“Huh. I wouldn’t’ve pegged you for business. Shit, I never would’ve called that in a million years.” Dean makes me sound like what I studied was a bad thing.
I frown. “Every business needs a manager, so why the hell not me?”
Dean shakes his head, then winds his giant hands around the leashes, keeping the boys closer to him. I still don’t know their names.
Doesn’t matter. Today is the last day you’re going to see him. Be polite, show your manners, and peace out.
“That’s not what I meant.” Dean blows out air. It comes out in a white puff that dissipates into the bright sky. “I just remember you really being into health and fitness, thought maybe you’d pursue that.”
“Yeah, and have to wear yoga pants every single day while training people? No, definitely not for me.”
The gravel crunches under my feet, along with whatever dead leaves that are past their pulverization date. I look up at Dean, mentally tracing his near-perfect profile. Nobody should look this good, at least not to me. Not to anyone. He should be put on a shelf, in a glass case and people can only admire him from afar.
Then again, they’d be missing out on the pure sexiness of his voice, even if he does say stupid things with it.
“Yoga pants are God’s gift to straight men,” Dean throws out there, making everything all awkward. Mostly because I’m incredibly aware of him, and wish something could come of this when it just won’t.
“What about you?” I ask, but I can tell he’s either thinking something really interesting, or imagining my ass in yoga pants. Most probably me in yoga pants.
I grin, and it’s like I haven’t done it in years, it feels so odd on my face.
“After high school I decided to go to culinary school. Now I work as a sous-chef, and I kick ass at it. Nah, but seriously, I make really good food. I’m thinking of taking specialization in chocolate, though. I think it would be cool to say I’m a chocolatier. It rhymes with musketeer, and I wanted to be d’Artagnan when I was a kid.”
“How did you even know who d’Artagnan was?” I mean, I don’t even know all of their names, only that there are three musketeers and the whole ‘all for one, one for all’ shit.
Dean shrugs, pulls back on the German Shepherd. “C’mon, Kal, we gotta walk so you can go home and sleep the rest of the day away, you lucky bastard.”
“Kal?” I ask, but I’ve been friends with Sera too long. I know who Kal is. “What’s the other guy’s name?”
“This,” Dean pulls on the Dalmatian’s leash, and the guy barrels into our circle with a doggy grin. “Is Pongo. He hasn’t found his Purdy yet, but we’re hoping to change that. I’m going to need to move in a bigger place if this guy decides to save 101 puppies, but you know, that can be arranged.”
I shake my head at him. Does he even listen to himself?
“You know any broads that have female Dalmatians? Pongo and I would be much obliged.”
I grin again, and this time it’s more natural. “No, but I’ll keep a lookout. I promise.”
“I’m keeping you to that, this guy is lonely. He even tried to persuade me to hook him up on the canine equivalent of e-Harmony.”
“And how did he do that?”
Dean frowns at me, then chews on his lip. Wow. “You never had a dog growing up? Not even after high school?”
I shake my head. “Mom was allergic. Dad was heartbroken. He grew up with three or four back in the village. In Italy, before my grandparents dragged him here.”
Dean nods like this makes a lot of sense. We pull up to the view-point, a mock-stone mezzanine where on side leads up to a chalet that shows the sprawl of the city. From up here, it looks almost pretty, almost promising. Nobody has problems and the streets are dotted with thousands and thousands of lives.
I’m not sure what made me believe that I was important, that I needed to be the center of attention, that I was better than anyone else. I don’t know if it was some fucked up version of a coping mechanism or what, but shit, I haven’t been nice to many people who put up with me.
I’m going to have to fix that.
Starting with Sera. Jesus Christ, what the hell possessed me to say those things to her?! And her, pregnant! That’s bad mojo for the baby!
“I can smell the self-pity from here, Kat,” Dean says, voice floating down to my height as we look out over the city.
“I’m just realizing how much an asshole I am. It’s humbling.” I shrug, and get a yip from my ankle area. Potter looks like he needs to be picked up. I know the little shit is conning me, but really, who can resist a face that looks at me like that – like I’m the best thing to ever walk the planet?