so his path wouldn’t directly cross Mrs. Tyler’s.
He kept the bag pressed against his side to keep from jostling the dog with his brisk stride. On the plus side, it had to be a tiny dog to fit inside Riley’s bag. You are a grown man. You are not afraid of something that’s smaller than the average teddy bear. The mutt his mom’s ex-boyfriend used to bring over had been the size of a coffee table. Looking back, Jack realized the dog’s vicious disposition was probably in response to its owner treating it the same way the worthless SOB had treated Jack’s mother. When it came to losers, Cyndi Reed sure knew how to pick ’em.
Jack took the stairs two at a time. The dog was mostly quiet but yelped when Jack shut the apartment door behind them. After carefully setting the bag on the counter that divided the kitchen from the living room, Jack moved the coat aside. A fuzzy face stared back at him, chocolaty eyes wide with apprehension.
“I have to admit, you’re...kind of cute. For a dog.”
Dog, or was puppy more accurate? He’d taken the bag from Riley before getting a good look at the passenger inside. He’d assumed it was a small breed like a Chihuahua or a... Well, he didn’t really know the names of many dog breeds. He had no idea what this one was or if it was even close to being fully grown.
The dog pawed at the material between them.
“Sorry, but you’re staying put until Riley comes for you.” He avoided looking into the big brown eyes. “Don’t bother trying to guilt me. You’re warm and dry in there, and I have no idea if you’re housebroken.” Especially if his suspicion about it being a young puppy was true.
Despite Jack’s sound reasoning, the dog protested with increasingly loud whining. Although he and Riley had the only two units on this floor, Jack turned on his television to help mask the noise. “Calm down, fuzz-bucket.”
Too bad he didn’t have any dog treats to placate the pocket-size beast. What kind of human food was suitable for canine consumption? Luckily, he knew who to ask for recommendations. He was leaning on his kitchen counter, exchanging texts with Dr. Juliet Burke, when there was a knock at his door. The puppy barked in earnest, which made Jack grin in spite of himself.
“Yeah, you’re a very tough watchdog.” He crossed from the kitchen to the living room to answer the door. “No one would dare mess with you.”
“Jack? It’s me, Riley.”
He opened the door to find her dripping in the hallway. “You look soaked to the skin,” he said, ushering her inside. “Mrs. Tyler couldn’t postpone chatting with you until you were out of the rain?”
Riley smirked. Despite being drenched, she seemed to be in a good mood. “She was more outraged than rational. See, someone dared me to run for president, and I think she considers it a hostile coup.”
“So you really did throw your hat in the ring? Good for you.”
“Yep, I’m running...assuming I don’t get evicted before the election.”
His gaze went to her throat and he watched, mesmerized, as a drop of water made its way to the valley between her breasts. You’re staring. He should really say something, but it was tough to think of anything besides, “Wanna get out of those wet clothes?”
He cleared his throat. “Well, you’ve got my vote.”
“Thank you.” She met his gaze and for a moment, she went still. Could she read the lust in his expression?
From behind him, the dog yipped, as if scolding him, and Jack stepped out of the way so Riley could get to the gym bag that was now actively wiggling on the counter.
“Poor girl,” she cooed. “Let’s get you out of there.” The minute she tugged down the zipper, the puppy launched itself into Riley’s hands in a tail-wagging blur.
Smart dog. Jack couldn’t fault the desire to get closer to Riley. “I was just about to feed her,” he said, trying to redirect his thoughts. “A lot of stuff people give dogs can actually be dangerous for them—pork, for instance—but I have some leftover chicken in the fridge that’s okay. No bones, of course.”
Riley cocked her head at him as she pet the puppy in her arms. “You seem full of useful knowledge. Dog person?”
“God, no!” He grimaced. “In fact, I...” Embarrassment cut off the rest of his automatic admission. He didn’t want Riley to think he was scared of the overgrown guinea pig she was cuddling.
“Sorry.” She frowned. “I wouldn’t have asked for your help if I’d known you hated them.”
“Not hate. But you remember when I said we all had our phobias? I have a tendency to be...uncomfortable around dogs. The only one I spent much time with as a kid was mean. I never felt safe turning my back on it.” Not that he’d ever felt particularly safe when any of Cyndi’s lovers were around, whether it was the ex with the dog or some other nameless guy in the sea of sneering, unshaven faces. His mother was a magnet for temperamental drunks. “Then, later, in the sixth grade—” What the hell was he doing, sharing his life story while Riley stood there soaking wet? He should give her the leftover chicken and send her on her way so she could change into dry clothes.
“Sorry,” he said. “I was rambling.”
“You have to finish the story.” Her eyes shone with both gentle humor and curiosity. “You can’t just leave me hanging, doomed to wonder forever what happened in the sixth grade.”
After she’d confided in him in the elevator, maybe it was only fair he admitted to some of his own anxieties. “I stayed after school one day for art club, and when I left, it was already getting dark out. There was a black dog in the road, difficult to see, and a car clipped it. The driver sped away without stopping, so I ran to help it.”
“You helped it even though you were already scared of dogs?”
“Who admitted to being scared?” He flashed a self-deprecating smile. “I believe the word I used was uncomfortable. And I acted instinctively, not stopping to think it through. If I had taken a moment, I might’ve realized that when you rush an injured dog who doesn’t know you, you’re going to get bitten.”
She winced sympathetically. “Was it bad?”
“Not so bad that the art teacher couldn’t patch me up. He came to my rescue and then took the dog to a vet. I followed his example today and consulted a vet on what to feed fuzz-bucket. Juliet said bland chicken and rice were good choices.”
“Juliet?” Riley lowered her gaze to the puppy. “Is she, um, your girlfriend?”
Was that her way of asking if he was single? He grinned. “Hardly. Juliet’s married to one of my police buddies. I’m not seeing anyone.” Honesty prompted him to add, “Which is the way I prefer it. I broke up with someone not long ago, and I’m enjoying the drama-free life. I’m not...cut out for romance. Some of my happily married friends can’t seem to grasp that.”
Rather than treat him like a commitment-phobe who “just needed to meet the right woman,” Riley nodded. “I keep telling my mom I’m not in a place where I want to be dating, but that doesn’t stop her from trying to fix me up. I think because I’m the oldest, she—” The puppy in her arms wriggled, drawing her attention. “This one needs a chance to run around. I should get her to my place, in case there are any chewing incidents or other mishaps. We’ve imposed on you enough.”
“It wasn’t a hardship.” To prove his point, he ran his hand over the puppy’s head. “Does she have a name?”
“Maybe, but I don’t know what it is. I found her at a crosswalk this afternoon. I figure I’ll go back with pictures and see if I can track down her owner.”
“And if not?”
“No idea. My sister and her husband occasionally debate whether they’re ready to be parents. Maybe they could start