Free Bootscootin' Blahniks by D. D. Scott

bucks.” Zayne leaned over to praise the dogs for doing their deeds. “Hell, I only gave the pound twenty-five for Studley Pete.”
    All he could hear from the intercom was a series of guffaws followed by choking bursts of hysterics.
    “Now what the hell’s so funny?”
I should have only given her one pill
.
    “Stud…ley Peeete. That name still cracks me up. Now…there’s one…hell-uv-a name for a mutt.” Roxy sniffled then blew her nose, evidently while she was still holding down the talk button.
    Nice
.
Sexy too
.
    “He happens to be one fine dog, Princess. And you know he has a huge crush on you.” Zayne thought of his mixed-breed friend patiently waiting by his back door. Yeah, that’d be the day. Who was he kidding? That dog was sprawled out on his bed, reveling in the extra room afforded him by his master’s absence.
    Maybe he’d stick with a pound rescue for his mom too. He still had misgivings about getting her a Puggle. Puggles were sweet-tempered, affectionate cuddlers. Qualities no one would use to describe his mom. Or Roxy, for that matter. Although her dogs seemed pretty damn happy. And so did she, now that she was drugged.
    With their duties done, Zayne took the dogs back into the house. While they bee-lined for the study, he went to the kitchen to fix a new ice pack. Taking ice out of the stainless steel side-by-side, he noticed a picture of Roxy and two other girls stuck to the front of the frig with a “I ‘heart’ NY” magnet. He leaned-in closer to the photo, zeroing-in on Roxy’s image, letting her smile melt the frost blasting from the still open freezer.
    The photo must have been taken at last year’s Wine on the River because each girl held the event’s signature wine glass. On the historic Shelby Street Pedestrian Bridge, with the sun setting over the downtown Nashville skyline, Roxy appeared angelic. Must have been the wine.
    Zayne had been there that night too. Regret chipped at his mind thinking he’d never run into her.
    At his mother’s insistence, he’d attended the event because the proceeds went to an organization of merchants and residents of Broadway, Second Avenue and Printers Alley. With The Neon Cowboy in the 100 block of Second Avenue, Kat offered him no outs. But to be fair, she was right.
    Anything that meant good business for the saloon was okay with him. Anything that meant his mom’s happiness was also okay with him. Anything that meant less time on the farm was beyond okay with him.
    His granddad’s and dad’s tomatoes had never given him the buzz his mom’s saloon did. Blame it on the linedancing. Blame it on the casual, slower-paced lifestyle the saloon celebrated. Blame it on the break it offered to the area’s hard-working cowboys and farmers. Whatever the reason, The Neon Cowboy energized him more than any tomato hybrid.
    He traced Roxy’s outline in the photo, letting his fingers run the edges of her curves, wishing it was her in the flesh letting his hands wander. But at this point of their relationship, her photo was all he was going to get, other than a dance partner two nights a week.
    Damn, he was a genius at times. Like he gave a shit if the dents she’d put in his tomato truck were repaired. What he wanted was a chance to get to know the woman. He had a feeling there was a lot more to her than her zany, shoe designer fetish and her sharp, tough-girl tongue.
    Filling the bag with ice, he zip-locked the seal and headed for his final flight for the night. Funny Roxy hadn’t buzzed him while he’d been in the kitchen. He’d come to expect whirlwinds when in her midst, not peace and silence. And he, without any excuses to offer that would be remotely convincing, thrived on the rush circulating through him when she spoke. There was no denying the way his body responded to her presence. Even thinking about her got him worked-up.
    When he reached her study and peaked in, he discovered the source of the unexpected calm. His princess was out