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I’ve got an insane amount of free time and an intense obsession with making my dog happy.
I could probably host a competition here.
Should I have spent a hefty chunk of my savings on all these materials?
I’ve yet to reach a conclusion on that score.
“I guess that’s a yes to training Pumpkin on agility.” Dash turns to me with a smirk and an eyebrow raised, and I know my crazy has been acknowledged and accepted.
This guy keeps surprising me.
When I texted him about Pumpkin’s next training session, I, again, fully expected him to find an excuse to cancel on me. I know there were a few times during our hang out session that I made him uncomfortable with my awkward behavior. I’m not obtuse. What I can’t figure out is when he’ll reach hisPaige is super annoyingthreshold. I thought it might be the forcing him to let me use his bathroom move, but apparently not.
“We still have some things to get comfortable with before moving on to obstacles.” Dash’s voice brings me back to the present tense.
I agree and call Pumpkin over so we can get started.
Everything goes well for about twenty minutes. Our review of past skills breezes by, and when I hook Pumpkin up to her leash she stays by my side while we trot around the yard.
We’re in the middle of practicing the command ‘drop,’ when everything in the lesson and my life goes to shit.
The creak of the back gate has Pumpkin’s ears perking and Dash and me turning to see who the visitor is.
A man walks toward, the sight of him sending a shot of icy shock racing through my body, followed quickly by a boil of heated anger.
“What are you doing here, Martin?” My voice comes out low, an almost animalistic growl. My dog tenses at my side, and I realize I need to reign in my distress.
“I wanted to see you.” Martin can’t seem to decide which one of us to look at. His eyes skip between me and Dash, then touch on Pumpkin, before coming back to rest on me, only to flick over to Dash again.
“So?”
Martin’s wants are no longer my concern.
“Who is this, Paige?” Dash comes to stand by my side, his face a blank mask.
“I’m her fiancé.” Martin glares at the only guy Iactuallyinvited to my parents’ home.
“You should be using the past tense. Youweremy fiancé. Go ahead, try it out. I admit that it sounds weird at first. But trust me, you get used to it. Real quick.”
Dash snorts at my side, and Martin’s scowl goes supernova.
“You moved on from me already, Paige?”
I want to slap him, point out that he moved on from me while we were still together. But getting into an argument with my ex in front of Dash is not going to help my image of a rational adult that I’m trying my best to exude. So, I push the pain and anger down.
“Martin, this is Dash, my friend, my dog trainer, and someone I like spending time with. Dash, this is my ex-fiancé, someone I don’t like spending time with anymore, and I have no idea why he’s here.”
“I’m here because we need to talk. And when did you get a dog?” Martin’s demeanor lost a slight amount of hostility at the clarification that Dash and I aren’t an item.
That cocky possessive body language makes me want to retaliate by climbing my friend and mauling his face.
With my face.
In a sexy way.
Better never say any of that out loud, I decide.
“If you wanted to talk you could have texted.”
