Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 86596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
My parents had wanted me to follow in their footsteps and become an attorney. Tripp had agreed—and the truth is, yes—I would have absolutely made an excellent one, but that’s not at all what I wanted for myself.
Not then and not now.
I think, in some ways, I’m still figuring the whole life thing out even though I’m in my early thirties, own a home, and run my own business. And after majoring in sports marketing, I put my efforts toward manifesting that one day, I would be in the sports industry.
Perhaps even an agent, like Elias Cohen.
That didn’t happen, either.
I ended up starting my business after finding a niche and, well—here we are. I glanced down at the neighbor's new dog only to find her grinning back at me. Amused by my story, perhaps?
The dog is full of energy and wants to be petted by every person passing by or within petting distance or within any distance.
“You need more practice,” I tell her as she tugs on the leash.
With a bit of work, she could be a really well-behaved dog, but it’s clear that Tripp and Chandler don’t have the time to spend with her. They probably just assumed this dog would behave exactly the way Chewy behaved because they’re the same breed, but little Molly is nothing like her predecessor.
For one, she sniffs everything.
It’s almost as if she has a retriever’s nose, pulling me toward stinky garbage, gum on the ground, and bits of food that ordinarily a bulldog may not be prone to smelling.
I got her along and turn us around so we were heading back in the direction of home; hers and mine.
When we arrive, I see Mr. Wallace on his front porch looking off into the distance, one hand shielding his eyes from the setting sun. Waiting for me?
Eventually, we’re close enough that Molly begins to pull on the leash, excited to see her owner, ready for our walk to be over.
“I can’t help but feel a bit rejected that she’s done with me already. We’ve only been gone fifteen minutes.” I huff, clearly affronted that the dog doesn’t love me above all else the way Chewy did.
Tripp takes the leash from my hands and wraps me in a hug; more fatherly now and less rough around the edges. Guess a wife and a kid can change a man for the better.
Make him whole or whatever.
He laughs. “Chandler told me you stopped in. I’m glad I didn’t miss you this time.”
The dog wants my attention again now that she’s no longer tethered to me, and I bend to scratch behind her ears, this fairweather friend.
“Yeah, my mom made lasagna—a pan for you and a pan for us. I’ll probably steal some myself so I don’t have to cook, ha ha.” Now Molly is at my feet whining for Mr. Wallace to pet her head. “Is this dog ever happy?”
“No. She’s a huge pain in the ass, but she’s still in the puppy stages, and it shows.”
“She’s a good puppers,” I lament. “But I cannot believe you named your dog after me,” I say with an eye roll befitting of my teenage self.
“It was literally the perfect name. I could tell right away that she was gonna be stubborn.”
We both laugh at the accuracy of that statement.
“Me? Stubborn?”
“Yes, you.” He hefts the dog up into his arms and cradles her as if she were a baby, rocking back and forth, coddling her. Which could be a part of the reason the monster doesn’t listen to directions. “What have you been up to these days? I hear bits and pieces from your parents, but even they can’t keep tabs on you.”
“Ugh,” I bemoan. “I wish I could tell you that I’m up to something exciting, but I’m so boring. I feel sixty.” I lean back against the column of the front porch. “Still doing IT work for overseas clients, and lord knows how I got so many of them. Do you know how inconvenient that is?”
“What kind of IT?”
“Well, it’s shifted. In the past, I did a lot of coding for businesses like Google and some banks, but now, it’s more…online management consulting. Social media. You’d be shocked at how everything works together in tandem.” I catch his eyes glossing over at my long-winded explanation. “I sound nerdy, don’t I?”
He nods. The dog licks his chin. “You’ve always been a bit nerdy.”
“Hey!”
His massive shoulders shrug. “What? It’s true. You didn’t even go to your own prom because you couldn’t stand that they didn’t choose your theme, Pixels.”
I feign a gasp. “Okay, first of all—that was a great idea. Secondly, no one saw my vision.”
Tripp Wallace smooches his dog, giving her tiny pats on the head as he chats. “Do you like it? IT, I mean.”
Shrugging is the only way I know how to reply when anyone asks this question. And they do.