Page 70 of Right Where I Want You

I stood and rubbed slobber off my dress. A dog date was fun in theory, but I wondered if I should’ve worn something more appropriate for handling two dogs. Like a garbage bag. “You know dogs can’t go on the subway unless they fit in a carrier, right?” Iasked.

“Of course. Everyone knowsthat.”

Flanked by Bruno and Opal, we walked. Brooklyn Heights had tree-lined streets, alternating busy avenues and sleepy cafes, and a promenade that overlooked the East River. There was plenty to do, but it wasn’t really a date destination. “Then where are we going if we’re not taking a car or the subway?” Iasked.

“I already told you, it’s asurprise.”

“Some women love to be surprised, others hate it, but we all want to be dressedappropriately.”

He glanced at the spot where my dress brushed above my knees. “So I should’ve mentioned that we’ll be rockclimbing?”

“Yes, because then I would’ve wornunderwear.”

Sebastian’s expression remained passive, but he almost ran into a chalkboard sign advertising cannabis lattes. I also schooled my face against surprise at my ownbravado.

“That was a bold joke,” hesaid.

“What makes you think it’s ajoke?”

He narrowed his eyes on me. “Isit?”

Since Sundays were normally reserved for laundry, my underwear selection was down to special-occasion lingerie or gag gifts. While my “doggy style” briefs and their matching paw-print bra had been tempting, I’d gone for some lacy boyshorts instead. Still, I shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out once we’re on thewall.”

Sebastian swallowed as a look I couldn’t quite decipher crossed his face. It could’ve been disgust . . . could’ve been lust. Perhaps there was a fine line between thosetoo.

Sebastian glanced over when I adjusted the tote on my shoulder. “What’ve you got in there, a year’s supply of poop bags?” he asked. “You make fun of my desk, but that pocketbook is the same size as you. Doesn’t your backhurt?”

“Bruno and I need everything in here—including the poop bags,” I said defensively, side-eyeing his easy, unencumbered stride. “Do you have any of those for Opal, or do the women in your world never go numbertwo?”

He snorted. “I’ve got one in my pocket, thanks, and I’m not that squeamish. Nobody askedmyopinion on period sex, but I’ll give it to you if you want. The opinion, Imean.”

Oh my god. I didn’t even know what to say to that. If nothing else, Sebastian had a knack for throwing me off my game—but were we even playing still? I realized then, in the midst of our fencing, that I’d completely forgotten to fret over whether to be George or Georgina today. What did it mean if I was actuallycomfortablewithSebastian?

We turned onto a busier street, parting for a throng of rosy-cheeked young women who looked as if they were either coming from or going to brunch. The hipsters, in muted scarves, retro sunglasses, and leather backpacks, fussed over Opal while I stood at the corner, waiting to cross. I was jealous. How could I not be? Usually Bruno was the one getting fawned over. Opal zigzagged around Sebastian’s legs until she’d wrapped him up in her leash. He turned in a circle, detangling himself as if he did it all thetime.

With a little more swagger in his step, he sauntered toward me. “I could get used to being a dogowner.”

“It entails a lot more than just picking up women and going on fake dates,” Isaid.

“Enlighten me,buns.”

Buns. Only Sebastian could get away with that nickname. He said it with a knowing grin, probably as he thought about cinnamon, and almost made it soundflattering. “Dogs need to be exercised every day, not just when it’s convenient,” I said. “Rain or shine, even if the weather could melt or cryopreserve us, I have to walk him. Some days, I get my ten thousand steps in before most people have had their morningcoffees.”

“Huh,” Sebastian said as we stopped at an intersection. “Have to say, I took you for a late riser. Maybe it’s the way you suck downcaffeine.”

As we neared the water, trees made canopies of green lace against the cloudless sky. I sighed. “I was, and I am, but that was mostlyB.B.”

“BeforeBruno?”

“Yep.”

“Is he from a shelter?” Sebastianasked.

“I adopted him from friends of my ex. They were going to put him down because they weren’t sure how long he’d live.” We crossed the street to the East River, walking along a promenade that wound along the water, separating Brooklyn from the city. “My neighbor growing up had a Great Dane, and I’d always thought they were soelegant.”

“Bruno was sick when you gothim?”

“Yes.” Even though I’d always known what was to come, it was never easy to say aloud. “It’ll eventually lead to congestive heartfailure.”