Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
My nose wrinkles. “Ewwww.”
“Just kidding,” he says with a laugh. “It was actually Catholic School Girl Barbie, but frankly, knee socks and those dorky little black shoes really aren’t my thing.”
I smirk, because I know he’s kidding about all of it. Clearly, this Barbie thing is going to be a running joke between us…us…friends? Buds? Neighbors?
I give a small mental shake of my head.
Friends. We are definitely friends. Night before last we ate pizza and joked around while working on a puzzle. We did what people typically do when getting to know each other. Talked about our families and how we grew up, finding that our backgrounds were very similar.
Both of us are from fairly affluent families. My dad’s a doctor, his is a lawyer. I have a sister, he has a brother, but our extended families are swollen with aunts, uncles, cousins, and babies galore.
It was an easygoing night, and as I was walking back home, exhausted and ready for a shower and bed, I realized that it had all been so natural and easy. There was no awkwardness, and conversation wasn’t stilted. Perhaps because there was no expectation that it was anything more than pizza, fireworks, and puzzles, but I spent maybe a little over an hour there with him and realized it was one of best hours I’d had in a very long time.
It’s a solid basis for a friendship, I decide, and that’s good enough for me. Besides, what else would it be? As much as we joke about it, Reed definitely has a type, and I’m not it. And let’s be real, he’s not my type either. I usually go for the intellectual type, although that’s not to say Reed is dumb. I found him to be very smart, but I’m not sure he’ll ever be the kind to discuss whether or not what we perceive is reality or just a construct of our minds.
“You ready to go?” Reed asks, and I start blinking rapidly to focus in on him.
“Huh?”
“We got places to go,” he says nonchalantly. “I see you’re already dressed and ready, so let’s go.”
I shake my head, blink again. “I’m sorry…but did we make plans I forgot about?”
“It’s called spontaneity, Doc,” he replies with a grin. “It’s your day off, so let’s go do something spontaneous.”
“Like what?” I ask suspiciously.
“Like whatever we want,” he replies as if that was the dumbest question in the world. “But I do have one place I need to stop by first. You’re not allergic to dogs, are you?”
“No,” I say hesitantly, wondering what I’m getting myself into. I cast a glance at my jigsaw puzzle before looking back to Reed.
“Good. That will make it infinitely more enjoyable to you.”
—
“Are you ready to go?” Reed asks for maybe the third time in the last hour.
“Not yet,” I say as I cuddle with a tiny ball of golden fluffiness. The puppy’s tongue starts lashing at my chin and I can’t help but laugh because it tickles. “God, I love the smell of puppy breath.”
“This wasn’t the brightest idea I’ve ever had,” Reed grumbles as he squats down before me, sitting his big body next to mine against the wall.
The crazy, wonderful man brought me to a puppy adoptathon sponsored by the local SPCA. He’s the celebrity who’s supposed to draw people in, but he was told he only needed to stay for an hour. I’ve been having too much fun with the puppies, so we’ve been here a little over two hours.
“Sorry,” I say with a laugh as I rub the soft fur of the chubby little dog in my lap. “But we never had pets growing up, and I was always too busy in college and med school. I’m getting a long overdue fix.”
Reed chuckles and leans his head back against the wall. Almost all of the puppies have been adopted, including the one in my lap. I’m just cuddling with him—or maybe a her—while her new owner fills out the paperwork.
“We always had a dog growing up,” Reed tells me, and I can hear the fondness in his voice. “Usually some type of mutt my mom would bring home from a shelter.”
“You miss having one?” I ask him.
“Yeah,” he says wistfully. “But there’s just no way I could care for one during the regular season.”
“I couldn’t do it either. Not when I’m away for more than twelve hours at a time.”
“Look at us,” he quips as his head rolls on the wall to face me. “Both unlucky in dog love.”
I give him a sage nod, and in a serious voice, I suggest, “You should totally do more of these adoptathons so we can come and get our puppy fixes.”
“Deal, banana peel,” he says, then pushes up from the floor. “But seriously, we need to go. We have more stuff to do.”