Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 145123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
My doggo knows I’m not the cool cucumber façade I’m putting out there. Just like Farmers Insurance, he knows a thing or two, because he’s seen a thing or two.
My phone pings with an alert from Uber that our driver is almost here, and Chase shakes his head with a smile again before pushing my pinkie away and pulling me in for a hug.
It’s the oddest, most familiar feeling, and there’s a part of me that wants to lean in and hold on for the rest of the day. Luckily, Benji barks at the approaching car, and it’s enough of a reality check to pull me off the delectable-smelling man before I’m arrested for harassment.
When the car pulls to a stop outside our motor home, I check the license plate for consistency and then wait for the driver to say my name out the window before opening the passenger door.
When you’re a single woman, you learn to protect yourself so intrinsically that you do it even when a man is around.
“Brooke?”
“That’s me. Leroy, right?”
The driver notices Benji as he’s nodding, and I open the door for Benji to jump up first. I do have him on a leash, even though he doesn’t really need it, but I don’t trust all the strangers in a new city not to say anything. I also put him in his service vest today rather than a costume, and as far as I can tell, it’s doing the trick.
Sometimes drivers balk at letting Benji inside their cars when he’s not labeled plainly for what he is.
I mean, obviously, he’s a superhero to me, but usually no one else gets it.
Chase and I climb in after Benji, and because of the three of us being in the seat together, my leg kind of pushes up against Chase’s leg. I’m not at all prepared for how firm and muscular it is, or for the visual of Chase’s sweet blush as he touches my thigh by accident when trying to place his hand on his own.
Dear God, how did you make this man? How? I must know the full recipe with instructions for how to complete it. I mean, if I can’t have Chase, I may as well attempt to bake a man just like him from scratch, right?
For the sake of my sanity, I busy myself, unlocking my phone and clicking into Facebook to scroll through the NYC Doggie group I joined before this tour started. Benji doesn’t know it yet, but I’ve been on the hunt for his lady friend ever since I let him down that fateful day in the park. The last thing I want to do is break my sweet fella’s heart beyond repair, and I swore to him that we’d both have our chance at love.
In my delusions, I’m having my chance now, with Chase, which is clearly not the case, but that doesn’t mean Benji doesn’t deserve his own happily ever after because I’m completely deluded. I don’t want to let him down.
I check my post first, made under my incognito profile, BrookieCookie, where I’ve described the sweet girl with the bow and the man she was with in an effort to jar someone’s memory. So far, no one has any leads, but there have been a few friendly commenters championing my efforts.
Carrie Lawson: New York won’t sleep until we’ve found your doggo’s soul mate!
Hunter G: I’m so impressed that you’re keeping a level head, BrookieCookie. I’d quit my job and go MI Tom Cruise on finding my dog love.
Della Plays: I’ve been to the park three times this week—no luck so far. Will check back tomorrow.
Chase glances at me several times without prying, but I know for a fact by my angle and proximity that he can see my screen. I know I’d be curious if I were him, so I decide to fill him in a little bit.
“I’m, uh…just doing some secret recon for my BFF, you know? I kind of let him down one day, but I don’t want to get his hopes up too soon. I haven’t gotten any leads yet, but I’m not giving up.”
Chase’s smile is both brilliant and bewildered as he looks down at me. “I’m sorry, what? I didn’t understand anything you just said. I feel like I’m missing something here.”
I glance down at my screen again and back up at him as a blush creeps up my neck. “Oh. You, uh, can’t see my screen?”
He smirks and shrugs. “It just looks black to me.”
Oh shit, yeah! I smack myself in the forehead, remembering aloud, “I forgot I put one of those privacy screen protectors on it before leaving for this tour.” My laugh is a cackle as I imagine just how crazy I must sound right now after my spiel with absolutely no context.