Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Hence the no animal thing.
I had a cat because they were so low maintenance.
I went from a three-sport, multiple extracurricular—FFA, choir, debate club—high school career to college. From college I went straight into working, and it was only recently that I was able to quit my 9-5 and focus on the mystery shopping and Amazon reviewing thing full-time.
“Okay, well just know if you ever need help with the dog, you’re going to have to ask Shasha,” she snickered.
Shasha hadn’t ever really been an animal person, either.
We’d just never had animals growing up, and that kind of extended into our adult years so he made up for it now with multiple dogs.
“I doubt I’ll need help,” I said.
We entered the shelter, and I wasn’t greeted by anybody.
“Uh oh,” Milena teased. “Strike one.”
I grinned at her and kept walking farther into the large, open space.
Dallas, Texas, boasted some fantastic animal shelters.
But this one was better than anything I could ever imagine.
When you walked in, the first thing you saw was the wall of cats that was on the far left side of the space. There was also a large room that had about twenty kittens playing with all kinds of toys.
“Awww,” I said sweetly.
That’s when my gaze caught movement to my left, and I saw a large man squatted down, a poop scooper in one hand, and a tiny ball of fur on his left thigh which he was stroking with long, masculine fingers.
“Whoa,” Milena said.
Whoa was right.
All I could make out was the strong expanse of his back, salt and pepper hair, and a sliver of skin above his jeans—Wranglers.
Yum.
“Can I help you?”
I blinked, turning my back on the man playing with the kittens, and smiled at the woman that was…scowling at me?
“Uh, yes. I came to check out some of the dogs for adoption,” I replied.
“Oh.” Her gaze flicked to the room behind me, and my heart skittered a beat before I chanced a look.
And there, as if he had no clue about his sex appeal, was the man that I’d been doing my damndest to forget about—and failing miserably.
He volunteered at the shelter?
Jesus.
I didn’t realize that my fantasy of him could get any more extreme, but here I was.
“That’s Haze Hopkins,” she said. “He’s one of our longest standing volunteers.”
I quickly turned back around and said, “Is there an adoption application that I have to fill out?”
She looked reluctant to leave the viewing window, but did, showing me to the counter where there was a stack of adoption applications on the desk waiting for me.
She tossed me a pen from the top of the desk and said, “Fill that out.”
Milena muttered under her breath, “Strike two.”
I snorted and filled out the application, making sure to put my real information on it and not my fake.
My phone started to violently alert in my purse, and I sighed before reaching in and silencing it.
My sister started to mumble under her breath as she took the phone out of my purse and looked at it.
She unwrapped a bar of chocolate and handed it to me.
“Oh, we don’t allow food in our facilities.”
“You’ll allow it this time,” Milena countered.
I quickly ate the bar of chocolate while filling out the application and stuffed the wrapper into my pocket.
When I was finished, the attendant took the application from me and glanced at it. “I have to allow the office manager to check this over.”
She left then, leaving me and my sister standing there alone.
“Do you not notice when you start getting that low?” Milena asked. “And do you think you’ll pass that application?”
“Yes, because I’ve already been approved by the owner of the facility,” I said. “She was quite excited to have me reach out to her. She follows my blog. When I told her about my quest for a dog in a comment, she directed me to her shelter.”
“Cool,” she said. “You didn’t answer about the noticing if your blood sugar is getting low or not.”
“That’s because I’ve had so much experience ignoring how I felt that I don’t pay attention to it anymore,” I admitted.
That was true, too.
From an early age, I couldn’t ever remember “feeling good.”
Like there was no moment in time where my body felt great.
Everything always felt off, and so I just got used to the feeling.
“Um, I’m sorry, but your application was denied.” The young woman came back with a smug expression on her face, trying to be masked by a polite one.
“Really,” I said carefully. “Is that right?”
“Yes.” She smiled, trying not to look like she wasn’t happy about the prospect.
“Do you mind telling me on what grounds that my application was denied?” I requested.
“Um.” She frowned. “Sure. I can go ask my manager.”
“How about you just bring your manager out here?” I suggested.
She looked slightly worried now, almost as if she’d gone back there and faked that she had her manager take a look at it.