“You don’t have to?—”
“I’m driving you.”
There was no point arguing. Twenty minutes later, we were at my apartment—which looked exactly as sad as I remembered, but somehow less depressing now that Jack was seeing it with me.
I’d barely gotten my key in the lock when the door across the hall flew open.
Meatball exploded into the hallway like a grey missile.
“Meatball, no—” Candy’s voice came from inside her apartment, but it was too late.
A hundred pounds of pure joy and questionable breath slammed into me. I staggered backward, and would have fallen if Jack hadn’t caught my elbow.
And suddenly I was leaning with an armful of ecstatic dog doing his level best to lick every inch of my face.
“Hi, buddy,” I laughed, trying to fend off his tongue. “Yes, I missed you too. Yes, you’re a good boy. No, you cannot lick inside my mouth—Meatball, that’s disgusting?—”
He was doing the thing where his entire backend wagged instead of just his tail, his paws scrabbling against my legs, his tongue finding every available inch of skin. I was laughing too hard to properly defend myself.
When I finally managed to push him back enough to breathe, I looked up and found Jack staring at me.
His expression was somewhere between amazed and utterly confused, like he’d just watched me perform a magic trick he couldn’t figure out.
“What?” I said, still scratching behind Meatball’s ears while he leaned his entire weight against my legs.
“You were terrified of dogs.”
“I was.” I looked down at Meatball, who was gazing up at me with those soulful eyes that suggested he’d never known a bad day in his life. “This one stole my heart.”
Meatball chose that moment to lunge forward again, his tongue catching me right on my cheek.
“Okay, buddy, that’s—” I was laughing, trying to duck away. “That’s enough?—”
“Hey.” Jack’s voice was firm. Commanding. He was glaring at Meatball with the kind of intensity usually reserved for hostile board members. “Pauline is mine. Get your tongue off her.”
I swatted his arm. “Don’t talk to him like that!”
“He’s licking your face.”
“He’s affectionate!”
“He’s being inappropriate.”
“He’s a good boy.” I gave Meatball’s head a vigorous rub, and his tail went into overdrive. “Yes you are. Yes you are. Don’t listen to the mean man.”
“I’m not mean. I’m establishing boundaries.”
“With a dog.”
“He needs to know there are rules.”
Meatball, sensing he’d become the subject of debate, decided the best course of action was to lick Jack’s hand.
Jack looked down at him. Meatball looked up at Jack, tail wagging, tongue lolling out in a grin that suggested he knew exactly what he was doing.
“Don’t try to win me over,” Jack told him. “I’m not falling for it.”
Meatball’s tail wagged harder.
