Page 10 of The Broken Hearts Club

“It’s completely different! For one thing, it’s an actual name. You should call your vet’s office and give them her new information, so they can stop thinking of you as the guy who couldn’t be bothered to name his cat.”

“They’re closed.”

“On Monday, then.”

“Remind me.”

“Oh, I will.”

I took a seat on the floor and leaned against the wall facing him as I asked, “What did you do to get her to like you?”

He raised a brow at that. “What kind of answer are you expecting here, that I slipped her a twenty? I just sat down and waited, and after about four minutes she climbed into my lap.”

“So it’s just me that she hates.”

“Apparently.” He brushed his hair back and said, “Quick question. Why are there so damn many pet beds in here?”

“I keep trying to find one she likes. I’ve tried firmer ones, fluffier ones, enclosed, wide open. But whenever I give her a new one, she makes a point of sitting down right outside it and staring at me accusingly.”

“This Doberman-sized dog bed is very comfortable, but did you really think she’d go for it?”

“I clicked the wrong size when I was shopping online.”

“If she hates all these beds, where does she sleep?” I pointed at an empty Amazon box across the room, and Collie chuckled.

To make conversation, I said, “So, tell me. Now that you’ve moved to San Francisco, what’s the plan?”

“Step one, find a job.”

“What type of work were you doing back home?”

“I worked at a thrift shop, which was pretty great. I started as a cashier in high school, and I was the assistant manager when I left.”

I asked, “What did you like about it?”

“Getting first crack at all the cool stuff that came in. I also used to love working with my best friend Jeannie back in the day. But then she married Brad and got preggo and quit.”

I had to grin at the way he said his name. “Not a fan, I take it.”

“He’s a douche. I hate the way he always seems indifferent to Jeannie and their kids. Like, he’ll spend time with them, but only if none of his buddies are available to watch a game or drink some brewskis. He’s one of those guys that peaked in high school, and now all he can talk about are his former glory days playing football. Like, dude, seriously, it’s been a decade. Nobody cares that you scored a touchdown against the Lincoln High Cornfuckers.”

“Do you mean Cornhuskers?”

“Whatever. I’ve always thought athletes were an odd lot in general. Like, how much external validation do you need, exactly?”

I smirked and told him, “We need tons.”

“You’re an athlete?”

“I was. Now, not so much.”

“What was your sport?”

“Baseball, from the time I was four years old. I actually went to college on a baseball scholarship before blowing out my shoulder during my junior year.”

“Were you a pitcher?” I nodded, and he asked, “Did you dream of playing professionally?”

“That was my dad’s dream for me. When I tore up my shoulder, I don’t want to say it was a relief…”