“Puppies need to walk for five minutes for every month they’ve been alive.”

“Really?” I turn my head to face J—Jeffery Junior.

“Yep.” He nods emphatically. “These puppies are three months old so they need to walk for fifteen minutes.”

“Wow, I never knew that.”

We both become silent as we walk the six puppies through the park, them sniffing everything in sight and trying to eat leaves. It’s been three days since I started working in the pet store and it’s a nice change of pace. No death traps for heels allowed here! Thank the good lord!

The more I get to know J, the more I understand how he thinks. He’s linear, no gray, only black and white. His honesty is refreshing and I’ve found myself looking forward to his assessments.

These daily puppy walks are by far my favorite part of the day. What person doesn’t love playing with puppies and getting paid for it?

“You’re thinking.”

“I am.” I chuckle.

“No, you’ve been thinking for days. Dad always asks if I want to talk about it…” J looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “Do you?”

“I…” I bite my bottom lip. Right now J is one of my only friends. How sad am I to only have one friend here in L.A. “I draw—”

“I know, I saw your notebook.” He turns to face me. “My favorite is the man with an axe in his head.”

“J! That’s private!”

“If it’s private you shouldn’t leave it where anyone can see it.”

I roll my eyes, partly at him but partly at myself. “Yeah, okay.” I scrub my hand down my face. “Anyway. My cousin—well, her client—sent my drawings to a publishing company and they’ve asked to see more but I’m…” What the hell am I?

“Scared?” J supplies.

I shrug. “I guess.”

“You should send them. They’re good.” He says it so simply, as if it’s as easy as washing your hands.

“I dunno.”

“Then don’t send them,” he replies, his voice level as he turns to looks ahead, his focus on the walkway between the two grassed areas.

“But if I don’t send them I’ll never know what could’ve happened.” I look down at the puppy on the leash in my right hand. “I just don’t want to go back to New York.”

J is silent as we walk a few more steps to the bench he always stops at for a five-minute rest. He starts the timer on his sports watch as I sit beside him.

“New York is noisy,” he states.

“It is… it’s also home to doucheturd.”

“Doucheturd?”

“Yep!” I nod. “But then I shouldn’t let it dictate what I want to do. If I want to be an artist then I have to do it… but… ugh!” I drop my head into my hands. “I’m driving myself insane.”

“You’re at an impasse.”

I lift my head, leaning back on the bench, the coolness seeping through my thin t-shirt as I stare up at the bright blue sky.

“I am.” I roll my neck so I’m facing J. “What would you do?”

“I can’t draw.”

“But if you could?”

“I can’t though.”

I chuckle under my breath. “Okay, let’s say… someone wants you to help them collect Star Wars figurines—you’re good at finding them, right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, so would you? If they paid you, would you do it?”

“Yes.”

“Okay…” I roll my lips between my teeth. “So you think I should send the pictures?”

“Time’s up.” J stands up, skirting his gaze to mine as if silently telling me to get up.

“I think I should send them, fuck doucheturd, he can go lick a dirty floor.”

“Why would someone lick a dirty floor? That’s disgusting.”

I throw my head back, brash laughter escaping my throat. “It’s an expression, J.”

“It doesn’t make sense though.”

Grinning, I tilt my head toward the end of the park. “Come on, let’s get back and I can send an email before I change my mind.”

* * *

Press send. Press send.

Dammit! I can’t press it! Why the hell am I so nervous? They’ve already seen some of my drawings. My skin heats to epic proportions and my hands start shaking as my breath saws in and out of my chest.

I’m such a freak! It’s an email and I’m about to have a panic attack.

I lean forward, banging my head over and over again on the small table in the back room.

I’ve been back from the walk for five hours and I’ve just cleaned the puppies’ kennels and closed the shop. And yet I’m still sitting here being an absolute pussy and not able to press send.

Why can’t I do it? Why can’t I take the next step and try to better myself?

Because I’m a wussy!

“You can do it, Vi. You. Can. Do. It.”

I lift my head up, taking a deep breath and watching the screen of my cell with wary eyes. Bringing my hand closer, I stretch my finger while backing my head away in slow motion, pressing send.

I did it!

Jumping up off the chair, I start to dance. My hips move to an erratic beat of their own, my feet turning to do the running man.

“I’m the best! I did it! Hellllllls to the yeah!” I fist-bump the air, squealing like a little girl.

It’s such a small thing but since I was sixteen El has been nagging me to send the drawings and I never have.

Planting my hands on my hips, I thrust the air until my cell pings and I become as still as a statue.

Is that them already? It can’t be… can it?

I tiptoe toward the table, gingerly picking up my cell and letting my body deflate when I see El’s name pop up.

I grab my purse while I wait for her to reply, switching the lights off and heading toward the front door.

I chuckle as I lock the door behind me, turning left and starting the couple of blocks walk to my apartment.

I grin, knowing her reaction will be much the same as mine was when I finally pressed send.

Not five seconds later my cell is ringing with FaceTime, I click accept, a wide smile on my face as soon as it connects.

“You did? You sent them?!”

“I did.” I nod, my grin widening even more when she squeals and jumps up and down on her sofa. “This is unreal! You’re gonna get the job for sure and then we’ll be living in the same city! Ahhhh!”

I chuckle nervously. “Don’t get ahead—”

“Who’s moving to the same city?”

El rolls her eyes and looks to the side. “Mind your own business, Chad.”

There’s a knock in the background and some shuffling before the screen fills with darkness and El says, “You didn’t tell me he was coming over.”

“I didn’t know you were going to FaceTime—”

“It doesn’t matter, I’ll go in the bedroom.”

I come to the corner of my street when she lifts the cell back up. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Her gaze darts to the left as she stands up. “We have a visitor and—”

“Is that Violet?” Shit. Axel. God, how can his voice still affect me the way it does? It seriously should be illegal.

“No! It’s—”

The cell is plucked out of her hand and then his face comes into view and I don’t know what to do. Do I talk to him? Ask him why he hung up on me after getting me fired? Or do I—

“Vi—”

I squeak and end the video call.

I’ll say it again: I’m such a pussy.