More, Please (6 page)

~ ALLIE ~

“Seriously? He’s really a SEAL?”

It’s barely nine in the morning and I
haven’t had my coffee yet. I’m not ready for questions like this. But it’s my
boss, Nancy, talking to me, so I slap on a smile and respond.

“Was a SEAL,” I clarify, talking into the
little camera on my phone. Nancy likes to Skype our meetings, and I don’t mind
because I can do it in my pajama pants. I manage to put on a bra and a decent
shirt just to make me look a little professional. But I’ve worked for her for
over a year now, and I’m pretty sure she can guess I’m in slippers right now. “And
he really does go by Logan. When I called his references, that’s the only name
they used for him.”

“Holy crap. And you told me you were such
a bitch to him that Saturday morning,” Nancy reminds me.

It might seem odd that I even share
details like that with my boss, but at this point she’s really more like a
friend who passes me a meager paycheck every two weeks. She runs her nonprofit
out of her home in Cincinnati, but is on the road two-thirds of the time giving
speeches and having meetings pumping up the health benefits of being vegan.

It’s a hard sell in the heartland of
America.

I take a sip of my coffee, laden with
non-vegan creamer, and am glad she can’t smell the bacon and cheese omelet I
cooked up this morning. Nancy knows I’m not a vegan, but there’s no need to rub
her nose in it.

“Yeah,” I answer her, pausing to swallow
my coffee. “But he’s still interested in Kosmo. And Rocco and Bullet look like
they’ll have homes by the end of the week, too.”

“So you’ll have no dogs?” she asks.

I nod. “I’ll stop by the pound this week
and pick up a few more,” I say, even though I know that’s not what she’s
insinuating.

Tilting her head to the side, she raises
her eyebrows. “Or you could sell your place.”

I sigh, trying to press the image of my
real dream to the back of my brain. “I’m not ready to take that on.” My voice
stammers, not sounding very convincing.

Nancy is the dictionary definition of a
Type A. There’s nothing she won’t take on if it means getting closer to her
goal. If she gets an idea in her head, she’ll pursue it to the ends of the
earth. Which is why she has the balls right now to be calling from a hotel in Chicago—home
to some of the best steakhouses on the planet, in my opinion—where she’s
been trying to convince schools to embrace the vegan lifestyle.

Good luck with that, Nancy.

We talk more about her schedule of
meetings and I jot down notes about some calls I need to make for her.

Even though the pay is the pits and I
make twice as much selling sex toys in the evenings, I love my day job working
for Nancy because she lets me telecommute. So while the rest of the world is
stuck in rush hour traffic, I can be at home with my dogs, half of whom need a
refresher course in housetraining when I get them from the pound.

I finish getting dressed so I can grab another
coffee at Pop’s on Anders. It’s only a short walk from my condo, and I love
that I live in small town America but can actually do things without needing to
get in my car.

Granted, there aren’t many things to do
in downtown Newton’s Creek, unless I want to buy gourmet pet food at Sally
Sweet’s (which I certainly can’t afford), or get a malted milkshake at the
five-and-dime (which I do far too regularly), or drool over the diamonds in the
local jewelry store (which, sadly, has been having its going out of business
sale for the last two months).

There’s a nouveau chic restaurant here,
too, though I’ve never had enough in the bank to try it. It’s got a five-star
rating online and people drive all the way here from Dayton and Cincinnati to
check it out when they spend a day in the country.

I pick up one of the free papers on the
corner before I turn onto Anders. It’s a warm late spring day and the humidity
has kicked in just enough to make my hair frizz at the ends.

When I’m at the counter ordering, I put
down my paper to pull my hair back in a ponytail.

“Hi, Pops,” I say, my eyes meeting the
older man behind the counter.

“Happy Tuesday, Allie,” he greets me. Every
morning, it’s the same greeting. Happy Monday, Happy Tuesday, Happy Wednesday. And
Pops has been plenty happy lately ever since the commuter bus started picking
up here on Anders Street, doubling his business on weekdays.

I can’t complain about it either since my
condo’s value has spiked with more people wanting to live in the serenity of Newton’s
Creek and commute to the city.

“The usual?” he asks.

“Yes, thanks.”

“Can I tempt you with a donut today?”

“No. Please don’t,” I beg him. I could
easily be tempted, but something about meeting Logan has made my donut ritual
seem a little less tasty. I know I blew my chance with the guy, but it reminded
me that one day, maybe, just maybe, I’ll want to get naked with a man again.

Glancing at my watch, I pick up my pace
toward home. I’m meeting Cass at the pound today to photograph the dogs. Cass
is really good with a camera. I guess she picked it up modeling in New York. So
every Monday we meet at the pound to take pictures of the new intakes so that
they can be put online. Before we started doing this, they didn’t even have
photos up of the dogs, and the only names they had listed were things like “HC128-SpanielX”
and the like. There aren’t many creative types who work at our local pound.

By the time I arrive, Cass is already
trying to put a pink bow on a Westie. The dog’s all brushed and I’m feeling
guilty. “Am I late?”

“No. I got here early. Half of them are
done already.”

“Thanks.”

“Figured I owed you after talking trash
about your SEAL.”

I scoff. “He’s not my SEAL. And don’t
worry about it. I would have done the same thing if the tables were turned.” I
move to the Westie. “What’s your name, pretty girl?”

“Boy. It’s a boy.”

“Then why the pink bow?”

“I didn’t have a blue one. And it looks
so cute. Don’t you think?”

I shrug. It does look cute. This one
won’t even need my rescuing, I’m betting as Cass snaps a picture. Someone will
probably snatch him right up direct from the pound.

But there are so many others.

We walk Ice Cream (Cass apparently named
him) back to his cage, and I frown at all the new faces around me. They all
aren’t as cute as Ice Cream. And worse, I see the familiar dogs, the ones I saw
last week and the week before, who are likely running out of time. They might not
be here when I come back later this week. I always let the County know when
I’ve got space coming up, and they do their best to hold off on euthanizing
them. But there’s only so much room here, and I need both my fingers and toes
to count how many times I’ve come for a specific dog only to discover they’d
just been euthanized.

Death is a bitch. There’s no “undo”
button for it.

I feel my face droop. “Does this ever
seem futile?”

Shocked, Cass turns to me. “What?”

“There are just so many we can’t save. And
they keep coming. I wish I could get more foster homes.”

Cass frowns at my discouragement. “With
the commuter bus now coming to town, more people are going to move here, Allie.
Happens all the time. More people mean more fosters. And more people willing to
adopt, too.”

“I know…” My voice trails as my eyes fall
to a German shepherd. His face seems wise and I wonder what he’s seen in his
life. Why would anyone give up such a beautiful dog? Will he still be here
later this week when I have space? I make a mental note to ask before I leave
today.

I turn to Cass. “Remember that property I
was telling you about?”

“The foreclosure? Sure.”

Pausing before I say anything else, I mull
whether to even voice my thoughts. There’s an old boarding kennel that went out
of business before I even moved here, after a newer, fancier kennel opened up
closer to the highway—one of those luxury pet resorts that offers tuck-in
service, quilted bedding and dog massages. The older place just couldn’t
compete, so the property is in foreclosure—two secluded acres about
fifteen minutes from town sandwiched between two farms. I snooped around it once
and guess it could fit at least thirty dogs in there.

It’s my dream.

Nancy told me about a nonprofit loan I
could get, but I’d still need to come up with a good percentage of the money
myself. Even though we get some donations, it’s not nearly enough to secure the
kind of loan I’d need to buy that place and fix it up.

“Do you have a couch?” The words slip from
my mouth too easily.

“Umm, yeah. Why?”

I sigh as I retrieve a dog from his cage
and hook him up to a leash. “I’ve been thinking more about that boarding
kennel. And if these three adoptions go through this week, it will be the first
time I’ve been dog-free in ages, right?”

“Right. But what has that got to do with
the boarding kennel?”

“What if I sold my condo, and used the
money to secure that nonprofit loan Nancy told me about. I could make a bid on
the foreclosure.”

“Where would you live?”

“Your couch.” I send her a feeble grin.

“Oh, Allie. You’d hate where I live. The
people in my building are freaks. Even I can’t stand them, and I have a really
high tolerance for freaks.”

Frowning, I lead the dog down the long
hallway toward the room where we’ve set up our makeshift photo studio. Cass’s
apartment is right outside of Buckeye Land, where most of the seasonal workers
like her live. She’s right. It sounds like hell to me. But it can’t be worse
than the hell I face walking in here every week and seeing all the dogs I can’t
save. “It would only be for a short while, till I hear back from the bank.”

She picks up a dog brush. “You’re welcome
to stay as long as you need. My roommate is drunk half the time she’s home
anyway and probably won’t even notice. I don’t even think she’s noticed I
started fostering dogs. But I think it’s a crazy idea. What if you go through
all that and don’t even get the place? I’ve heard foreclosures are weird like
that. You put an offer on one and wait for months, and the damn thing ends up
going to someone else anyway.”

My shoulders slump. “But who’d want an
old kennel? No one around here. It’s been sitting vacant for so long, I can’t
imagine it’s in good shape.”

“All the more reason not to buy it, hon.”

I sweep up a pile of fur that has
collected on the ground. “I just can’t get it out of my mind, Cass. I mean, it
might be run-down, but it’s a boarding kennel, already equipped for animals. How
many times is an opportunity like this going to come up?” I take the brush from
Cass and start on the matted fur on the dog’s front legs, giving him a pet with
my free hand. “When you decided to move to New York City to model, weren’t you
following your dream?”

“Yeah, and look how that turned out for
me, genius. I’m playing fairy princess in the middle of freaking Ohio for the
summer because that’s the only thing my agent could get me.”

“But you went for it. You went for your
dream. You don’t regret it, do you?”

“Every day of my life.”

Okay, not the answer I was expecting. “But
you’d regret it more if you hadn’t tried. You’d be working somewhere wondering
‘what if?’”

“Maybe. But at least I wouldn’t have to
slap on a smile for another slobbery, germ-ridden kid who’s been in line an
hour in the heat to get a photo op with me.” She pauses. “Oh, speaking of, they
changed my schedule on me again, and I won’t be able to bring Moppet to the adoption
event on Saturday.”

I nod, expecting this. Now that Buckeye
Land is starting their summer schedule, I doubt I’ll be getting much help from
Cass. “No problem. I can pick her up in the morning and bring her back if you
give me your key. Or I’ll ask Kim. She’s running a party for me tonight,
anyway.”

Kim only does a couple parties a year for
me. Her parents frown at the notion of their daughter selling sex toys, her
mother referring to them as “those Devil tools,” which is why Kim needs to
store her samples in my closet.

“Great.” Cass picks up the camera. “And
you know what? Don’t listen to me. You go for your dream. My couch is there for
you if you need it.”

 
- LOGAN -

“Oooh, pretty.” My niece is toying with the
overlay of the wedding invitation I received from Annapolis. It’s laser cut
paper that looks like elegant lace, fastened by a blush pink bow that only my
niece can fully appreciate.

I’m more of an e-invitation kind of guy.

“Is this from a princess?” she asks. At
her age, everything is princesses and fairy tales and happy endings. I hope she
enjoys this stage while it lasts. Because, damn it all, it won’t.

I open the bow for her. “No. It’s just a
wedding invitation,” I say bringing disappointment to her eyes. It’s for Bess’s
wedding, someone I only ran into a few times while I was in Annapolis, but my friend
Maeve is the Maid of Honor. I’d bet my next paycheck—if I had
one—that Maeve hand-picked the invitations herself.

“When I get married, I want to have
invitations like these.”

“Then you’ll have them, honey,” I tell
her confidently. There’s nothing too good for my brother’s only child. He’ll
have white doves deliver the invitations if she wants it.

“Are you going?”

I wince at the thought. I hate weddings,
especially going stag. But I feel a pinch of guilt for the regrets that I’m
destined to send back as a reply. Maeve warned me the invitation was coming. Bess
doesn’t exactly have a huge family and Maeve’s trying to bulk up the bride’s
side of the aisle.

Since my family’s pretty big, three
brothers and seven cousins, and about twenty SEAL brothers, I shouldn’t even be
able to relate to Bess’s predicament. But the idea of not having them, any of
them, is like a punch in the gut.

Besides, she’s marrying an Army guy. A
Ranger. She’s going to need all the support she can get. “I might,” I finally
reply with a sigh as Hannah sits back down to our game of
Battleship
. Playing
a board game is always a daylong event with Hannah, as she flits about the room
in between moves, distracted by whatever happens to land within her line of sight.

I can imagine the struggle the poor kid
is having in school and it breaks my heart.

“E4.” My niece stares at me, her eyes
steely and determined. She looks almost menacing from her expression, despite
the pigtails popping out from the sides of her head.

I glance down at my tiny plastic ships on
my board, and frown. “Hit. Submarine.”

Her face lights up, like it always does. To
see her smile like that, I’d gladly throw any game of
Battleship
. Fact
is, though, I’m not throwing the game at all. She’s whipping my ass like she
always does. She’s got an instinct for games that is unreal, and as soon as she
is old enough, I’m taking her to Vegas.

I press my little red peg into my
partially sunken sub when I hear the doorbell ring.

“He’s here!” She jumps up from the table
and races to the door.

I dart behind her and stop her from
swinging it open. “Now remember, this dog is new to you, so let
him
approach
you
, okay? And if he doesn’t seem into you, don’t push it.”
Sounds like I’m giving her dating advice about ten years too early, but I’m
not. I’m seriously worried about how this might go. My niece is my everything. She
has a pretty hard time making friends at school, and the last thing I want to
do is bring a dog into her world that might reject her. Or worse, bite her.

“I know, Uncle Logan. I know.” Hannah’s
eyes roll, exasperated.

I open the door and Kosmo immediately
strides toward her, sniffing. I watch them like a hawk, looking for any sign of
displeasure from either of them. I know Allie is there, too, on the other end
of the leash, but I can’t even glance her way right now. Kosmo is almost face-high
to Hannah, and I see just how vulnerable small children can be to big dogs. My
heart is in my throat.

“Hi, Kosmo,” Hannah says, reaching out to
pet him. He licks her arm and she giggles. He immediately drops down to the
ground and rolls on his back for a belly rub.

“That’s a good sign.”

Only now do I glance up at Allie, who
isn’t even looking at me. She’s watching the two of them, too, and I’m grateful
for it. She’s dressed up again, like she was that night I met her.

“Hi, Allie,” I reach out my hand
awkwardly to shake hers. Considering the first night we met, I’m not really
sure how to greet this woman. “This is my niece, Hannah.”

Allie holds her hand out to Hannah and my
niece takes it in her wrong hand and gives it an enthusiastic shake.

Hannah returns to rubbing Kosmo’s belly
and he is basking in the attention. “Oh, you’re a nice doggie. Can he come off
the leash?”

“Sure.” Allie shuts the door behind her
and detaches Kosmo’s leash.

I sit on the ground with my niece, confident
now this is a good match for all of us. “How are you doing, bud?” I scratch his
belly lightly and his back legs quiver, telling me I found a sweet spot.

“Um, I have some paperwork and a few of
his toys in the car.” Allie tosses her head in the direction of the door.

“Want me to get them?”

“No, that’s okay.”

Allie slips out, and my eyes can’t help following
her. She’s in a torso-hugging peach t-shirt and a short skirt that is made of
some kind of jersey material. She looks like she’s headed to a picnic. Her
brown hair is swooped up into a high ponytail, revealing a dark mole at the
base of her neck. And for the life of me, I have the distinct urge to kiss it.

I give myself a shake as the door shuts
behind her and look at my niece, who is still petting Kosmo. “So, do you like
him?”

“I love him,” she says, dipping her head
low to the ground and embracing him while he lies prone on his back. If there
were ever a position that a dog might growl at a child, this would be it,
essentially trapped against the ground. But Kosmo is savoring the attention.

“Just keep your face away from his, hon,”
I remind her. I can’t help being a little cautious. Since I was always out
rescuing strays as a kid, I was bit by my fair share. It’s not something I want
to happen to Hannah. But the more I’m seeing them together, the less I worry. And
I worry plenty about this little girl.

When Allie comes in, we move to the kitchen
table so that I can sign some paperwork and write her a check for the adoption
fee. When she glances upward at me as I hand her the check, I swear I think I
see a few unshed tears in her eyes.

“Thanks,” she says. “I know he’s found a
really good home here.” She glances toward the couch which Kosmo has already
decided is his. My niece is still petting him, and fur is flying everywhere.

Pressing her lips together as she watches
the two of them, she gives a nod as though to reassure herself.

“How long have you had Kosmo?” I find
myself asking. I hadn’t really considered her feelings in all of this. How hard
would that be, to rescue a dog from the shelter and then have to hand him over
to someone else for the rest of his life?

“Six months. A little longer than most my
dogs because he was a lot harder to rehome.”

“Well, I’ll take good care of him.”

“I’m sure you will.” Her face frowns, and
she bites her bottom lip. “And will you let me know how his surgery goes?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks. And if there’s anything he
needs. Really—even if you need a dog sitter while he’s recovering,
because you probably will want someone around then.”

“I’ll clear my schedule so I can be with
him when he needs me. My hours are pretty much my own. But I will definitely
call you if I need anything,” I add simply because I think she needs to hear
it.

She nods as she reaches for the signed
paperwork. For some reason, I don’t want her to leave. I want to find out more
about her and this passion for rescuing dogs she has. “We were going to order
Chinese tonight. Hannah loves egg rolls. You can join us, if you’d like.”

“Oh, no. That’s okay. Thanks, though.”

“Really, it would be great. That way Kosmo
doesn’t feel abandoned, you know?”

Biting her lip, she seems to hesitate,
her eyes transfixed on Hannah and Kosmo snuggling on the couch like the two had
been raised together. Her eyes then dart to me and I feel this strange shooting
sensation in my heart when her gaze locks on mine. There’s something about her,
and I can’t quite put my finger on it. Like she reminds me of someone I knew in
another life, if I believed that sort of bullshit.

But for the record, I don’t.

I decide to push. “So, what do you like? Are
you more a General Tso’s chicken or shrimp fried rice kind of girl?”

A smile touches her lips. “General Tso’s
chicken. Extra spicy.”

I’m wondering if there was any flirtation
in what she just said. I’m really hoping there is. Because even though Hannah
is here tonight, I’ve got plenty of other nights this week when I wasn’t
planning on sharing company with anyone but my new dog. And as I look at Allie,
I can’t help remembering how she tasted.

“You got it.” I pull up the menu on my
laptop and order enough food for a feast. Hannah likes taking a couple bites
out of everything, and I think it’s good that she wants to sample all that life
has to offer, so I don’t make her hold herself back when she orders eight different
entrées. Trouble is, I always end up with about a week’s worth of meals for
leftovers.

While we wait for the food to be
delivered, we move to the backyard, where Kosmo is involved in a slow game of
fetch with Hannah. He runs out of energy quicker than most dogs, but I was
expecting that. And Hannah seems pretty content petting him for five minutes in
between each throw.

“Your niece is precious, Logan.”

“She is. Can’t say I had anything to do
with it, but yes, she is.”

“Does she visit you often?”

“Whenever I can convince her dad to let
her come over. Ryan’s divorced, and only gets her on the weekends. So he has a
pretty rough time parting with her. But we all get together at my parents’
house a couple Sundays a month for dinner. Kosmo will love it there. Lots of
table scraps.” I glance at Allie briefly as we sit on the back step of the
porch. “So what got you into the dog rescue business?”

“My dad—” she begins, then
hesitates, seeming to change direction. “When I graduated from college last
year, I went to the pound to get a dog and found out it was a high-kill shelter
just because there weren’t enough people adopting dogs. So I decided to foster,
rather than adopt. I got a few other people to do it with me, and the rest is
history, I guess.”

She sends me a meek smile, and I’m trying
to register what she just said. Something about fostering and a high-kill
shelter. But my head is still reeling from the words, “When I graduated from
college last year…”

“You just graduated last year?” I can’t
help myself.

She nods.

Shit
. “So you’re 23?”

“24, actually. I skipped a semester
when—”

Again, she cuts herself off. I think I’ve
never met a woman who liked talking about herself less.

“—I needed a break,” she finishes
evasively.

Holy crap
. “You look…” I catch myself before
saying it, thank God, because no woman wants to be told she looks a lot older.

“Older,” she finishes for me. She nods. “Yeah,
I know. I get that a lot.”

I’m still trying to wrap my head around
the fact that I nearly picked up a kid practically fresh out of college in a
bar. Seriously, after my last catastrophe, that’s not my style. 24 is way too
young for a cynical former Navy SEAL with more baggage than a 757 bound for
Miami during Spring Break.

“So…” I pull my eyes from hers, keeping
my hormones in check. 24, I remind myself. I go for women closer to my age. The
kind with issues. That way I won’t look like such a hot mess by comparison. “Your
sales job must not make you travel much, then.”

She stares at me, looking slightly
baffled.

“Sales. You had told me you were in
sales.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s actually why I love my
job. I never have to drive further than an hour or so. And I get to be home a
lot.”

“What do you sell?”

She nearly chokes on the soda she is
sipping as she looks at me, wide-eyed. Her cheeks blush as my niece heads in
our direction with a wet dog toy in her hand.

“Um—it’s probably a little too
graphic for present company, if you know what I mean,” she mumbles vaguely as
Hannah closes in, with Kosmo only inches behind.

I nod, guessing it’s some kind of medical
equipment like catheters or scalpels, and too gory to be described in front of
a seven-year-old. There are a few companies based outside of Dayton like that
and, outside of JLS Heartland, they tend to be the bigger employers.

“And that’s just a side job,” she
continues. “My main job is working for a small nonprofit.”