Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
“Baby also smiles when I say the arbitrator’s name. Dennis is a dog lover,” she tells me, oh-so sweetly. Then to Trudy, she chirps, “Baby, be a good girl and smile when I say hi to Dennis.”
My girl smiles in practice, and I wither.
But I won’t let Callie win. My ex-girlfriend stole from me, stole from the other guys she dated, then told them I was the scammer. Then those guys left shitty reviews for my business online.
Now, she wants to steal my dog and give her a cringeworthy name? “What do you want?” I bite out.
Callie flashes me a polished pink grin. “I want you back. I could make you happy, Milo.”
“No,” I say crisply.
She shrugs, taps her manicured finger against her lip, then stares at the ceiling. After she lets out a big breath, she says, “Then how about five thousand dollars and I’ll sign over full custody?”
Does she really think she can manipulate me like this? Wait, stupid question. Of course she does.
I seethe, then gulp at the manipulation. I take one look at my little dog, then whisper, “Trudy, c’mere.”
She trots over to me, wiggles her bottom, and licks my face.
“Done.”
This is real love. No tricks or treats here.
Love you can trust is priceless.
An hour later, I write a check and leave with my dog. “Romance is bullshit, right, little lady? This is true love right here.”
Her tongue wags as I snap on her helmet then secure her in the dog seat on the front of the bike.
She’s back where she belongs.
I ride home slowly, taking side streets, careful with my precious cargo. When I turn onto Grove Street, a flash of silver on the sidewalk catches my attention. Stopping, I dismount the bike and hold the handle while I check out the bounty.
Huh.
A pair of silver skull earrings gleam on the sidewalk.
They have to be Glitter Gal’s. I wish I knew her name. It’s not like Glitter Gal is a step up from Miss Polka Dot, but it fits the bill. And fits the woman—a woman who wears cartoon pink devil panties would absolutely have silver skull earrings with rhinestones for eyes. Except, one of them is missing a hook.
I pick them up and show them to my pooch. “What do you think, Tru? Should we try to return these? She probably lives on this block. I could even leave my number.”
From her seat, my dog tilts her head, like she’s frowning in disapproval. Even my dog knows I need to stay far, far away from the suggestion of a date.
“You’re right, little lady. No numbers.” I’ll just try to figure out which building is hers and maybe leave them in an envelope by the door. That’ll be all.
I tuck the earrings into my pocket and wheel my bike to my building. When I reach the stoop and undo my dog’s seatbelt, I spot the silhouette of a woman on the balcony of the building next door.
It’s a brunette with chestnut waves in her hair. Is that her? Glitter Gal?
She bops her head as if listening to music, then swirls and I glimpse her profile, then she shimmies her butt.
I grin wickedly. Yup. I’d recognize that ass anywhere.
“Hey!” I call out. But she doesn’t hear since she’s caught up in her private dance party.
Ah well, it’s for the best.
I’m five thousand dollars in the hole thanks to the last time I dated. But at least I know where she lives so I can return her earrings like the good guy I am, not the swindler Callie’s exes have made me out to be.
I go inside my building with my dog, reunited at last.
3
I Will Never Stop Checking My Skirts
Veronica
* * *
My mom taught me that when life hands you lemons, make lemonade.
Like, literally.
A glass of lemonade is the first step to solving a problem, she’d say.
Nice idea from Mama Valentine, but I’m too busy hunting for a time machine because that’s the only thing that might erase the perma-pink shade of embarrassment tinging my cheeks.
But I have no luck finding a come-and-get-your-free-do-overs-here card when I return to my apartment post-dog walk, during which I replayed the sad French film The Loss of the Last Shred of My Dignity the whole time.
I take the next best route to putting the panty-flashing incident behind me. Stick my head in the sand of work for the rest of the day.
With StudMuffin curled up in his cuddle cup bed, I smooth my hand down my skirt—I will never stop double-checking my skirts. I head to the kitchen table and toggle on my laptop. Time to divert my brainpower to this editorial letter. It’ll distract me from the meet-the-hottie again mishap loop in my head, and I can stay ahead of schedule at work. The letter is due in two days, but sending it early will impress my boss, Blanche Thatcher. Blanche loves over-deliverers, so perhaps this letter can help secure my promotion. And, let’s be honest, beat out the competition, like Darius Daniels with his sharp editorial eye, and Caroline Lopez, with her firm but loving style.