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“Hey, now. Don’t be upset. You’ll figure it out,” she said.
“I know. I know.” I searched my pockets for a tissue. “I just don’t get how Lance could have screwed me over like this. I hate him. I fucking hate him. And that slut at his office. I mean, we went to Christmas parties at her house.”
“Fucking bitch,” she added in solidarity, patting my back. “Now what’s the plan? Where do we start?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I have some ideas. Still trying to figure it out. But—I do have some good news. The plumber who came by the other day, who was wicked good-looking, asked me out.”
“No way! Everyone’s asking you out lately,” she said.
“It’s weird, isn’t it? I guess they can smell I’m lonely and broken-hearted.”
“Jayma! Hey, Jayma!” a voice called from a distance.
“Who’s that?” I asked, looking around. On the other side of the street, someone was waving his arms.
Holy shit. It was Tanner.
“Oh my god. I know that guy from work,” I said.
“Whoa. You know that guy? Shit. I’ve seen him jogging before. I nearly stepped in front of oncoming traffic just staring at him,” Shelle whispered.
He ran across the street toward us. With his T-shirt tucked into the waistband of his workout shorts.
Oh. My. God. He had no shirt on.
And you know that tattoo I thought I saw poking out of his collar?
It was a long string of musical notes. Was he a secret rocker?
That would be seriously hot.
I had to force myself to look up at his face and not his defined pecs, nor his perfectly flat stomach. It was torture.
Shelle apparently felt the same way. She extended her hand without hesitation.
“I’m Shelle, Jayma’s friend.”
“Oh, hi. I’m Tanner, also Jayma’s friend. From work, that is,” he said, looking at me. He was missing her batting eyelashes, but that didn’t stop her from trying.
“Tanner. What a surprise. You live around here?” I asked.
“Yup. Just a couple blocks over that way,” he said, pointing up a steep hill. No wonder he was in such good shape. “So what are you two up to?”
I shrugged. “Just taking a walk. Shelle has a dog walking business. I joined her on the walk so we could catch up.” Why was I babbling? All that was pretty obvious.
Just then, one of the dogs in Shelle’s care took a big crap on the sidewalk. Tanner and I took a step away, and Shelle started rooting through her pockets for a plastic bag, dignity all but gone, as well as any interest in my handsome colleague.
“So, I’ll see you at work tomorrow, yeah?” he said.
“Oh, yeah. I’ll be there. See ya.”
While Shelle was still struggling with dog shit—maybe they didn’t teach poop handling in the certification class—I watched him walk away. As he got to the bottom of the hill he’d pointed toward, he started jogging up it. Not walking, but jogging.
Who the hell runs up a hill?
Chapter 8
DIG
