Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Well, she thinks it’s secret. I’ve figured her out.
Seconds later, she returns to me, chattering in Dog that it’s time for a walk since it’s always time for a walk. I fasten on her burgers or bacon or bust bandana, then grab her harness and oblige, but I’m still feeling foolish as I go.
On the one hand, Hayes and Stefan aren’t anything at all like Xander. On the other hand, I did like Xander once upon a time.
What if I can’t pick men? What if my taste this time around turns out to be as off as my taste in Xander clearly was? I sigh, disgruntled, until our walk brings Roxy and me to Better With Pockets. Lately, she’s been making puppy-dog eyes with the owner’s dog. When Beatrix’s greyhound mix, Karl, spots my girl from inside the boutique, he trots past the new frocks and out to the sidewalk, stretching his long, sleek frame into a most inviting downward dog. Roxy sashays over to Karl, wagging her lush tail. Karl is easily ten years younger, which puts Roxy squarely in the cougar camp, while Karl’s the pool boy.
I never heard back from my email to Beatrix with some ideas for her social, but that’s okay. Everyone hates email and most people hate turning other people down. As the dogs Lady and the Tramp over a bowl of H2O, Beatrix joins us on the street, snapping a pic of the pups. Beatrix’s pixie cut is tousled and silvery today, a fun contrast to her olive complexion.
“Love the new hair color,” I say.
She touches her locks, as if just remembering the shade. “Thanks. I nearly forgot what color I did last night.” When the dogs stop lapping, she shows me the shot. “Shop Dog and The Flirt. I should post it on the store’s social…” She waves a hand. “If I remember.”
Hmm. She sounds beleaguered. “Roxy and I would be very honored,” I say, then I woman-up and remind her I can help. “And if I can help with your social media marketing, DM me.”
Her eyes brighten. “Actually, I keep meaning to follow up with you, but I hate email.”
Called it.
“I need some social media work. Someone to write about outfits of the day.”
Hello! That’s me! “I’d love to.”
“I’ll DM you later with details. Also, those pants are seriously cute.”
“Thanks. They’re Zoe Slades. Picked them up at Champagne Taste for seventy-five percent off.”
She whistles. “Can you please shop for me?”
“Anytime.”
“But you’ll only write about the outfits I have here,” she says.
I assure her I will and thank her again, then pop into a sock shop next door. Before I go home, I drop off three pairs of socks at Hayes’s door. One for him, one for Stefan, and one for Hayes’s terribly dressed, but not so terribly dressed anymore, grandad.
Back at my place, I text for a bit with my little sister about her semester abroad, and then I write and research fashion till it’s time to head to the arena that night.
Shortly before the game, I leave the equipment room that doubles as a mascot changing room, and head into the corridor. I’m walking toward the ice when Number Eighteen comes up behind me in his uniform, his eyes traveling up and down my new getup.
“Are you Blob take two?” Stefan asks, incredulous.
I gesture to my gray costume. Just gray. That’s all I am. A gray cloud. “I’m…wait for it…The San Francisco fog,” I say, trying not to laugh.
“Oh fuck, sweetheart. That’s terrible,” he says with sympathy. Stefan glances down the hall, then whispers. “I heard you were joining us briefly for a warm-up lap, but they didn’t tell us you’d be wearing…sadness.”
I pluck at the costume. “It is pretty much the fashion manifestation of tears.”
“Is there someone here that thinks this mascot costume is a good idea?”
I shrug helplessly. “They were trying to be good stewards of the city.”
Seconds later, Hayes joins us, cringing. “Sorry, baby.”
My costume is hideous, but I stifle a grin because they’re both using affectionate nicknames in public, and their pet names for me fit their personalities perfectly. I glance down at my garb. “I mean, wouldn’t a foghorn have been better?”
“Yes. Yes, it would,” Stefan says, running a hand over his purple uniform. “But does this mean we’ll have to wear sad gray fog uniforms? And will we be called The Fog?”
“Only if The Fog is more popular with fans than the next two,” I say, and I’m not revealing team secrets since the online voting should be underway any minute.
“It’s totally not voter fraud if we manipulate that poll, is it?” Hayes asks hopefully.
“I won’t tell if you won’t,” I say.
“We’ll keep your secret safe,” Stefan says, then a smile tips his lips as he whispers, “Thanks for the fox socks.”
“You kind of remind me of one,” I whisper playfully.