Page 9 of Doggy Style

“I’m kidding. Lighten up. I’ll give you the tour of my crib after we get her, and I’m happy to fill out an application. Let’s go get her now before that jerk dumps her.”

She throws her hands up in defeat. “Okay. We can go get her, and you can foster her. But I’m still going to protest your fucking puppy store. We are not cool. Got it, buddy?”

I love her rebellious streak. I can’t wait to tame her—pull her hair, slap her ass, and make her submit to me.

I tug on her cuffs. “Yes, ma’am. Now, where are the keys?”

She reaches into her pocket and tosses them to me. I quickly release her, and she puts out her hands to collect the cuffs, but I stick them in my back pocket. “I’ll keep these for later.”

“In your dreams, Evans. I’ll call the guy and find a place for us to meet him to get the dog.”

I nod, watching as she winces and rubs her wrist. Maybe if I’m lucky she’ll let me give her a massage later.

“I’m going to run inside and grab my keys. I’ll be back out in five minutes.”

“Lucky me.” She grabs her phone and dials as I go inside.

Hugh stops me when I step back into the showroom. “What was that all about?”

I laugh. “You were right. Some crazy protester. But I handled her.”

“Good job, bro. Next time, just call the cops.”

I shake my head. “Not necessary. I’m fostering a dog for her. In exchange, I want her to go to the expo with me and help us with the store. Kira backed out, and this woman hasn’t agreed yet. Hell, I haven’t even asked her yet, but I’ll convince her.”

Hugh slaps the desk. “What? Fuck Kira, man. She promised us. And you want some crazy chick to work in our shop? And go to Hawai’i with you? Well, at least those crazy bitches are great in bed.” Not like Hugh would know since I can’t remember the last time he actually hooked up with anyone. Besides, he shouldn’t be talking about women that way. I roll my eyes.

“You’re an asshole, dude. But she’d be perfect. She has a ton of followers on Instagram and runs a dog rescue, so she must know a lot about dogs. And if she vouches for us, hopefully, the other activists will leave our shop alone. I dig her.”

“Whatever, dude. I don’t know who’s crazier—you or her.”

“Probably me,” I say as I head back to my office.

A moment later, I grab my keys and walk outside. Yessi is standing there, her hair glowing in the moonlight. She actually gives me a smile.

She touches my arm. “Hey, thanks for fostering her. You saved her life.”