Breaking the Rules: The Honeybees, book 1 (6 page)

“He was at the animal shelter?” he asked in surprise, confirming with me which one. “I can’t believe it.” He shook his head and repeated, dazed, “I can’t believe it.”
 

He couldn’t believe a dog was at an animal shelter? He must not be a particularly smart guy, I decided. Devin ran up ahead then before I had a chance to ask him why he hadn’t called the shelter, why he hadn’t claimed Taco when he’d had a chance, if he really did care about him so much. He must be a very bad dog owner, I decided, feeling indignant, if his dog had not only run away from home without a collar, unmicrochipped, but if he hadn’t been able to find him at the animal shelter. It was an obvious place to look.
 

If he thought he was getting this dog back, he had another think coming. Not that Taco was even actually his dog, I corrected myself.
 

But at the end of the workout, Devin was back. I sighed. This cute, goofy guy was turning out to be a real pain in the ass. I saw the others in the group glancing over at us, probably trying to hear what we were saying. It was embarrassing, being accused like this of something completely unfounded, and it would definitely hamper my ability to make friends in this group.
 

“I…I don’t know what to tell you,” I said, trying hard to stay polite. “This is my dog. Even if he were yours, which I have no way of knowing, you didn’t claim him. He’s mine.” I hated confrontation more than almost anything in life. I’d rather do paperwork for all twenty-three of my students than get into an argument, especially with someone like Devin, especially somewhere like here, especially with everyone else pretending not to listen in. But I couldn’t let him keep thinking this. And there was no way, ever, I would give up my dog.

“No,” Devin said, and his instant negation ruffled me. “This is my dog, and I’m going to prove it to you.”

“Okay,” I said, straightening up and crossing my arms across my chest.
 

“The pads of his feet,” he said. “The pads on three of his feet are black, and on one they’re pink.”

That’s a pretty safe guess
, I thought, unimpressed. Three of Taco’s legs were black and one mostly white, so it made sense that his toes would be the same, though I wasn’t sure I’d actually paid much attention to that.
 

“Except,” Devin continued, “that one of the pads on the pink foot is half-black. It’s split down the middle.”

I stared at him for a moment. And I found that as I sat down on a bench next to Taco and gently lifted up his white foot, I was nervous.
 

And sure enough, there it was: the toe that would have been his ring finger on a human was split. Half pink. Half black. I was stunned.

“So you mean…his name is actually Paco? That’s why he responded to Taco?”

“That’s his name.”

I slumped down on the bench, feeling defeated. I shook my head in bewilderment. “Do you know what the odds are? This is insane.”

Devin remained firm. “I love my dog.”

I looked up, looked him straight in the eye. “I love my dog too.” I thought of what Taco had helped me through these past few weeks. Without him, I never would’ve been able to weather Matt moving out, the breakup, the realization that I no longer had friends. The memory of being dumped at the exact moment I expected a proposal shot fresh waves of pain through me as I thought about how much Taco had helped me, how he had licked my hand and comforted me, how it had felt like he both needed me and wanted to protect me. He had been there when I wrote The Rules, the list that was helping me move forward with my life.
 

I felt indignant. This was hell, this confrontation, and I wanted it to end right now. But I had to stand firm on this. “Devin, I’m sorry, but this is my dog now.” I wanted to say more, but I didn’t trust myself not to cry. I could feel my voice starting to falter, and so the words I wanted to say remained unspoken.
I did the right thing. I took him to the shelter. They looked for a microchip, and there wasn’t one. He didn’t have a collar or any other identification. He was there for two weeks, and you didn’t claim him. Now he’s mine.
 

Even those few words were hard to say, but I felt better for standing my ground. He would not intimidate me out of my pet.

Devin’s face hardened. “You’re making a big mistake,” he said. “And I’m going to persuade you of that. But right now I’m going to be late to work, so just promise me that I get to see him. Promise me that you’ll bring him again on Tuesday.”

“Sure,” I said. That seemed fair.
 

“And that I’ll get to see him other times. Remember how I suggested we go for a run together with your dog?”

I nodded.
 

“I’m not asking you anymore. Now I’m asking Paco.” He turned to the dog. “Hey boy, you want to go for a run tomorrow morning?” Taco looked back at him with excited eyes, tongue hanging out of his mouth. “He wants to,” Devin told me. “So I’ll see you both here tomorrow at nine. Okay?”

He wasn’t giving me much choice, but I nodded again and tried to swallow the lump in my throat. “Okay. We’ll see you then.”

“Right outside,” Devin said, pointing to the door, then walked out of it without saying goodbye.
 

CHAPTER 3

I couldn’t stop thinking about the confrontation with Devin. All day, while running errands, while making myself a sandwich for lunch, while playing with Taco, I relived the experience in my mind. I hated the dark clouds that had come over Devin’s face when he had recognized his dog—and in all likelihood, I had to admit, Taco was indeed his dog.
Had been
, I corrected myself.
Had been his dog.

It hurt to think of Devin looking at me like that, the happy-go-lucky goofball I’d come to know gone. I’d come to look forward to seeing him at the practice sessions. My mood lifted when he was around; even though I had no interest in him romantically, it was fun to flirt, or joke around, or whatever it was he was doing.

I was glad to have the distraction of seeing Caroline that afternoon. The interaction that morning had left a very bad taste in my mouth. I’d liked Devin, but over the course of just ninety minutes I’d lost respect for him—he was clearly a bad pet owner—and I was angry that he’d embarrassed me. I was dreading seeing him the next morning.

Caroline and I met at a bar I had never been to before, and I recognized my high school friend immediately. Caroline looked just the same as I remembered, with the same warm glow, straight medium-brown hair and an open, inviting face. I felt self-conscious that I was so much heavier than I’d been back then when she looked just the same. I hadn’t yet lost any weight since I’d started training for the marathon, though I was definitely building muscle in my legs.

“Wow, so good to see you!” Caroline said as we gave each other tight hugs.

It felt good to reconnect with her too. Within five minutes of meeting up, we were chatting and laughing like it hadn’t been almost a decade since we’d lost touch.

“What are you doing these days?” I asked her. “Where do you work?”

She made a face. “I’m a cashier at a grocery store,” she said. “It’s not exactly where I was hoping to be, but…” She shrugged. “Always looking for new opportunities.”

“You’ll find the right thing,” I assured her.
 

And then came the moment I’d been dreading. Caroline asked, “So I heard that you were dating someone pretty seriously. How’s that going?”

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and took a tentative sip on my mojito. “Um. Actually, he broke up with me,” I admitted. “It’s been about a month.”

“Oh no, Soph, I’m so sorry!” Caroline said, looking like she feared she had made a horrible error in mentioning it.

“It’s okay,” I said, and then I found myself telling Caroline the whole story. I’d promised myself I’d only tell her about the breakup, not about expecting an engagement, but as soon as they sat down together Caroline’s warmth overwhelmed my desire to keep it inside, and I was suddenly spilling all the details.
 

Caroline was sympathetic, listening to the whole thing through to the end and saying only “Oh!” and “Really?!” and other sounds as I listened.
 

“That’s awful, Sophie,” she said when I had finished the story.
 

“Yeah, it hurt pretty bad,” I admitted.
 

“Hope you have a good vibrator,” Caroline joked.

“Actually…I don’t own a vibrator.”

Caroline looked shocked. “Wait, what? You don’t have a vibrator at all?”

“No,” I said. “Should I?”

“Uh, yes,” Caroline said, as though it were a given. “Every woman needs a good vibrator.
Especially
those who have just been dumped.”

I shrugged. “I had no idea.”

“But—you’ve had one in the past, though, right?” Caroline persisted.
 

It was strange how Caroline could say these things after not having seen me in almost a decade, and yet it somehow felt perfectly normal. But if someone I saw on a regular basis had said that to me, I would’ve been shocked.
 

Had I become more of a prude in the years since high school? I wondered.
 

No, I decided. It was just that these days, I spent most of my time with other elementary school teachers. Elementary school teachers didn’t talk about vibrators much. For one, saying something at the wrong place and time could get them fired, and most teachers of young children I knew had taught themselves to speak on their best behavior even in the teachers’ lounge so as not to get too comfortable with cursing or anything else that would get them in trouble once they were back in front of their students. For another, my friends had been more diverse in high school than they were now. Back then, I’d been friends with people who talked openly about vibrators, for instance.
 

“No, I’ve never had one in my life,” I told Caroline, feeling squeamish.

A devilish look spread over Caroline’s face. “Want to go shopping when we’re done here?”

I laughed and glanced around to make sure no one else in the bar was listening. “Sure, why not?” I said. Matt would’ve been shocked if he’d known what I was doing. We never had talked about sex much; we just did it.
 

We finished up our cocktails, then Caroline led me a few blocks down to a sex shop she knew of.

Inside, we got a welcoming nod from a woman restocking big, fleshlike dildos. I giggled uncomfortably. Funny, I thought as we browsed the rows upon rows of vibrators, cock rings, sexy lingerie, and a bunch of stuff I didn’t even recognize, how it was okay to be open about discussing sex toys, but even Caroline didn’t want to be seen as
too
into sex toys.
 

As we browsed, I slowly started feeling more comfortable, less self-conscious. There were small vibrators and big ones, ones with multiple speeds and ones with curved tips and ones with texture on the tips. As we browsed, I told her about Devin and Taco, the lump in my stomach starting to dissolve just by talking about it. Caroline was a good listener.

“It sounds like you did everything right,” she said. “He doesn’t deserve to get the dog back.” I smiled, grateful for the confirmation that I was in the right.

Finally, I stopped and looked around me.

“There are so many options!” I said. “How do I know what’s best?”

Caroline shrugged. “Depends what you like, I guess.” She must have seen the terror-stricken look on my face because she offered, “This might be a good one to start with.” She picked a clear plastic case off a shelf and showed it to me. I took it from her and studied it. The vibrator inside was bright purple and made of a flexible silicone.
 

“It’s so bright!” I said.
 

“You won’t be looking at it,” Caroline pointed out.
 

“Oh god. I’m so embarrassed to take this up to the register!”

“Oh, quit it! It’s fine. That’s what they
do
. All day, every day, the cashiers check people out who are buying sex toys. Most probably more scandalous than this one,” she added.
 

I took a deep breath and then went to check out. The woman was polite and friendly, and when we stepped back out into the misty fall day, I felt encouraged. I was now the proud owner of my very first vibrator. Who needed a boyfriend?
 

When I got home that day, I found myself holding my breath as I unlocked my front door. Would I find anything destroyed inside? I was starting to discover why the woman at the animal shelter had referred to Taco as “naughty.”
 

The first day it had been toilet paper, which he had unrolled and chased around the house. There was a telltale thin white paper path marking his progression around the house, half a roll strewn all over the living room and into the kitchen, the trail eventually leading into my bedroom, where I found the rest of the gnawed-up roll, completely destroyed, in the middle of my bed. Taco was on his bed, which I’d put on the floor in my bedroom, and glanced up at me sleepily when I came in and yawned, as though to say, “I don’t know what happened, I’ve just been sleeping here the whole time.”

The second time it had been a bill I’d gotten in the mail. I’d left the bill, unopened, on the coffee table, which now stood next to the armchair since I still hadn’t gotten a new couch. I’d come home to find the bill covered in tooth marks in Taco’s bed, though this time he was asleep on the armchair.
 

“Taco!” I’d scolded. “Get off there!” The maroon chair was covered in light-colored hairs when he jumped down, and I discovered the downside to having a black and white dog: when he lay on light-colored surfaces, his black hair showed up. When he lay on dark surfaces, the white was obvious.
 

The third time he’d been naughty, I’d come home to find a head of broccoli I’d forgotten to put in the fridge on the kitchen floor. I’d left it on the counter still in a plastic bag, and he’d pulled it down, ripped the bag to shreds, and started in on the broccoli. Three-quarters of the head was still intact, but there was broccoli debris all over the floor.