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“Do you think I’m crazy?” Her question surprises me into sitting back on the ground. The thick grass is as soft as a cushion.
“Why would I think that?”
Even with the aviator-style sunglasses, I can still see her pale eyebrows, one with its charming scar, lift high on her forehead.
“Because you walked in on me having a debate with my dog about genetic advantages. Plus, I look like I’m halfway through my transition into a swamp monster.” She pinches the material of a tank top that likely used to be gray, but now has a heavy coat of mud and dirt along one side and all over the lower half of the back.
Paige tries to wipe some of the mess off, but only succeeds in covering her hands in the muck.
Even though I bite my bottom lip hard, the chuckles escape out my nose. She frowns at me, but one corner of her mouth twitches. Then the other. Soon she’s smiling, and I’m letting my laughter flow free.
And hell, it feels good. So good that I lie back in the damp grass and let the hilarity infuse every inch of my body. It’s like at the end of a long day, one where I’ve spent hours hunched over my desk, and I finally get to stand up, stretch my arms over my head, and crack every vertebrate in my spine.
Reinvigorating.
When my outburst runs its course, I push myself back up. Then immediately choke on my tongue.
Paige stands in front of me. Shirtless.
At some point while I was distracted, she removed the soiled tank top, and is currently using the only untouched section of it to wipe her hands clean. That done, she tosses the shirt to the side and reaches up to pull out her hairband while strolling to the other side of the yard where her dog happily chews on a stick. A colorful sports bra crisscrosses over her shoulder blades, and a set of loose sweatpants sits happily on her luscious hips.
In reality, Paige has only revealed a stretch of her back and a glimpse of her stomach. Way less than I’d get to see if she were to put on a bathing suit. But there’s something about the fact that all she has on is a bra.
Luckily, with the heat of the day, I can blame the sudden increase in my body temperature on the weather.
Paige jogs back over, Pumpkin following close behind, trying to grab at the tennis ball her owner holds just out of reach.
“Thank you for agreeing to do this. I swear we’ll be good students. What do you want me to do?”
There are a lot of answers I have to that question. Only, none of them have anything to do with dog training.
Chapter Seven
Paige
“Pumpkin, please sit.”
Pumpkin does not sit. Instead, she stares up at me, happy doggy grin on her face, whip-tail wagging enthusiastically.
“No, I told you. Short, firm commands. Pumpkin.” Dash snaps his fingers, to get my dog’s attention on him. “Sit.”
Her colorful butt plops down in the grass, not one ounce of hesitation.
“It seems rude. To be so curt with her. Why can’t I just let her frolic around and be happy? Hasn’t she had a hard enough time already?” My voice comes out grumbly as I shove my hands in my pockets and fiddle with the kibble bits Dash gave me at the beginning of the lesson. Every time Pumpkin follows my command, I’m supposed to feed her one like Dash is doing now.
His pockets are almost empty, while mine remain full.
“You’re not being mean to her, Paige. You’re keeping her safe.” Dash kneels next to Pumpkin and uses his long fingers to scratch behind her ears. My dog wiggles in ecstasy. Her tail pounds against the ground and she closes her eyes as she leans into his touch.
The sweat trickling down the back of my neck from the heat of the day is starting up an itch of my own, and I suddenly find I’m jealous of Pumpkin.
If I sit on command, will Dash offer to massagemyscalp?
I try to focus on his words, not wanting him to somehow read my inappropriate thoughts and back out on our lessons.
“Safe? What do you mean?”
Dash sighs before standing up, towering over my dog. Pumpkin still faces me, but she lifts her chin high, trying to peer at the man behind her. She’s so adorable, I can’t help melting at the sight. It helps that the backdrop is next level handsome.
