“Mm.” Our drinks arrive, and I take a large sip. Sweet perfection. The coffee, vodka, and sugary liqueur go down like water. Too easy. “So how many pets do you have? Any purebreds?”
He pauses mid-sip and stares at me before he swallows.
“None. I’m too busy to invest the time, and my parents never allowed it, growing up.”
I can’t hide my surprise.
“Wow, really? With the fundraisers and animals on your channel, I guessed you’d have a whole menagerie.”
“Not yet. Maybe that’s why I care so much for everyone else’s pooches and cats.” He sips his own martini, reflecting, and I watch the way his throat moves.
“But they wouldn’t let you have one dog? Don’t tell me it was a money thing?”
“It was an optics thing. Image is law when you grow up like I did. We had all the resources in the world to have a few dogs, sure—hell, even a small hobby farm a few hours away. But my mom wouldn’t dirty up the house with a puppy, and Dad won’t be seen showing a single human crack in his armor.”
Interestingandcomplicated.
The more I learn, the more I want to know, and that’s not good. It shows the lack of excitement in my life.
Hanging out with him feels more interesting than a lonely bath at home, though. The bar is so low it’s basically a flooring pipe.
But it doesn’tmeananything.
Yet I still find myself leaning forward, my body language open.Tell me more.
Maybe by the end of the night, he’ll spill some dark secret that would bring his family’s entire empire crashing down.
Or maybe he’ll offer me a ride home on a unicorn, but a girl can dream.
He gives me that sharp, spearing glance again, like he’s looking at the most interesting woman in the world.
“You really do love animals, don’t you?”
I blink. “I mean, that’s kinda a given, considering where I work. With you, it’s more interesting because you don’t have to love them to make rent. Where does it come from if you didn’t have any pets, growing up?”
“I was big into greyhound races when I was young. My grandfather’s hobby. He’d take me out to the tracks pretty often. He’d usually lose a bundle on his bets, but he loved it to death. I loved hanging out with dogs on the side, and Gramps had the weight to get us VIP access. My mother hated me when I kept begging her to open a racetrack in Seattle three Christmases in a row, even after Gramps was gone. I wanted her to name it after him.”
Oof. That’s a big, heaping ask I can’t begin to imagine. The kind that only comes with money. But it’s also an adorable one for a little rich boy.
“Oh wow. Greyhounds are fascinating. We have a couple who come to the clinic.” I don’t have to fake my enthusiasm.
Too many people think these gentle giants are ugly with their lanky bodies and oversize snouts, and it pisses me off all the time. Especially when you’ll never meet a bigger sweetheart in your life than a lazy lump of a retired racing dog.
He takes another drink, but the warmth in his eyes fades as he looks past me, into the distance. “Honestly, I think my interest truly took hold later.”
“What did? Your crush on greyhounds?”
“Dogs in general.” He meets my eyes, and they’re serious. “I did a few years in the US Army. Mostly my father’s idea, to make me fly rightand keep me out of trouble. It was trouble, all right, but fuck getting into that.”
I bite my lip so I don’t smile.
“Anyway, I wound up in Syria at a really chaotic time,” he says.
The confession stuns me a little. I never would’ve guessed he’s an army vet, but that helps explain the Instagrammable physique. Another piece of the Brady Pruitt puzzle I don’t know what to do with yet.
How much trouble was he in? Men like him don’t usually serve abroad. They don’t give up time and risk their neck for their country if they don’t have to.
“Surprised?” he asks. “Can’t say I blame you. Money shields you from a lot of bullshit in life. In my case, I’m glad it didn’t here. I had a lot to learn when I was nineteen.”
