“Also, he's a good chick magnet,” Chloe added with a giggle. “Put a little Santa hat on him, and women will flock to you!”
*
Chloe proved moreright than she probably knew. I had taken the train, as it was rush hour. The puppy was in my jacket, looking around intelligently at his surroundings.
“Are you going to help me steal my Thanksgiving leftovers?” I whispered to him as I rounded the corner to my tower…
… and immediately crashed into Holly. The puppy yelped as she screamed. I grabbed Holly around the waist before she could tip over. She was wearing ridiculous high heels.
“You should pay attention to where you're going!” I growled. “Dangerous men look for girls like you who are wandering around totally oblivious.”
“You mean dangerous like you?”
11
Holly
“I'm not dangerous,” Owen countered.
“It’s good that we cleared that up!” Something furry stuck its head out of his overcoat.
“You have a puppy!” I squealed. Owen winced. I ignored him. “Hi! You're so cute! What's your name?” I said to the puppy.
“He doesn't have a name,” Owen said, peering down at me.
“You have to name him Rudolph!”
The puppy barked. “He's not staying,” Owen said.
“Of course someone who hates Christmas also hates puppies.”
“I don't hate puppies,” Owen said tersely.
“Great! Because you're perfect for each other!” I swooned, taking out my phone. The puppy mugged for the camera.
“You have no shame,” Owen scolded the dog.
“He’s too innocent!” I cooed at the dog. The cuteness was overwhelming. “Wait, hold him up! Shots of attractive men and cute dogs are gold! Once Penny sees you have a puppy, she's going to go nuts! You'll be plastered all over theVanity Ragwebsite.”
I took the puppy out of Owen's arms, tipping him over in the crook of my own arm and snapping pictures.
“Who is the absolute cutest thing in the world?”
The dog was either exceptionally friendly and photogenic, or more likely, he smelled the turkey on my breath.
Owen was studying me intently.
“He's cute, isn't he?” I said, kissing the puppy on his little black nose. “You should keep him.”
Owen didn't say a word. Instead, he stepped up to me, cupping my face slightly. Was he about to kiss me? Not that I was complaining. I would totally make out with him then yell at him about Christmas, of course, but I can compartmentalize.
Owen leaned in close to me. His breath felt cool against my mouth. He closed his eyes and—sniffed?
“You smell like—” he sniffed again.
“I smell?”
His eye twitched slightly. “You smell like Thanksgiving leftovers!” he snarled. He turned my face and swiped a thumb over my cheek. “Is that gravy?”
