My train of thought was derailed by the fucking sound of my nightmares.
A dog barking, sharp and vicious.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Backing up, I looked around for the source of the bark. Alfie's eyebrows rose, and he laughed.
I didn't see the dog anywhere, and it was freaking me the fuck out. I'd been working so hard on this with my asshole therapist, but it felt like every fucking shred of progress was just doused in kerosene and set on fire.
With terror crawling up my neck, I dared to look straight down and...Jesus Christ, it was right there.
Alfie was still laughing as I stumbled back and fell against a table, tipping it over and ending up on my ass, probably bruising my tailbone while I was about to get attacked by this fucking little beast.
The dog jumped on me, barking and barking and barking. I rolled to my side, bring my hands over my head.
“Shit, fuck. Gideon, I’m so sorry,” Alfie blundered, pulling the beast away from me. “I’ve got her now. She’s not going to bite you. She was trying to play with you. I’m so sorry. I’ve got her on a leash now.”
I waited for the embarrassment to hit. There was no way a big, tatted-up guy fell and knocked over a bunch of furniture without an audience.
I took a couple of deep breaths and opened my eyes. Alfie was holding a hideous dog and looking down at me with pity in his eyes. Sure enough, there were folks all around us, pointing and whispering.
So much for our date.
I should’ve known not to get my hopes up. I was embarrassed because Alfie’d just seen the part of me I don’t let people see, and, frankly, I was pissed that he laughed.
I made it to my feet and reset the table and the chairs with shaking hands while Alfie calmed the barking, wriggling hellionin his arms. I’d learned long ago to never hang out with people who made me feel like shit, and cute guys with predictable taste in Star Trek captains were no exception.
Deciding I’d had enough, I walked over to the little gate that exited onto the sidewalk and headed home.
What a fucking waste of time.
THREE
Alfie
I was standing there,trying to calm down Judi Dench, not entirely sure what’d just happened. When I’d walked in with Judi, the barista immediately commandeered her—this happened more often than you’d think—and was showing her off to her coworkers and the other patrons while I waited for Gideon.
When he startled at her play-bark, I thought it was hilarious because he was so fucking huge compared to Judi. I’d even laughed and was about to continue our back-and-forth with a joke, but immediately knew it was the wrong move.
Gideon then demonstrated in the most heartbreaking way possible exactly how terrified he was. As a therapist who had worked with kids and adults who were afraid of dogs, I knew exactly how little control he had over his reaction.
I was in a panic because Judi wasn’t calming down and I should’ve read Gideon’s reaction much sooner than I did. Just as I was finally getting her under control, the barista came running up to me, setting her off again.
“I’m so sorry! I was petting her, showing Joey how she sits so pretty. She saw you hug Gideon, and suddenly, she tore ass through the shop. I couldn’t catch her.”
“It’s okay,” I said, still trying to wrangle Judi. “She gets really excited when she thinks it’s playtime, but this is?—”
I stopped, realizing that Gideon was gone.
Wait, was that right? I looked around. “What happened to Gideon?”
Judi finally stopped barking, and the barista—Josie—grimaced. “He picked up the table and chairs and then walked out.”
Gideon had made an offhand joke about being raised in the foster system and how it gave him a personality. It didn’t take a jerk with a psychology degree—that’d be me—to put the pieces together.
Fuck. I’d really fucked this up.
Worse, I’d laughed.
