Page 41 of 50 Ways to Win Back Your Lover

“Then use that. Mrs. Chan doesn’t remember you. It’s just stupid papers that’ll be filed. No one will ever look at them again. We’ll tell your dog your real name. That lucky pup won’t know the difference.”

She gives me an encouraging nod, her hand rubbing slightly on my back, and I realize I didn’t stretch the truth when asking her to join me on this excursion. I truly needed her support.

After the forms are filled out, Mrs. Chan returns and motions for us to follow her. “What type of dog are you looking for, Mr. Baker? A puppy or an older companion?”

“Not a puppy.” I shudder to think what a rambunctious puppy would do to all the pink in my apartment. They also tend to find homes easily. “An older dog who can run with me.”

“We have several who fit that bill. You can walk through the pens, see who catches your eye, or I can set you up in the playroom and choose a few to bring in one at a time.”

I shoot Delilah a questioning look.

“Definitely the playroom,” she says, then adds quickly, “but it won’t be fun.”

“Agreed. It will be horrible.”

“Playroom it is.” Instead of commenting on our odd banter, Mrs. Chan slides an affectionate look to Delilah. “It really is nice to see you looking so well. Andrew still asks about you.”

I stiffen at the remark. I have no clue when or why those two split up, but Andrew Chan still has the ability to crawl under my skin like he’s Dinoponera from Gates of Ember, the hulking demon commander who has the power to shrink into ant form and burrow under his enemy’s skin, driving them mad. Sathya comes up with some insanely dark characters.

“Well, give him my best,” Delilah tells her.

A phone rings down the hall.

“Sorry.” Mrs. Chan swivels and starts hurrying back to reception. “I’m waiting for a call from a dog food supplier. I’ll just be a minute.”

The second she’s gone, I say, “Didn’t Andrew Chan get caught jerking off behind the bleachers during the girls’ soccer practice?” Jealousy is an ugly beast.

“Ugh. No.” Delilah makes a face. “That disgusting moment was courtesy of Freddie Lorimer.”

Right. That loudmouthed prick who Delilah dick-punched, defending her friend. “Why did Maggie ever hook up with him?”

“I’ll never understand and prefer pretending it never happened.”

Like I prefer pretending Delilah never dated Andrew Chan or Hugo or any other guy. Except I don’t want to be that Neanderthal. Delilah isn’t my possession. She’s a strong, independent woman who led a full life while I was gone.

“Andrew’s a good guy,” I force out. “I’m glad he was there for you after I left, even if being with him was a letdown after being with me.”

I at least get points for trying.

“You’re such a child. And how did you know we were together?”

“I’m twenty-seven, not a child, and there was a Facebook post.”

She crosses her arms and juts out her hip. “So you’ve been creeping me on social media?”

My deterioration into Obsessive Delilah Moon Internet Searcher is not on my list of today’s chitchat topics. “As hard as I searched, I didn’t find any nudes.”

She flattens her lips. “A twenty-seven-year-old man-child.”

“With a six-pack,” I add, grinning.

A heavy door opens at the end of the hall. Barking and yipping spill out, along with none other than my former best friend who now hates me, Avett Lewis.

My smile drops.

He strolls from the back area with a skinny, timid dog on a leash. When he notices us, he freezes and narrows his eyes. Even under that baleful look, I recognize my fellow misfit and underage drinking buddy, whose tolerance was shockingly worse than mine. I see the guy who once took the fall for me when I got caught cheating in math (yes, again) so I wouldn’t get suspended, the two of us always covering for each other.

I’m not sure what he sees when he looks at me, but his harsh “Why are you here?” doesn’t bode well. He’s Team Delilah all the way.