Who does he think he is anyway?
“How could he yell at you?” I ask Rusty, already curled up in his basket with his beloved, well-chewed hedgehog. Some people don’t think dogs can smile, but I do and my dog looks extremely happy. It’s not that breaking into Liv’s place wasn’t already fun, but seeing Rusty like this makes it even more worthwhile.
I adopted Rusty from the Humane Society after losing my last dog. After crying my eyes out for twenty-four hours straight, I found Rusty. While he’s in no way a replacement for Bandy, he’s excellent in his own way.
I drop to the floor beside his basket and he gives up his beloved hedgehog and rolls over on his side for a belly scratch. “No one is going to take anything from you,” I murmur as Rusty kicks a leg with pleasure. “And you can poop wherever you want.”
The smile starts as I remember the look on Boen’s face, standing straight with his poo-covered sock off the ground, and then the giggling begins.I stepped in it!
I shouldn’t laugh because I’ve stepped in my fair share of doggie-doo to know it’s both embarrassing and frustrating, but he didn’t have to be a jerk. Especially since I was on such a high from getting the hedgehog back from Liv.
My giggles fade as I try to push away the thoughts about my new neighbour. Not that I have many thoughts. He yelled at my dog. He has a strange name.
He has really great hair; thick and wavy like McDreamy on Grey’s Anatomy.
I wonder what his eyes are like close-up.
Why am thinking about his eyes?
“He’ll stay over there and I’ll stay over here and we never have to cross paths again,” I tell Rusty, who really seems like he’s listening to me, with his big brown eyes tracking my every expression. He’s the best of the mix of breeds—the smushed in boxer face, the energy of the Lab, and the wiry hair and constant tail wag of the terrier. There might be more to him, but those are the three that stand out.
“And we’ll make sure that this Boen isn’t there when you go over to do your business,” I finish, giving him a last tummy rub before I pull myself up and off to bed.
Good hair or bad hair.
I’ve been wondering what this new neighbour was like since Mrs. Gretchen told me that a single man had bought Evelyn’s house. Who wouldn’t be curious? I was curious in that new neighbour might mean new friend, not new knocking boots partner. That’s the last thing I need.
Or maybe not.
It’s been six weeks since Liv ended things; not a forever time to be celibate, but when you take in the fact that we were together eighteen months and Bartlett and I split up a few weeks before that… If you do the math, it’s been almost two years since I’ve had sex with a man, give or take a month.
When you look at it that way…
No. Boen yelled at Rusty. Boen wears socks with beakers on them. Boen stepped in poo.
Even if I was so inclined, there’s no way he’ll be looking my way again for the foreseeable future, for anything other than to yell at me.
The thought of that makes me laugh again.
The cats are already in their position on the bed by the time I finish washing up. Marmalade is curled up against the pillow while tiny Jam sprawls at the bottom of the bed, trying to take up as much space as possible. Luckily, Rusty prefers his basket or I’d have to get a bigger bed.
The call comes as I crawl under the covers. I don’t need to look at the screen to know that it’s Liv.
“I know you were here,” she greets me.
“Where?” I bluff.
“Rachel.”
Ooh, the annoyed voice. My uninvited visit must have really gotten her panties in a twist. “Olivia,” I mimic.
“The hedgehog is gone,” she says, in the same tone as one might announce there is a pandemic going on.
“The same one that you insisted wasn’t there in the first place?”
She huffs a breath. Liv never did like to be proven wrong. “I’m sorry, okay. Jasmine took a liking to it.”
“Is that your new girlfriend or your new dog?”
