“Are you just going to repeat everything I say like a frickin moron? Mel overheard you confessing to your mom how much you love Chloe.” She’s never been one for holding back.
And holy fucking fuck. I look at Mel but she’s abidingly staring through the window.
“Well, she heard wrong,” I try to set the picture straight. Kiara hits her on the shoulder.
“Tsk, see, I told you.” Mel swings around with fiery eyes.
“I did not. His mom said Chloe and then he said he loved her!” she shouts as if I’m not right there. I snicker.
“My mom just said she saw Chloe. She was worried because Chloe is a damn crazy-ass stalker.” I need her to know that Chloe means nothing to me.
“So you don’t love her,” Kiara asks, “and you’re not planning to get married?”
“Fuck no.” I look at Mel but she’s doing the window-looking thing again.
“So who were you talking about then?” Kiara asks the question I don’t really want to answer … not right now.
“Eh … it’s complicated, but you’ll find out soon enough.” Kiara pouts her mouth but doesn’t push further.
After a beat of silence, I ask about their little around-the-world trip to break the sudden tension, and Kiara spends the whole drive talking about buildings and food and trees and boats and trains and people. Mel keeps staring through that darn window.
Finally, my ears ringing, we reach the center.
“This is not that far from the haunted house,” Mel speaks for the first time again. It’s actually also not that far from our place – not that they would know since neither of them has ever been to my house or my parents.
The reception of Paws and Claws is striking, a huge wood and glass structure with a butterfly roof, that screams joyful warmth in a big way even before you go through the swivel doors. I can just imagine that any stray will feel rather safe here.
Connected to it on the left is another building, bigger, and in the same architectural style. It must be the veterinary hospital … cause the sign says ‘Hospital’.
“Are you a new trainer?” A nippy girl with two brown ponytails and a huge smile asks, looking right at me. In one hand she carries a scruffy-looking stuck-up cat. She’s dressed in overalls and boots, and not entirely bad-looking.
The girl fumbles her nose, probably because we’re staring and none of us are responding.
“I’m asking because you’re hot … like the trainers,” she explains quickly, and then a slight pink blush colors her cheeks, probably realizing too late what she said.
“We’re here for the therapy dog course,” Mel says a little snotty. The girl points a finger in the direction of some grassy pens and paddocks, and more buildings that look like barns and stables.
“They’re grouping in camp 3, but you need to sign in at reception first.” She stomps off, looking back over her shoulder and because she was so friendly, I give her a big smile. She stumbles over a bucket, swears, and almost drops the snobby cat, while I get the exact same contemptuous look from both Mel and Kiara.
“Just can’t take you anywhere,” Mel snips.
“What? She was friendly.”
Kiara rolls her eyes. “Okay, bitch … you go sign in and we will check out the goodies.” She pushes her friend towards the building.
“Come on handsome, let’s go check out your competition,” she giggles and grabs my arm, leading me in the direction the girl pointed. A stone pathway parts the neatly camped-off grassy pens on both sides. At every end is a gate with a number. When we reach 3 Kiara stops.
“Okay,” she whispers, “I’m taking dips on the blondie on the right.” As if I have any interest in any of the four blokes and a girl, all dressed in khaki cargo pants and navy blue Ts with a logo on the right sleeve. I’m not even interested in the group of around 15 girls circled around them. And that’s saying something.
“You can have him, he’s not my type,” I say as sternly as I can. Kiara grunts.
“That nugget on the far left is also rather yummy,” she continues as if I have a clue what that means.
I stare but say nothing. They’re all about my size, with faces. And judging by the drooling women around them, I guess they’re not bad-looking.
I open the gate.
“Are you going to join the class too?” Kiara asks in a soft husky whisper.
“Nope, just going to ask them their names in case it starts with a D,” I wink at her. She rolls her eyes. That’s her thing. Kiara is very straightforward, very realistic, and slightly bitchy. A total contrast to her absent-minded, ADHD, head-in-the-clouds counterpart. I sometimes wonder if they would have become friends if they weren’t thrown together.
“Hi, guys,” I greet as friendly as possible, because if I push another guy against a tree Mel might just kill me.
Kiara’s blondie is the first to hold out his hand. Next to him is a Golden Retriever with friendly brown eyes and a wagging tail.
“Adam,” the man says and I shake his hand. The next guy, a black dude with dreadlocks and a perfect smile, is called Ken. He has a black Lab. Then there is Shawn, another blond with an Alsatian, and the girl, Serena with her Collie mix.
Lastly, I hold out my hand to the ‘nugget on the right’ which he grabs into a serious stiff grip. Our eyes meet, and there’s a look in his icy-blue stare I can’t place, but don’t like. He seems familiar as if I’ve seen him somewhere before.
His face is rigid, a small vein beating in his neck. A chill runs down my spine and gets stuck in my gut. Rule 9. But I keep my cool.
“Damion,” I say in a way too smug voice.
“Wuff.” Of course, his dog looks just as stern as him. It’s one of those Magnum PI dogs … whatchamacallit … Doberman, but this one is still a pup. The guy gives the animal a stern stare and the dog immediately sits and huffs its muzzle. Impressive.
The freezing eyes lift back to mine. The dude has the same don’t-fuck-with-me vibe as Jackson. But unlike Jackson, I don’t trust him.
“Alejandro.” Even his voice is tight or he forgot to take his Midol. Damn, I sort of wanted him to be a D. He lets go of my hand and runs his fingers through his messy black hair that curls low in his neck.
Mel comes walking into the pen and all the guys suddenly stand up straight and notice. Fuck. It irritates the hell out of me when men look at her, especially if they look at her as if she’s the hottest thing since Miley Cyrus’s wrecking ball video.
“Awh, what a cute puppy,” she beams behind me. Hot and bothered and not in a good way, I turn around to eye the subject of my insanity. And then it happens.
I pull her into a tight hug and kiss her on the cheek. Moving my nose slowly to her ear, I whisper against the silky skin of her neck: “Don’t miss me too much, little angel.”
She makes a soft sound of sultry hotness that goes right through me. Her hands slide from my chest to my hips and it takes every little bit of control I have to pull away.
The little hiss she makes as we pry apart hits me right in the balls. Rather reluctantly, I let her go and nod my head at the trainers. They’re staring droopy-eyed at Mel, except for Icy-nugget … he’s glaring at me. My rules run around in my head.