“I told you, it’s his favorite,” Ashanti said. She grabbed on to his door, making it so that he couldn’t raise the window without smashing her fingers. “Can you please just let me take care of Puddin’ until Mrs. Frances can find another caretaker?”
“My grandmother already told you,I’mthe dog’s new caretaker.”
“But it’s obvious that you don’t want to be. And, to be honest, I’m not sure you wouldn’t do something to hurt him just so that you wouldn’t have to be bothered with him.”
Thad cut off the engine and turned to face her.
“You met me, what, fifteen minutes ago? The only thingyou know about me is that I’m Frances Sutherland’s grandson. Yet, you’re gonna stand here and accuse me of being some kind of dog murderer?”
She looked contrite. Up close, Thad realized she had even more freckles than he’d first thought. Shit, she was cute.
“You’re right,” Ashanti said. “That was uncalled for. I apologize. But don’t pretend you actuallywantto care for Puddin’. I can tell that you don’t.”
He would rather watchGilmore Girlson repeat for the next month than take care of this dog. And after having done that exact thing the summer his sister broke up with her high school boyfriend, it said a lot about just how much he dreaded becoming Puddin’s caretaker.
But his grandmother loved her poodle as much as she loved her grandchildren—possibly more. He would do as she’d asked.
“Let me give you a tip,” Thad said. “If you’re going to take care of other people’s pets, it’s best if you don’t get so attached. It doesn’t appear to be healthy.” He gestured to her hand. “Can you move that? I have somewhere I need to be, and I’ve already wasted too much time here.”
Her nose flared, but she didn’t say anything, just backed away from his truck.
Thad glanced in his rearview mirror as he drove away, cursing himself for being so harsh. He had to remember that he was part of civilian society now. He couldn’t talk to someone like Ashanti as if she were an infantry grunt. He guessed it was a good thing Puddin’ wouldn’t be going to her doggy daycare center anymore.
“It’s a good thing for both of us,” he muttered.
Thad used the truck’s touchscreen to put a call in to hisbest friend and—if things went according to plan—eventual business partner, Von Montgomery. Von picked up on the first ring.
“I won’t be able to meet you at the barbecue place,” Thad said. They had passed the point of requiring a greeting a long time ago. “My grandmother is demanding I bring her dog to see her ASAP.”
“Aw, damn, that’s too bad, man. The food here hits.”
“I knew you would say that,” Thad said. “Text me what’s good and I’ll order takeout.”
He disconnected the call as he pulled up to the corner of Clouet and St. Claude, where he was met with a sea of red taillights. He looked right and saw a dump truck with its bed tilted up and a dusting of what he could only assume had been a dirt haul remaining on the floor of the bed.
“You gotta be kidding me,” Thad said with a groan. He wasn’t about to get snarled up in this mess.
Thad surveyed the cars idling perpendicular to him. He honked his horn and motioned for a black Mustang GT to back up so that he could drive across St. Claude. The driver looked annoyed, but Thad didn’t give a shit.
It pissed him off that he even had to ask the guy to back up when there was a sign telling drivers not to block the intersection. What was so hard about following simple traffic rules? That’s something else he didn’t have to worry about eight months ago. He was used to operating in an environment where rules were followed or bad shit happened.
He had about six inches of clearance on either side, but he managed to squeeze through and make it to the other side of St. Claude Avenue. Once he reached Royal Street and couldfinally make a right turn, he looked to his left as he eased off the brake. Then slammed on it a second later.
Puddin’ went tumbling toward the floorboard.
“Shit.” Thad unhooked his seat belt and reached over for the dog. Puddin’ growled and snapped at him. Thad held both hands up. “I was trying to help.”
When he reached for him again, the poodle allowed him to pick him up. Thad placed him on the seat and pulled the seat belt across him. Puddin’ immediately stepped out of it.
“Fine, break your neck then, you lil asshole.”
Someone behind him honked.
Instead of turning right, Thad continued straight on Clouet and parked next to the gray-and-yellow house at the corner. That lacy trim would have to come down, but as for the rest of it?
He lowered the windows about two inches, enough to keep air circulating, then got out of the truck. For a second, he thought about not locking it. Maybe someone would come by and steal Puddin’.
They would probably return the damn dog after ten minutes and make off with his radio instead. He pressed the lock on the key fob.
