’m going to spray you with water if you elbow me again.” I hold up the hose.

“Go ahead,” Blake says, waving his arms down his soaking wet and soapy body.

“What happened to you?”

He rolls his eyes and points at the rat-looking terrier in front of him. “This damn fur ball keeps shaking all the soap and water off. I’m over this shit. When can we go?”

When I realized Gwen had signed me up for this event—back before we came to our truce—I added Blake’s name to the list. I didn’t want to suffer alone.

Now I wish I hadn’t. Not only is he annoying me, but he’s … cockblocking me? Talk-blocking me? Whatever you want to call it. I haven’t been able to speak to Gwen without Blake’s whiny ass glued to my side.

“I thought you liked dogs.” Blake mentioned having a pet, and I just assumed it was a dog.

“Fuck no. I’m a cat daddy,” he says proudly, as though I’m supposed to know what the hell that means. “Cats are independent, and I don’t give my cat a bath.”

Fair enough. Cats seem like the easier pet.

“Just dry that dog and you can head out. I’ll cover for you.” I sigh.

“Are you sure?”

I look over at Gwen, who is still petting and snapping pictures of the chocolate lab. “I’m sure.”

“I see how it is,” he says with a chuckle.

I turn to find my friend grinning like a Cheshire cat. Maybe the cat daddy moniker fits him after all. “Fuck off. It’s not like that.”

He puts his hands in the air. “No judgement. Just be sure.”

Blake doesn’t say another word as he finishes drying his hairy client and hands the pup over to Gwen. He chats with her as she snaps a few pictures of him with the dog. He says something funny, and she throws her head back and laughs. Then the bastard leans in and gives her a hug.

Irrational jealousy rips through me, and I’m tempted to fill a bag with dog shit and hide it under the driver’s seat in his car. As if he can hear my thoughts, Blake glances at me over Gwen’s shoulder and winks.

I flip him the bird as he releases Gwen. She’s oblivious to it all as she picks up the terrier and pets his head. Blake blows me a kiss and walks out of the shelter laughing his ass off.

Trying my best to ignore the sense of rejection swirling in my stomach, I take my time drying my new doggy friend.

What is wrong with me?

I’m acting like a sad sack because the girl I like hasn’t talked to me.

Pathetic.

“You would talk to me, wouldn’t you, girl?” I ask my furry friend, scratching her behind the ears. In response, her long tongue falls out the side of her mouth. “Great, now I’m talking to a dog,” I grumble.

“Dogs are good listeners,” Gwen says, surprising me.

I lift my head to find her standing across from me, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth, her aquamarine eyes sparkling like gemstones.

My heart stutter-steps behind my ribs, making it ache. “Are they now?”

“Yup,” she murmurs, petting the dog. I watch her, wondering what she’s thinking as she bestows her loving attention on the animal between us. “When I was a teenager, I used to volunteer here. I’d wash dogs and clean kennels. Sometimes I’d take the dogs on walks, but my favorite thing to do is just to sit and talk to them. Dogs never try to fix my problems. They just listen, and all they ask for is some good scratches and lots of cuddles.”