Free The Lucky Dog Matchmaking Service by Beth Kendrick Page B

on the kitchen floor while Evan scarfed down frozen waffles and skimmed the Wall Street Journal headlines. She lifted one of the pups up to check for evidence of worms or other parasites, and Maverick nosed her elbow aside so he could get a good look at the new arrivals. “And reasonably healthy. I’ll pick up some vaccines on the way home and get them started on their shot schedules.”
    “Mmm,” was Evan’s response as he pored over a market analysis.
    “The good news is they’re tiny and adorable, so we should be able to re-home them quickly.” Lara winced as the puppy sank his razor-sharp baby teeth into her knuckle. In the fifteen minutes they’d been inside, the roly-poly hellions had already managed to pee on the tile twice and start gnawing a chair leg. “But you know how much work new puppies are.”
    “I don’t, actually.”
    “I can run home between appointments to check on them and let them out,” Lara said. “But then I’ve got a client dinner at six. So if you come home right after work to feed them—”
    “No can do,” Evan said.
    “Why not?”
    “It’s Thursday.” He finally looked up from the newspaper and took another bite of his multigrain waffle. “Soccer.”
    “Oh.” Lara closed her eyes, put her head next to the rowdy little black guy, and inhaled that sweet, calming new-puppy smell. Infinitely better than any bong hit, she thought to herself and smiled. “Is there any way you could skip soccer tonight? Please?”
    “Nope.” He washed his waffle down with a glass of orange juice.
    She paused, taken aback by his curtness. “Why not?”
    “Because I don’t want to.” Evan seemed impervious to the puppy tractor beam. “I told the guys I’d be there tonight, and I’ll be there.”
    “Okay, well, is there any way you could run home, feed them, and then go to soccer? No one will care if you’re twenty minutes late.”
    Evan finished off his OJ and set the glass next to the sink with a clink. “I care.”
    Lara stared at him, taking in his sullen tone and mulish expression. “Why are you being like this?”
    He focused on methodically refolding his newspaper.
    She jabbed her finger toward the cocktail napkin contract stuck to the fridge. “You know, according to the terms of our agreement, these are your puppies, too.”
    He squinted at the napkin for a moment, then shook his head. “I see slobber and shedding on there. I see nothing about skipping soccer for a bunch of mongrels that are systematically destroying my kitchen furniture.”
    Lara put the puppies down and slowly got to her feet. “So what are you saying here?”
    “I’m saying no.” He’d gone from heated defiance to a chilly monotone. “You dog people, you’re like a cult. The Cult of Dog. And you pour all your time and money into the cult, but it’s never enough, because there’s always one more dog. Or three more dogs.”
    Lara almost laughed. “The Cult of Dog?”
    He folded his arms. “I’m not drinking the Kool-Aid.”
    “Evan, come on! I didn’t go looking for these puppies. Someone tossed them over the fence in the dead of night. What am I supposed to do?”
    He shrugged and checked his snowy white shirt cuffs for stains. “I’m not telling you what to do. What I am telling you is that I’m going to soccer tonight. On time.” His eyes narrowed as he pulled a strand of brown fur off his sleeve. “Enough is enough, Lara. I’m drawing the line.”
    Her eyebrows shot up. “‘Enough is enough’?”
    He nodded. “I’m done with dogs.”
    “What is that supposed to mean?”
    He clenched his jaw for a moment, obviously struggling to censor his thoughts. “It means that I lied. I’m not a dog person and I never will be.” He snatched the cocktail napkin contract and threw it into the trash.
    Lara gasped.
    Zsa Zsa stuck her head into the trash bin and started chewing up the contract.
    Evan marched into the master bedroom and returned moments later with a tiny black velvet box