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Chapter 7
JAYMA
Holy shit.
Old Mr. Deer had certainly turned out some amazing offspring.
I was trying hard to remember that every cloud had a silver lining. I might have some fucked up plumbing problems, but I’d just been asked out by the best-looking world traveler/plumber I’d ever seen.
Well, okay. I’d never actually met a world traveling plumber, but I’m sure this guy Wyatt was the best-looking one there was.
I’d embarrassed the hell out of myself, though. He’d asked me if the pilot light was on. I said no, it wasn’t. Turned out, I had no freaking idea what a pilot light was.
But I did now. He’d shown me.
Initially, he’d been kind of standoffish. Unfriendly. All business. I was fine with that. It’s not like I invited him over to hang out and watch a movie. But he changed when I asked him about his father. Warmed right up.
I might be homeless soon, but I had some pretty hot guys to spend time with. Carter the neighbor, Wyatt the traveler. Tanner, from work. When it rained, it poured, as they said.
Shelle!” I hollered, running across Alta Plaza Park. Also known as Poop Park. Everyone walked dogs there, and barely anybody picked up after them.
“Hey, slutbag,” she hollered back, waving like a maniac. Several heads turned to see what sort of slutbag I was, and then turned back.
“Thanks for screaming that across the park,” I told her as I caught my breath.
She waved her free hand in the no big deal motion. Her other one held five—no, six—dog leashes. By some miracle, she had all the pups lined up like a row of soldiers, not moving and not barking.
She threw her arms around me in a big hug, tangling us both up in the leashes. She stepped back, beaming her huge gap-toothed grin. Only on Shelle could a space between two front teeth be so attractive.
“You won’t believe what happened!” she said.
I’d thought we were getting together to talk about my housing tragedy. Guess not. At least not yet.
“A client asked me out…” she sang, jumping up and down.
“Oh, that’s awesome, sweetie.” Actually, she got asked out all the time. But I was still happy for her.
She nodded. “Yup. He lives in this big house in Pac Heights and has the coolest Labradoodle. I can’t wait,” she squealed.
We walked over to a park bench and sat for a moment. Couldn’t rest for long with the dogs. After all, she was paid to walk them, not sit around with them.
“And, San Francisco Magazine is doing a ‘Best Of’ issue. I’m going to get all my friends, family, and clients to vote me the city’s best dog walker.”
“Oh, what a great idea. You have my vote. Do you get anything if you win?”
She shook her head. “Only tons of free publicity! There’s nothing more I could possibly want.”
“So. My house.” I clearly needed to steer the conversation.
“Yes. Let’s talk about the house,” she said, nodding.
“I’m thinking if I could get some work done really quick and tell the bank I’m going to sell, they may give me more time before they foreclose. It would be better for them because they’d get their money, and better for me because it would save my credit rating and give me a place to live awhile longer.”
She shrugged. “I guess you could always ask.”
“Right. If it means the bank is getting its money, you’d think they’d work with me.” My logic hadn’t always succeeded. I’d also thought Lance would be with me through the renovations, and possibly marriage. And look what happened with all that.
Shelle stood. Time to get moving. The dogs had started falling asleep. She gave their leashes a little tug and they all popped up, following us out of the park and down the street.
