She swallows her next words, leaving me guessing. Maybe she’s a hockey fan. It’s rare someone recognizes a player when we aren’t wearing helmets and uniforms. But as she flicks her gaze over me, the inspection seems to satisfy her, as if it answered a question. Still, I don’t fill in the abandoned sentence—I’ll feel stupid if I’m wrong.
The woman moves on. “I would have asked first, but as you can see”—she gestures to her haphazard clothes—“the day is kind of getting away from me.”
I nod at her ceramic cup. “At least you have coffee.”
“It’s lukewarm, but hey, it still works.”
“Caffeine doesn’t care about temperature,” I agree.
Then I realize—she doesn’t have a lid. What kind of maniac walks around San Francisco without a lid on their coffee cup?
But hey, some people like to take risks. Is talking to her a little longer a risk I want to take right now? I’m considering the question when, out of the corner of my eye, I see something I can’t unsee.
Her tiny dog is no longer licking Zamboni’s face.
He’s mounting her.Enthusiastically. He’s humping her like a deranged stuffed animal let loose in a strip club.
No. Just no. I point, stiff-armed, at the animal. “What the hell?”
The woman winces. “He’s frisky today.”
“No kidding,” I say sharply.
She laughs awkwardly, and I can’t tell whether she’sembarrassed or cheering him on. Her beet-red cheeks say,Oh no!But the chuckling says,Go get ’em!
“Just make him stop,” I say stiffly. “That’s gross.”
“Simon, no,” the woman calls. “Simon, that’s enough. Simon, stop right now, you naughty little devil.”
Her scolding would work better if she weren’t laughing. The cute voice calling him a naughty little devil is not doing the trick. Nothing is. The little horndog doesn’t stop. He grips my girl’s hips with his tiny paws and just keeps pumping.
It’s not even remotely funny. Balancing my kale smoothie, I reach for the dog at the same time the redhead does?—
Bam.
Her elbow knocks into my cup. It shoots up a few feet, then plummets. I snatch it before it splatters onto the sidewalk.
Her coffee?
Not so lucky. Nor is sweet Zamboni.
The coffee spills.All over my dog.
“Seriously?” What the fuck has this sexy chaos demon done to my day?
“It’s not hot! I swear. Also, that stopped him so…yay?” She scoops up her dog, then tries to clean my dog with the end of her robe.
Why? Just why? I should stop her, but she’s mopping Zamboni’s back like the fate of the world depends on getting her clean. “I’m sorry!”
“Yeah, me too,” I say, grabbing her coffee mug from the sidewalk. The handle’s nicked, but otherwise it’s fine. “Now she’ll need a bath. And probably therapy.”
“Don’t we all?” The woman flashes a grin that is way too confident for someone who just spilled coffee on astranger’s dog. “I got some off her, though, so double yay.”
“Thanks.” I hand her the mug and assess my dog. Surprise—my girl is still covered in her drink. I’ll have to take care of her myself. That’s usually the only way to get things done anyway.
“But nice reflexes,” the redhead adds in an upbeat tone. “Is that a smoothie in there?”
Is she going to ask me to make her one? “Kale smoothie,” I mutter.
