I help her. Jessie, a high school junior who started to volunteer two months ago to beef up her extracurriculars, lets out a soft sigh. “Does this mean I get to take a short break?”
“Yes,” I say with a laugh. Jessie’s a good kid who loves animals—she has a poodle at home—but she’s not used to washing this many dogs.
I let her take a moment to slouch on a metal folding chair and help Brenda, who seems to have unlimited stamina to deal with animals—and everything that needs to be done at the shelter. Like most shelters, Furry Haven never has enough money to do everything. Brenda wears all sorts of hats, not just managing the shelter but also handling the social media and PR.
“So were you able to find someone to do the charity auction?” I ask, toweling off Cooper, who is the last one to get washed. A charitable foundation is hosting a bachelorette auction, and unlike most such events, where the foundation decides where the money goes, the bachelorettes can decide what the funds are used for. When Brenda heard about it, she asked me if I wanted to auction off a date for the shelter.
She might as well have tased me. Put myself on a stage in front of people? And hope they like me enough to fork over their hard-earned money for a few hours of time together? I’d rather watch a horror movie and have nightmares for a month.
But then Brenda gave me her patentedsad puppy eyes. “It’s just…money’s so tight. It’d mean a lot.”
Noooo, don’t look at me like that… “Honestly, I don’t think I’d get more than a few hundred bucks.”
The puppy eyes became even more sorrowful. “It would really mean a lot to the dogs. Besides, you underestimate your attractiveness, Molly.”
I laughed, but it came out shaky. It’s always uncomfortable when people say I’m pretty because I know it isn’t true. They’re either being nice, or nasty and sarcastic. I’ve gotten both, although thankfully the former is more common. Georgia told me I should just say, “Thanks,” when people compliment on my looks, but that sounds like I’m accepting their praise as is—which is a different kind of awkward.
“If you can’t find anybody, how about if I just write a check for five hundred bucks?” I finally offered. The amount wasn’t something I could easily afford, but I also didn’t mind since it was for a good cause. Of course, this was before I realized how incompatible Owen and I were, and I might need the money to move out.
So right now I’m praying Brenda found some other woman for the auction.
She stretches her shoulders, watching Jessie take Cooper to dry him off. “Uh-huh. An Instagram fitness influencer agreed to commit her proceeds to us.” She smiles. “It’s going to be great. She’s fairly well known, and she’s gorgeous. Should bring some attention to the shelter, too, since she offered to make some posts about Furry Haven. We need money, but some extra volunteers wouldn’t hurt.”
The last part is true. Although Furry Haven has been lucky to get some generous anonymous donations, Brenda is terrified that money might dry up. Before I started volunteering, the shelter had a crisis with funds when one of the donors quit sending checks. She’s exceptionally frugal now, but even if she were more relaxed about finances, there isn’t enough to hire a sufficient number of staff to take care of all the dogs. Basically, without volunteers, the shelter can’t function.
“You might know her,” Brenda continues. “Dana Mincer?”
Ugh.It’s like a spoonful of lemon juice just teleported into my mouth, but I manage to maintain a neutral expression. Dana has hundreds of thousands of followers on Instagram, and she is good looking. So I should be happy she’s decided to champion the shelter, even though she was mean to me in high school. If I didn’t see her at the gym all the time, I might believe she’d changed since then. But Dana is still the same, just older and blonder.
I shake off my less-than-great feelings about her. These dogs aren’t going to walk themselves. I start to gather the ones who haven’t had a chance to go out yet. I’m so relieved I’m dealing with the happier dogs. Some of the older ones are so depressed about being abandoned, they won’t even go for walks, and they break my heart. I wish I could do something to make them feel better, but the only thing would be to bring them back to their owners, and that’s beyond my ability. It makes me feel so helpless and angry. Those dogs are wasting their love on the wrong people. Sometimes I wish the dogs’ lives were romance novels, so I could give them all fantastic happy endings while gifting their owners with incurable gout in a bonus epilogue.
“Ooh, look!” Jessie squeaks and points out the window facing the parking lot. “It’s Nicholas!”
“Wait, I thought he wasn’t coming today!” another volunteer says.
“Does that matter? He’s here and he’s hot!”
“Shit! I should’ve worn something prettier!”
Wouldn’t we all have?
I smooth my hair, hoping it isn’t a complete mess after helping Brenda wash the dogs. And I’m not the only one.
A thrill ripples through the volunteers. I’m susceptible as well, even though I shouldn’t be this shivery when I’m already in a committed relationship. But Nicholas is so gorgeous with those stunning dark gray eyes and Cupid’s-bow mouth. And the body…
The breadth of his thickly muscled shoulders always makes me sigh, whether they’re cased in a suit or a T-shirt—like today. His torso tapers down to a narrow waist, and as he strolls into Furry Haven, his quads flex and bulge under his shorts. Jessie isn’t the only one eye-fucking him.
He’s like some kind of exotic, forbidden man-fruit. Or maybe a panther lazily stalking you. How can anyone’s body be that perfect? And he’s one of the nicest people in the world! Given how busy he is, it’s incredible he makes time to volunteer at the shelter. Just goes to show how generous and sweet he is.
He flashes a smile. “Good morning.”
Female sighs go up around me. Nobody is immune to his smile—including me, even though I’ve seen it since I was eighteen. I’ll probably never get used to its impact.
Boom boom boom boom…
I press a hand over my erratic heart, praying it will settle down. If a cardiologist were to examine me now, he’d push me into an OR for immediate surgery. Hearts can’t be designed to pump this hard.
“Hi, Molly.” His warm voice flows over me like a chocolate martini—sweet and potent.
