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Okay, maybe the place isn’t a full-on mansion, but the house is larger and nicer than any I’ve ever been in. This whole street consists of a spacious row of homes I could never dream of affording even if I stole a whole showroom floor of Ferraris.
“Stop measuring things in terms of what you can steal,” I mutter to myself.
On the other hand, it’s probably a good idea to take my criminal past into account as I consider following Paige’s instructions.
I reach over to the passenger’s seat for my handwritten directions. Without a smartphone or GPS, I had to stop by the library and use one of their computers to look up the address Paige gave me, copying down the unfamiliar streets needed to get here. I grew up in New Orleans but not this part of town.
This looks like the right place but being wrong could land me in some pretty deep shit. Don’t want someone calling the cops on me for looking like I’m trying to break into their house.
So, the conflict is: text Paige to come outside and collect me, making me look like an idiot, or potentially violate my parole.
Pride vs prison.
Should be an easy choice.
My groan comes out low and frustrated. After shutting off my car engine, I use my foot to help push the rusted old door open. Hell, I might not even need to approach the house to inspire a 9-1-1 call. Anyone who looks out their window and sees this piece of shit parked on the street is going to know someone is here who doesn’t belong.
I fiddle with my phone, on the verge of texting her when a female shout filters from behind the house I’m hoping is Paige’s.
“Pumpkin! You beast!”
Looks like I got the right place.
But it sounds like things might not be going so smoothly between the girl and her dog.
An aggravated sigh pushes out from my chest as I jog up the front path before circling around the redbrick exterior. I thought Paige meant it when she said she wanted this dog. Today is going to be shitty if I end up having to stop into work because the rich girl got in over her head and opted to surrender Pumpkin back to our care.
The wooden fence blocks any view I might have of what’s going on, but barking fills the thick, humid air. I grab the wrought-iron handle and tug, ready for an unpleasant sight.
Instead, I pause, taking in the ridiculous scene.
Pumpkin has her front half low to the ground, with her butt high in the air, tail wagging madly as a thick rope toy dangles from her mouth. Paige crouches in the same position, minus the tail and the toy. In addition to the strange standoff, the woman’s whole left half is smeared with mud, and a good portion of her golden hair spills out of a haphazard ponytail.
The dog huffs a teasing woof, which comes out muffled by the toy, before dodging to the side and racing off around the yard.
“Not so fast!” Paige is up almost as fast, sprinting after the pit bull. The dog and her girl play chase before Paige catches one end of the rope. Then things devolve into a round of tug-o-war.
“Give it up! You’ll never win!” she shouts dramatically. Pumpkin play growls all the while, whipping her heavy head from side to side. Paige gets jostled with each movement yet still maintains an impressive hold. “You may have teeth, but I have opposable thumbs! Better work your way further up the evolutionary ladder if you wanna—“
Neither Pumpkin nor I get to hear the end of Paige’s taunting speech, as her foot lands on a stray tennis ball. Hands fly out for balance as her foot rolls to the side, but the sudden lack of tension in her arms sends her toppling backward.
The sound of Paige hitting the ground reminds me of a skin-splitting belly flop off the high dive at the community pool. I wince in sympathy, quickly making sure the gate is latched before jogging over to where she lays prone on the ground, Pumpkin attacking her face with sloppy wet dog kisses.
“Here, go fetch.” I toss the tennis ball across the yard, and the dog sprints after it, enabling me to get a good look at her disheveled owner. “Paige? You okay?” I crouch beside her, searching for any reason why she’s not getting back up.
Sunglasses hide her hazel eyes, as her mouth bobs open with short shallow gasps. “Br-breath…”
“Got the wind knocked out of you?”
Paige manages a nod before rolling onto her side and coughing in a few deeper gasps. For the third time since meeting her, I’m overwhelmed with the urge to stroke her back in comfort. This time, I finally give in.
As Paige lays in the grass, facing me, trying to recover her breath, I gently place my palm on the top of her spine and smooth some reassuring circles, keeping my touch friendly.
Eventually, she pushes herself into a seated position. I retract my hand while cementing the memory of her heat against my palm.
“Did you hurt your ankle?” When she stepped on the ball her foot bent at a dramatic angle.
Paige holds her foot off the ground and gives it a few experimental rolls before shaking her head.
