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Her head snapped back to Tyler. Her mind couldn’t decide which to fear more.
“Get.” Tyler lashed a foot out at the dog. “Go on, get.”
The dog dropped a few inches and did that sharp snapping growl. Tyler lifted the can again, this time aiming for the dog.
“Casper.” A male voice spoke from behind the guys. “Hierr. Fuss.”
Either that wasn’t English, or her mental faculties had completely abandoned her.
The animal sprang over the spilled cans of dog food, dashed between the two guys who had her, and snapped to attention beside a man at the end of the aisle.
No, not a man, a teenager. Defined features, sandy blond hair with a streak of white, and small, odd tattoos—the new kid from World History.
Could her night get any more surreal?
Tyler and his friend were staring at him, too, sizing him up, their expressions locked in that panic between fight and flight. Tyler’s fingers loosened on her arm. The burning stopped.
“Oh, good,” said New Kid, his tone flat and ironic. “Here’s the dog food.”
“Get lost,” said Tyler.
Becca forced her tongue to work. “Call the cops.”
Tyler jerked her close and shook her hard. “Shut your mouth, you little—”
Then he screamed and she was free.
The dog was attached to his arm, snarling. She could see blood. Tyler scrabbled back, flailing into the shelves of dry dog chow, but the dog didn’t let go. “Get him off me! Get him off! Get him—”
“Platz,” said the new guy. He stepped into the aisle. “Casper, platz.”
The dog released Tyler and returned to New Kid’s side, dropping to the floor beside him. There was blood on his muzzle, but his tongue lolled out, as if it was all in a day’s work.
Tyler clutched his forearm, glaring at New Kid as if he’d done more than just stand there. Blood stained his fingers and appeared in an artful splash across the front of his shirt. “I’m going to kill that dog. I swear. I’m going to rip his goddamn head off—”
“Really?” New Kid leaned back against the shelving and hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “Go ahead. Try it.”
The dog shut his mouth and growled.
Seth grabbed Tyler by the shoulder. “Come on. Just—come on. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Tyler let himself be dragged—for a moment. Then he turned back and looked at her. “You tell Chris. You hear me? You tell him.”
She wanted to tell Tyler to go to hell. But he was leaving, and she wanted that more. So she jerked her head up and down. “I’ll tell him.”
The door chimes rang at the front of the store, and she heard Jerry’s voice as they shoved past him on his way in. “In a rush, aren’t you, boys?”
A moment later, she heard her boss messing with the register.
She stared at New Kid, still leaning against the shelving, dressed exactly as he’d been that morning. The white streak hung over one eye, leaving the other to watch her.
She wiped sweaty palms on her jeans. Her arm felt stiff and sore where Tyler had grabbed her.
The dog pushed up and padded over to sniff her hand, then pressed his massive body against her legs. His tongue hung out the side of his mouth, his ears were cocked sideways, his demeanor as nonthreatening as the old Labrador that slept under Jerry’s desk in the back room. She reached down absently to pet him, letting his wiry fur pull through her fingers.
“You’re not afraid of him?” said New Kid.
“He took me by surprise before. I’m not afraid of dogs.” She cleared her throat and glanced up at him. “You know, if an animal gets threatening, I’m supposed to make you leave the store.”
