And hiseyes—one blue, the other dark, almost black. They’re as striking as they are unusual. Impossible to look away from.
I blink and… he’s gone.Poof.Just like that. Nothing but an empty sidewalk where I swear he stood a heartbeat ago.
Did I just… hallucinate a six-foot slice of a hottie thirst trap?
My heart kicks like it’s trying to launch straight out of my chest.
That’s twice now—twice—in as many days that some stupidly gorgeous stranger has locked eyes with me like I’m the only girl in the world… then vanished like smoke before I can decide if I should flirt, flee, or file a restraining order.
I mean, seriously.
I’m out here in yesterday’s eyeliner and a messy bun held together by sheer spite.
There’s no logical reason hot men should be falling out of the ether and looking at me likethat.
I can’t possibly be that much of a hottie magnet…
Can I?
Chapter Seven
EVERYBODY BARK FOR A SLICE
I’m sweating. Panting. And not from a hot, toe-curling, earth-shattering orgasm like Idesperatelyneed—but from walking six dogs at once through the park.
Yep. Six. Simultaneously.
My casual midday gig involves exercising the better-dressed-than-I pets of the rich and famous, while they sip overpriced champagne on rooftop terraces and fake-laugh with their equally rich friends.
Or at least that’s how I imagine it goes.
Honestly, it’s not a bad job. I get to hang out with furry friends, the pay is solid, and I don’t have to talk to people unless absolutely necessary. The best part? Rich people know other rich people, so referrals keep rolling in. And the hours fit perfectly between my shifts at the Gilded Bean and the Hôtel Château Blanc.
Sundays are the best because I get to walk the dogs and have no other shifts. No other responsibilities. I can go home, make a hot meal, and settle in with a smutty book and a glass of wine. It’s the only day of the week where I have free time to unwind.
I finally reach the fenced-in dog enclosure and unclip all the leashes, one by one. They take off like a pack of four-legged rockets.
With a huff, I shake out my arms before unzipping the hoodie I threw on this morning because the skylookedominously gray.
Did I need it though?
No. Of course not.
I can almost picture Mother Nature laughing at me.
I shove my sunglasses higher up my nose to block out her harsh rays. Clearlysomeone’sin a good mood today. The sun is out in full force, and I’m grossly overdressed. Hence, the sweating.
The panting? That’s because these dogs, combined, have enough pull to drag a small car—and I’ve been forced into a reluctant jog despite every attempt to slow them down.
Who needs cardio when you have dogs?
Pookie, a gray and white schnauzer wearing a pink polka-dot skirt, barks at me and sits pretty, waiting for me to throw the ball. All the others have run off to go sniff other dogs and pee along the fence, but Pookie—ridiculous name I know—loves a good game of fetch.
“Oh, you want this?” I pull out her red bedazzled ball—becauseof courseit’s bedazzled—and wave it in front of her. Rich people.
Pookie barks again, eyes locked on the prize.
“Go get it!” I launch it across the enclosure, and she tears off after it like she’s in the Puppy Olympics, wind in her furry girly beard and all. 10/10 performance.
