Mai Tai'd Up(65)

“Ahhhh,” he sighed, understanding.

“Ahhh is right. I just . . . I’ve been thinking about you, and us, in that way, for awhile now I guess. And I want my own night.” I covered my face. “Does that make any sense at all?”

“It actually does, a little bit,” he replied, taking my hands away from my face and holding them in his own. “You think I came here tonight because of Julie?”

“Didn’t you? A little bit?”

“I came here to see you, Chloe. That’s it,” he said, pulling me against his chest and wrapping his arms around me. “My head was messed up tonight, sure. But not that messed up.”

“It was a great day, Lucas. Thank you,” I whispered into his shirt. I might have to steal this one from him, too. Finally, I pulled out of his arms and pushed him toward the front steps.

He stopped in the driveway and turned around. “The best first kiss of your life?” he asked, his eyes all a-twinkle.

“Oh, yeah,” I said with a grin, and he took one step forward. “Uh-uh, no more.”

“Just one more?”

“Turn. It. Around,” I insisted, stepping back inside. “Call me tomorrow?” I asked, peeking around the door as I closed it.

“You can count on it.”





chapter thirteen


The next day was a blur. When Lucas finally left the night before, the memory of that kiss, and those lovely kisses that followed, lingered on my lips like a ghost of something incredible. There was more passion, more promise in that kiss than I had ever experienced in my entire relationship with Charles. And I couldn’t get it out of my mind.

Of course part of me wished that I’d asked him to stay, and I’m pretty sure he would have. But he also seemed to understand why I’d stopped him, why I needed to make sure that when this finally happened, we were both in the clear. Just Lucas and Chloe, rather than Lucas and Chloe and Julie.

I kept myself busy, and not just with daydreams of a ginger vet with lips to die for. I played with the dogs, I organized invoices, I ordered some new supplies, I kept busy. And I daydreamed. Oh boy, did I daydream.

Lucas was pulling a double shift at the hospital, but he’d texted and asked if he could come by after work. Who was I to say no to that?

The day went on like so many do, unremarkable. I focused on things like making sure there was a bottle of wine in the fridge, that there were tiny umbrellas stocked behind the tiki bar in case we wanted to try our hand at a new cocktail, that his favorite kind of tortilla chips were in the pantry. That any unruly hair south of the Mason-Dixon line had been dealt with.

Then late in the day, after dinner, I got a strange call from a frantic woman on the Our Gang line. Her thick accent coupled with her crying made it difficult to understand what she was saying at first, but it soon became clear what she was reporting. She’d seen one of the Our Gang flyers in town. She needed help, but had been too afraid to reach out before. She knew a guy who was involved in dog fighting, but until she’d visited the site herself, and actually saw the condition of the dogs and where they were being kept, she hadn’t felt moved to action. Until now. She gave me an address, several times, of a compound on the outskirts of town where she said they were keeping fight dogs, pit bulls. The guy who was in charge of the dogs was headed out of town for a few days, and the dogs would be alone. Unprotected.

I instantly hung up the phone, got in the car, and headed out.


I should have known better than to go pick up a dog alone on an anonymous tip, but the woman sounded so desperate on the phone that I didn’t want to waste any time.

Call Lucas. Don’t be a fool; call Lucas.

But I didn’t. And when I walked into that shed and saw those dogs, I knew I was in way over my head.

I counted eleven dogs, all mixed breeds and pit bulls. Chained to boxes or posts, with no food and barely any water. And the smell. I had to cover my nose against the filth they were living in. And not living in—because although I tried my best not to see it, there were two that hadn’t made it.

The fighting ring was built into the wall in the back. Built high, with—oh my God—seats all around. People would watch as these dogs fought, sometimes to the death.

First thing I did? I called the police. The next thing I did? I called Lou, who told me to wait in the car and he’d call animal control. I was on my way back outside to wait until the authorities arrived . . . but then I heard it. The dogs were so riled up, barking so loud, that I almost didn’t . . . but there it was again. A whimper.

I moved toward the ring, closer and closer, my feet moving without my brain because I knew I shouldn’t be there, knew I should wait for help, knew that I wasn’t ready for something like this . . . and there it was.