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That you might want to be a little nicer? Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I switch gears.
“I wanted to talk to you about Rudy before I left,” I say. “Taking care of a dog isn’t easy, you know?”
He laughs, and then, seeing that I’m deadly serious, stops and shakes his head. “Right, of course,” he says. “Does he need special treats or something?”
“Rudy is on a schedule,” I say. “The special treats are just one part of it. He likes to go on his morning walk at five a.m., and then he needs to eat using a slow feeder or a twisted towel. And do not feed him before the walk or he will throw up. He has a sensitive stomach. Which, by the way, is why you need to mix a little salmon oil into his food. But you have to really mix it, or he won’t touch the food.”
Carter crosses his arms, brows raised in what I believe is amusement. “Sounds like he’s got more stipulations in his contract than I do, and that’s saying something.”
“This is serious, you know,” I reply slowly, hoping to clue him in to just how serious. “And you’re not even writing it down.”
Carter shrugs. “More of a listener than a writer, you know?”
I roll my eyes. What an excuse. “Fine, but pay attention, okay? I don’t want to have to come over here and walk you through it.”
“Sure, sure.” He nods, doing a little finger roll to indicate I should get on with it. “Whatever you say.”
Why does he have to look at me like that? Like I’m stupid for telling him these things? It’s such an intense look. I try to avoid his eyes as I continue, walking him through the rest of Rudy’s day in crystal-clear detail. Finally, I run out of warnings about the places Rudy likes to be petted best and how gross his puke is if he gets into red meat, and even though I’m sure Carter’s not going to follow any of my directions, I feel like I’ve done Joe and Rudy proud.
“And that’s all,” I say. “If you need me, I’m next door.”
Carter smirks. “How neighborly of you.”
I blush in spite of myself. “Yeah, well, anything for Rudy.”
Then I bend down and give Rudy some final scratches, willing myself not to cry as the adorable pup licks my cheek in confusion.
“Bye, Rudy,” I say, heading to the door. “See you around.”
Carter follows me to the door, opening it as a clear sign for me to get out. He’s about as subtle as a rock.
“Okay, thanks. Still can’t believe I inherited a used dog,” he mutters to himself as he closes the door.
Except, as I turn to walk away, I hear it open again.
Carter calls out behind me. “Hey, dog girl, wait a second.”
I bristle. The nerve of this guy! Still, maybe he’s realized that he’s in way over his head and has decided to give Rudy back?
I look over my shoulder at him, leaning on the doorframe, watching me like I’m a puzzle he can’t quite figure out.
“I need a date,” he says, like some kind of afterthought.
Huh? That’s not exactly what I expected. Clearly, he’s not asking me. I remember the almost-hug moment all too well.
“Okay?” I reply after a long pause. “You need help using the internet, big guy? It works the same here in Reindeer Falls as it does everywhere.”
“No, I meant, what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Are you free this month?”
This month? What a complete jackass.
“Thanks, but I’m not a groupie or a Shepphoe.”
“You are exactly right,” Carter says, like he’s just realizing that I’m neither of those things. Then his eyes light up. “You’d make the perfect wife. You’re totally wife material! Did you say if you were free this month?”
I stare at him. Is this a side effect of performance-enhancing drugs or something? Do you just start hallucinating and asking random strangers out on dates?
“You must be joking,” I say, shaking my head.
“You’d think so”—he shrugs—“but desperate times and all that.”
Clearly, being an asshole isn’t a side effect of anything. It’s just his default setting, and I’m done with it.
“Wow, thanks for that stunning proposal,” I say with mock excitement. “But it’s a no from me.”
He has the nerve to look shocked, his eyebrow shooting up as an amused smirk crosses his face. As if any other girl would’ve fallen to her knees and blown him on the spot. But, clearly accepting reality, he shrugs, like he just struck out when the team already had the game in the bag. “Well, I’ll see you around.”
“I’m sure you won’t!” I call back as I march down the sidewalk.
Because no way am I spending another second entertaining that jackass’s ego. I can only pray that Rudy throws up and winds up on my doorstep tomorrow morning, separating me permanently from Carter Sheppard and his broad shoulders and general despicable-ness.
