Page 24 of Everything You Hate
Not at her. At me. He hits my legs with the full force of a bulldog who has just been promised food and will now die before he lets that promise go unfulfilled. His paws scramble against my jeans, claws catching on the denim, and he’s barking—the loud, insistent bark that saysfeed me or I’ll eat your shoes.
“Jesus Christ, Doug?—”
“Abort, abort, abort!” Captain shrieks from his perch, flapping his wings for emphasis.
“Not helping!” I snarl at the bird.
Scarlett takes a step back, eyes wide, and I can’t tell if she’s alarmed or amused. Probably both. “Is he—is he okay?”
“He’s fine. He’s just—” Doug’s jowls are vibrating against my shin now, drool pooling on my boot, and I give up. “He’s a menace. That’s what he is.”
I reach down and scoop Doug up under one arm. He’s heavy—all dense muscle under those wrinkles—and he immediately stops barking and goes boneless, tongue lolling, eyes rolling back in bliss at being held.
“Dinner,” Scarlett says again, softer this time, watching Doug’s reaction with fascination. “That’s his trigger word?”
“That’s his only word.” I adjust my grip on him. “Say it, and he turns into a four-legged alarm system. Doesn’t matter if you’re promising him dinner or talking about what you had for dinner last Tuesday. The word activates him.”
She crouches down so she’s at Doug’s eye level, and something in her face softens. “Hey, buddy. You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”
Doug’s tail wags so hard his entire body wiggles. He lets out a low, happy groan and tries to lick her face, which would be disgusting if it weren’t so goddamn earnest.
“Careful,” I warn. “He drools on everything.”
“I don’t mind.” She scratches behind Doug’s ears, and the dog melts further into my arms, making a sound that’s embarrassingly close to a moan of pure pleasure. “He’s cute.”
And, yeah, her reaction surprises me. She seems exactly like the kind of woman who would mind drool.
“He’s a disaster. And he’ll be like this for the rest of the day now. Once the word’s been said, he’s activated. There’s no turning it off.”
“Fuck me sideways,” Captain says, and Scarlett laughs.
“You have the world’s weirdest pets, Dean Sprout.” There’s a sparkle of mischief in her eyes and a challenge in her grin when she says the nickname. She’s pressing my buttons on purpose, and I should shut it down. Keep her at arm’s length.
Instead, I hear myself say, “Keep it up and I’ll leave you on Gull Shit Rock.”
“Is that a real place?”
“You’ll find out if you say it again.”
She laughs again, delighted, not remotely deterred, and I already know she’s going to use the name at that dinner table in front of my entire family, and that every one of them is going to love her for it.
Doug drools contentedly down my arm. Captain mutters something obscene at the window.
This is going to be a very long night.
Chapter Six
Scarlett
I’ve interviewed a sitting senator, a man who trafficked women, and a pop star mid-breakdown. I’ve sat for interviews after my own breakdown. None of that made my hands sweat the way this gravel driveway does.
Doug rides between us the whole way to the Haven family farm, panting like he’s run a marathon, drool roping off his jowls onto my thigh, vibrating with the unshakable conviction that dinner is close and getting closer. Every few seconds he lets out a low, urgent whine, as if he’s worried we might forget where we’re going.
“Does he ever stop drooling?”
Dean glances over, a smirk twisting his lips. “Thought you didn’t mind drool.”
Touché.
