CHAPTER THREE

 

Evie

Abby squeals and claps her hands as she chases after Spot, who is chasing after Ducky, who is quacking and flapping after Barclay through the snow. He’s such a sweetheart of a pup, and a complete sook when it comes to the duck. He skids to a stop, spraying snow every which way before flopping onto his back in submission while Ducky climbs onto his belly, victorious.

I sweep the last bit of snow from the deck. How can Max not like dogs? They’re supposed to be man’s best friend, but it’s almost like Max believes the pup is out to get him.

My phone beeps and I drag off a glove to pick it up. I can feel the beginnings of a smile that it might be him texting me. Despite his obvious failings, he’s not a bad guy. And he is cute. Okay, a little more than cute. But he’s also probably the sort of man who flirts with all the girls, though for a split second there that didn’t stop me from hoping he would ask me out, not ask me to watch his sister’s dog. Can’t believe I forgot the girl he was with at the park. Burberry chick. Clearly he runs in higher social circles than I do.

Congratulations. Puppy Love wants you. A contract will be emailed to you directly.

Not Max then. I guess I should be stoked that I was picked for the show, despite the fact that the person who was supposed to interview me didn’t bother to show up.

“How’s my girl?” Garrett asks as he steps onto the snow cleared deck. “Where the hell did that dog come from?”

“The neighbor. Just for the day,” I hurry to explain. “I’ll take him home when the guy gets home from work. Abby is loving it though.”

“I’m sure.” He folds his arms against his chest while he watches his daughter frolic with her menagerie. “Think maybe she’ll be a vet when she grows up? If she doesn’t decide to pursue golf, that is.”

“Possibly.” I nod.

“Is that a dog?” Erin joins us, wrapping an arm around him.

“Yep. Not ours.” He turns to engulf her in a hug.

“Maybe we should consider getting one,” Erin says.

“Hmmm.” Garrett turns to me. “Why don’t you take a break, Evie? I’ve been looking forward to spending some time with my daughter all day. Told her we’d build a snowman and then make hot chocolate.”

“Take the rest of the day,” Erin agrees.

“Okay.”

“Just make sure you take that dog home,” Garrett reminds me.

“Of course.” I leave them and hightail it to my room to open the email on my computer.

It takes me twenty minutes to read through the contract, another ten minutes of hemming and hawing. But let’s be real here. The one man I’ve met that I could see myself going on a date with is either involved or a player. And four weeks is a long time to keep the latter type of guy’s interest. I electronically sign the document and email it back. Done. 

How’s Mutt Everest?

His text takes me by surprise while I’m lying on my bed, reading on my Kindle. I can’t help smirking at his word play.

Fine. Afraid of a duck.

Really? The duck?

I push up on my elbows, press my lips together as I consider what to say next. He’s a pussycat.

Pretty sure he’s a dog. Pussies are a man’s real best friend, you know.

With a quick intake of breath, I fumble and drop my phone. I don’t know whether to take him seriously, or if he’s flirting with me. Should I change the subject?

I suppose all you need to do to get them purring is to stroke them right.

I roll my gaze to the ceiling as my face shines hotter than a heat lamp. Why on earth did I write that? And he isn’t responding. No new text comes through. I stare at the screen for a full five minutes before I decide that I would have blown any date with Max anyway and go back to my book.

There are so many things I could respond with. Things that would make you blush now that you’ve put the thought in my head. Trust me when I tell you that my lack of answer is purely because I don’t want to scare you off.

Holy shit. Something inside me catches fire. I’m in serious danger of the cobwebs in my vagina going up in an inferno.

What’s that supposed to mean?

Crap. What if I just inadvertently asked for something I’m not sure I want? Like a disgustingly handsome man telling me the wicked things he’s imagining doing to me? Like a dick pic? Although, that’s one dick I might not mind seeing in person, it’s probably best to clarify. Draw the line.

If this is going to be answered with an image of any part of your anatomy, it better be your eyes.

Dammit. Removes camera from pants. Just kidding. You’re a nice girl, Evie. That’s what I think. And you don’t know me, so you probably don’t want to know that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I ran into you at the park.

You have a dog to thank for that. I add a few laughing emojis before I hit send. He’s been thinking about me?

I better get back to work now. I’ll text you when I get home.

I put my phone down and go back to reading, but the words aren’t sinking in. He’s just a flirt. He probably talks to women like that all the time, but it’s been a long time since anyone’s chatted me up. It feels nice. Better than nice. Biting my lip, I drop my head to keep my smile hidden. A squishy warm happiness fills my chest cavity, the kind of feeling usually reserved for special awesome moments.

My phone rings, and I pounce on it, but it’s a woman’s voice that comes through. “Hi, Evie. This is Deanna Holt from Puppy Love. I just got your contract. Can I just say how excited I am to have you on board for this venture?”

“Thank you,” I respond automatically. Max temporarily eclipsed the fact that I have just signed a contract where I have to go on a date with a complete stranger, but this is how I’ll find my Valentine’s date. The date I have to have if I want to survive Hannah’s party. I try to muster up some excitement. “I’m thrilled that you picked me. I can’t wait to meet all the dogs, and the date at the end of it.”

“I’m sure.” I can hear her smile inflecting on her words, but they still sound slightly condescending. I probably shouldn’t be surprised. The woman knows from my application that I’m desperate and dateless. “Now, we’ll shoot the video in several pieces. There’ll be an interview, and then you’ll spend an afternoon with each of the dogs separately. After that we’ll shoot your decision. And then part of your Valentine’s date, and your thoughts on the guy. And his opinion of you. Just so we have a nice rounded segment.”

“Okay,” I agree. “But I do have an engagement I have to attend on Valentine’s Day. I’m not sure that you’ll be able to film that.”

“Actually, we’ve set you up a table at Greco Nova early in the day for your date. That’s where we’ll shoot. After that, you’ll be free to spend the rest of your day however you want.” For a second, she drops her serious tone, “Maybe it will be with your chosen guy.”

“That’s great.” I breathe out in relief. What would be the point of all this if I wasn’t able to make it to Hannah’s party?

“Excellent,” she says. “Now let’s book in the schedule so that nothing holds up our timeline.”

“Okay.”

We go over the dates and times for each shoot, adjusting them to fit in with my job as Abby’s nanny. With only three weeks to shoot, I’ll have no time to myself. No time to flirt with Max. Or go shopping for appropriate date night underwear, or a costume for Hannah’s party. Deanna Holt leaves me with instructions to meet with Kelly on the first day of shooting. She’s one of the senior assistants from the pet supply company the show is named after.

“Good luck with it all, Evie,” she says. “Have fun. Hopefully I’ll be back in the country to meet you before it airs.”

“Looking forward to it.”

***

“Hey.” Max steps out of the house that must be his sister’s, shutting the door part way behind him. “Thanks for bringing Barclay over.”

“Any time.” I hand him the end of the lead. “He’s been a real sweetheart. Abby adores him.”

“I’m glad.” He smiles sheepishly, his fingers lingering on mine for a few seconds longer than necessary. “Any chance you’re available tomorrow?”

“For dog sitting?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of sharing a walk with me,” he says.

Oh how I wish I had time to explore whatever this energy between us is. “I don’t think I can.”

“Is it because of our texts earlier? Did I say something to offend you?”

“No. It’s not that,” I reassure him. “It’s just I have quite a bit on my plate in the next few weeks.”

“Anything I can help with?” he asks.

“Um, no.” I shake my head. “Honestly, this evening is the only free time I have until after Valentine’s Day. Perhaps we could—”

“Maxwell,” a female voice coos from inside. “What are you doing out there?”

“Nevermind.” I rush the words, walking backwards. “You’re busy. I’m busy. Perhaps I’ll see you around.”

“No. Wait up,” he calls out as I spin around to hurry down the path.

What was I thinking? Of course he would have company.

He catches up to me before I get to the road. “Don’t go.”

“What?” I stop to glare at him, check myself. What right do I have to be annoyed that he has a woman with him? After all, he did when I met him. “You have company.”

“No.” He grabs my hand in one of his. “That’s my sister’s friend. Caroline. She’s not, we’re not…” He expels a breath. “I’m not interested in Caroline. She’s only here because my sister sent her to check up on me.”

“Truly?”

“Yes.” He squeezes my hand. “I’m interested in you.”

“Crap,” I say.

His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, like two bangs from a starter pistol. “That’s not exactly the reaction I was hoping for.”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” I backpedal. “It’s just—”

“Give me five minutes,” he pleads. “I’ll get Caroline to leave and then perhaps we could open a bottle of wine? My sister has a wine cellar to make Napa Valley jealous.”

“One.” I hold up a finger. “A glass. That’s all.”

“Okay.” He smiles. How could I ever have thought I would say no to his request? 

“Five minutes.” He walks backwards, taking my hand with him until we’re both standing there with our arms fully outstretched, only our fingertips touching. Then he turns around and jogs back inside, Barclay on his heels.

I don’t stand around outside his house, because one, it feels awkward, and two, I don’t want to know if that woman has been something more than just his sister’s friend. Sometimes ignorance is bliss, so I walk at a leisurely pace around the block. By the time I get back to our street, he’s waiting for me at the end of the driveway. Hands in pockets, he scans both ends until he sees me, then he hurries toward me.

“I thought you changed your mind,” he says.

“I considered it,” I admit.

“Caroline really is just my sister’s friend.”

“Has she always been?” Ugh, I hate that I ask. “Never mind, it’s none of my business.”

“Do you mean have we slept together?”

I nod. Don’t want to say the words out loud. Curiosity and cats and all that. The way he narrows it down to an act is telling.

“Once,” he admits. “Big mistake.”

“Do you do that a lot?”

“Make mistakes?” He holds the front door open for me.

“One night stands?” I pass him, so close that I catch a whiff of his cologne. Sugar and spice makes my mouth water.

“Used to,” he says.

Used to? Until when?

“But not anymore.”

“Me too,” I sputter. “One night stands R us, right here. So many one night stands you wouldn’t believe it.” Why am I rambling? Why can’t I shut up? “The amount of times I had one night stands in the back of my coupe; heck not even nights. Just like hours, during the day. So many.”

He’s standing there with his lips pressed together, his brown eyes sparkling with amusement.

I hold my hands out in front of me to indicate a large amount. Can’t seem to help myself. “So, so many.”

“How many?” He walks toward me.

“Um.” I have to concentrate. “In total?”

“Yes.” He takes my elbow, guiding me through the house to the kitchen where a bottle of white is open on the counter. Beside which there are two wine glasses. Barclay is asleep, spread across the middle of the floor like a shag pile rug.

“One.” I exhale, my shoulders dropping. “One slutty adventure in my car one time.”

“But you dated?” He pours me a glass, holding it out for me to take.

“Of course.” I swallow the light and sweetly fruity vintage. “In high school. A little in college, but I dropped out. Now who has time?”

“I’m glad you don’t.” He rests his butt against the glossy white kitchen cabinets and bestows what must be his very best panty melting smile. “Otherwise how would I get to spend time with you?”

It kind of works. I’m not sure my panties wouldn’t entirely dissolve, except for the fact... “About that.” I take another swallow, hide my words in the rim of the glass. I regret not giving the contract more thought right about now. “I just signed up for a dating show.”

“What?” He frowns. “I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

“I signed up for a dating show. Puppy Love. I’m not going to have time for anything between nannying and the show. That’s what I was trying to tell you earlier.”

“You signed up for Puppy Love?” He gapes at me.

“Yes. I sent back the contract this afternoon.”

“The contract?” He walks toward me.

“Are you okay? You’re repeating everything I say.”

“Am I?” He’s close enough to touch now, near enough that with one more step, his scent could once again fog my brain and his breath flutter my hair. But he stops before any of those things can happen. His arm is fluid muscle as he rubs his hand over his mouth, and I consider asking if he’s ever been photographed for forearm porn, because they make me all gooey inside. Dropping his hand back to his side, he seems to shake off whatever has grabbed him. “Sorry. That was unexpected is all.”

“What do you mean?” Is he weirded out by the idea that I would go on a dating show? Do I not seem like the kind of girl who would put her fate in the hands of some game?

“I didn’t... I have to make a phone call.” He turns around abruptly, picking up his cell from where it rests beside the half empty bottle of wine. “A work thing. I forgot about it. I’m sorry.”

“Sure.” I put down my still close to full glass. “Do you want me to go?”

“Um.” He glances at his watch. Damn, those chiselled forearms must be worth their weight when it comes to the fairer sex. “I don’t know how long I’m going to be. It might take a while.”

“I’ll just let myself out then,” I say. That’s probably for the best anyway. Is he uncomfortable that I’m doing the show, or that I’m talking about dating other people while we’re hanging out? Either way it’s odd that a man who clarifies his own encounters with women as an act would not make a move based on my dating situation. I would have thought it wouldn’t have mattered that much.

“That would be great.”

He’s almost out of the room, already tapping on the screen of his phone. With a shrug, I turn in the opposite direction, toward the front door. Really, what expectations did I have for tonight? That I might get to finish my wine? That he might have tried to seduce me?

“Evie?” He calls out after me, and I pause. “I’m going to text you tomorrow, if that’s okay?”

I nod my head, twice in sharp succession. I bet he says that to all the girls.