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I’d left Tucker at Sloan’s house last night since I was going to be gone all day today and I was going over there later anyway. Besides, he liked it better there, and I didn’t blame him.

“Really? I thought he was an angel.”

She scoffed. “Turns out I was wrong about that.”

“What did he do? Give me a hint.”

“He just…He ate something he shouldn’t have eaten.”

Fucking Tucker.

“Can I pay to replace it?”

She laughed. “No, definitely not. I got it. He’s going to spend a few hours in doggy prison thinking about what he’s done.”

“Doggy prison?”

“The laundry room. It’s not Guantanamo Bay like the crate, but it’ll do.”

She was never going to stop giving me shit about the crate. “Okay, now you really have to tell me.”

She sighed into the phone. “Your dog—”

“My dog? I thought we were coparenting?”

I could tell she was smiling by the pause. “No, he’s definitely your dog today. Your dog ate about two dozen pairs of my underwear.”

My burst of laughter made the receptionist look up from her white desk.

“He’s been pulling them out of the dirty clothes basket every day to chew them up and stash them under the bed. I found his hoard this morning. I wondered where they were going…”

I was laughing too hard to respond.

She huffed. “Your best friend is a pervert and I feel like you’re not taking this seriously.”

“Well, I can’t really say I blame him. He has excellent taste,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose, still chuckling. “So what store are you going to?”

“The lingerie department at Nordstrom.”

I looked up and arched an eyebrow. “I think I should be allowed, as a responsible dog owner, to replace these damaged items. I’ll need to approve everything, of course, for insurance purposes. Dressing room pictures would be best. In fact, we should probably Skype.”

“You know, I’ve already forgiven Tucker for everything he’ll ever do. You? Not so much.”

“What? How am I the bad guy in this? Here I am, just trying to make you whole…”

“Uh-huh.”

“I like red, by the way.”

She snorted. “What makes you think that you’re ever going to see my underwear?”

I grinned. “Unwavering, unrelenting persistence?”

“Speaking of persistence,” she mumbled.

“Sailor boy’s still there?” I asked, nodding back at a yoga pants–clad Jennifer Lawrence coming out of the floor-to-ceiling frosted doors of Pia’s office.

“Yeah, he’s smiling at me, standing by a giant bubble gum machine.”