Puppy Love (2 page)

Chapter
Two

I
'd become very familiar with
the PetzBiz superstore since becoming a dog owner six weeks earlier. Dragging Muckle away from a tempting display of rawhide chews set conveniently at puppy eye level, I headed for the training area at the back. It basically consisted of the “training ring,” which was an open area with mats on the floor and a waist-high movable plastic wall to keep the dogs more or less contained.

As usual for a Saturday, the store was packed. People and dogs were everywhere, and within a few steps Muckle was bouncing around like a jumping bean. I could see the signs that his tiny brain was becoming overwhelmed with all the new sights, sounds, and smells, so I quickly scooped him up and tucked him under my arm. I'd nearly fallen on my face once already this
morning because of him, and I wasn't in the mood for a rerun.

When I arrived at the training ring, there was only one puppy inside its plastic walls, a floppy-eared hound. I recognized the pup's owner—she was a serious-looking girl a year or two older than me who waitressed on the weekends at my parents' favorite Italian bistro. I waved at her, but she didn't see me. She was staring intently at her puppy, telling it repeatedly to sit as it continued to wander around, smelling everything within range. With a shrug, I turned away and set Muckle down near the entrance.

“Behave,” I told him strictly. “You don't want to get kicked out of class before it even starts, right? I mean, if you can't hack it in puppy kindergarten, you'll never get into puppy college.”

“So this is the training area, right?”

It was Ozzy's owner. Okay, so maybe I shouldn't have been surprised that he'd followed me to the training ring. I already knew he was there for the puppy training class. And he didn't look like the type of guy to get scared off too easily. Not even by having some psycho girl and her even more psycho dog make fools of themselves in front of him.

No, that wasn't the surprising part. The surprising part? He was smiling at me. Seeming to still want to talk to me. Me, as in Psycho Girl.

“Um, yeah,” I blurted out. “I, uh, checked it out when I was here buying Muckle's food the other day.”

As witty banter went, it wasn't exactly genius level. But the guy chuckled.

“I'm Jamal, by the way,” he said. “Jamal Hughes. And this is Ozzy.”

I noticed he was keeping his puppy on a pretty short leash. Probably afraid that Cujo—also known as Muckle—was going to launch another attack. Fortunately, Muckle seemed to have gotten over it. He was sitting beside me, sniffing curiously in the direction of the other puppy.

“I'm Lauren Parker,” I said. “And you already met Muckle.”

Muckle cocked his head and stared up at me when he heard his name. His ears pricked in my direction, and he looked so adorable that I had to smile.

“He's adorable,” Jamal commented. “So, I've never seen you at school, Lauren. Do you go to MVHS?”

His gaze slid quickly up and down me in that certain way guys have when they're trying to check a girl out without letting her know he's doing it. Yeah, that's right. Jamal was checking me out. I couldn't help feeling flattered. Most of the guys at school barely acknowledged my existence, let alone looked at me like I was, well, a girl. Obviously the guys at MVHS—that was Maple View High, the local public school—were a little less choosy.

“I go to County Day Academy,” I told Jamal, trying not to worry about whether my cheeks were going pink again. “I'm a sophomore.”

“Oh! Private school girl, huh? Duh, I should've known.”

I tensed. “What do you mean?”

He flashed me that friendly smile again. “Just saying, I'm sure
I would have noticed you if you went to my school. I'm a sophomore too, by the way.”

I relaxed. Some people in my town had kind of an attitude about County Day Academy. It was one of the most selective private high schools in the state, and it wasn't exactly cheap, either. My parents loved to talk about the advantages my County Day education was supposed to be giving me, even though my mom had to cut way back on her monthly shopping-and-hairdressing expenditures when I started there.

“Look, I think Ozzy and Muckle are making friends.” Jamal nodded toward the puppies. They were doing that butt-sniffing thing again, but this time both their tails were wagging happily—Ozzy's stubby little wire-haired one and Muck's long, fluffy one.

“Sorry about before.” I kept a careful eye on Muckle, not wanting a repeat of what had happened outside. “He's usually friendly with other dogs, but he's kind of easily overstimulated.”

“That's cool.” Jamal bent down and ruffled Muckle's ears. “He's a cute little guy. How'd you end up with him? Is he purebred?”

“Yeah. I found the breeder online—she lives about an hour from here.” I stepped aside as a pair of giggling girls hurried into the training ring. They both looked about thirteen years old. One was carrying a tiny Chihuahua puppy, while the other was trying to hang on to the leash attached to an exuberant retriever pup.

“Looks like the rest of the class is starting to get here,” Jamal said.

“Yeah.” I heard the scrabbling of dog claws against the linoleum
floor and glanced behind me. A cool-looking puppy with long legs and a sleek orangey-colored coat was rushing toward us, dragging a pretty girl around our age at the other end of its leash. The girl had straight ash-blond hair and a sweet, heart-shaped face that would have fit right in in some Victorian costume drama.

“Whoa!” With a laugh, Jamal stepped in and grabbed the orange pup, swooping it up into his arms even though it had to weigh at least twenty-five pounds. “Hey, Gizi girl. What's up, Rachel?”

“Thanks for stopping her,” Rachel said breathlessly, smiling at Jamal as he set her puppy down. Then she noticed me standing there and ducked her head shyly. “Sorry—I hope my dog didn't scare yours.”

“No worries.” I glanced at Muckle, who was staring up at the taller orange puppy with pricked ears. “I've never seen a dog like that before. What is it?”

“Gizi's a vizsla.” Rachel tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “That's like a Hungarian hunting dog.”

I found myself staring at Rachel. I'd always wanted my hair to do that thing hers did—lie flat and sleek and elegant, like the vizsla's coat. Instead my semi-wavy, semi-frizzy brown hair was doomed to usually looking almost as fluffy as my own pup's fur. And that look worked a lot better on Muckle than it did on me.

I lifted my free hand, trying to quickly pat my hair down. “Uh, I'm Lauren. Are you in this class too?”

Rachel nodded. “We're taking it for the second time.”

“She's the one who told me about it,” Jamal put in. “I overheard her talking about it in English class. She was telling her friends how Gizi flunked out last time. Isn't that right, girl?” He laughed and gave the vizsla puppy a pat. Gizi's entire body wiggled in response, and she leaped up at him with a joyful bark.

Muckle and Ozzy both barked too. Gizi turned, still wiggling all over, and leaped toward them with the exuberance only a hyper puppy can show. Ozzy started doing the play bowing thing, but Muckle jumped straight up in the air.

“Muckle, no!” I cried as I felt the leash slip out of my hand.

Muckle let out an excited bark as he realized he was free! Free! Free! He jumped right over Ozzy, who was still bowing hopefully in Gizi's direction, and took off toward the middle of the store.

“Sorry!” Rachel exclaimed, dragging her puppy back with a hand on her collar. But it was too late; Muckle was already ten yards away and still going, dragging his leash behind him. His legs might have looked short, but they could move fast.

I was already running after him, following the sound of his high-pitched barks. “Muckle, get back here!” I hollered. “Come, boy! Come!”

He disappeared down one of the aisles. Skidding around the corner, I saw that the shelves were packed with canned cat food. Muckle barely paused to sniff at them before racing on around the next corner.

“Oh, you rotten thing,” I muttered. “Muckle! Come back here!”

The barking stopped suddenly. Uh-oh. Various possibilities
flashed through my mind. Option one, Muckle had found a puppy-height display of edibles and was now stuffing his greedy little face with the eleventy-twelve pounds of liver snaps or pig's ears or gerbil food I'd have to beg Robert for the money to pay for. Option two, he'd become a snack himself for a cranky Rottweiler or something. Option three, he'd gone into stealth mode on purpose just to drive me crazy.

Yes, I knew dogs didn't really think like that. Sometimes, though? I had to wonder. Especially when Muckle peed on Mom's favorite Persian rug for the third day in a row, as he'd done just the day before. Which was part of the reason we were here, come to think of it. . . .

All of this went tumbling through my mind as I sprinted around the corner. I was moving so fast that it took an extra second or two to register the guy standing in front of me, cradling my dog in his arms.

I skidded to a stop just in time to avoid crashing into them. The guy was rubbing Muckle's fuzzy head, and Muckle was gazing up at him adoringly.

Not that I blamed him. The guy was a little older than me, maybe seventeen or so. More importantly, he was the most gorgeous guy I'd ever seen in real life. Like, almost on the Corc scale. He was tall and lean, with dark hair, pale skin, and ice-blue eyes.

“Oh, hello,” he said, glancing up and locking his gaze on mine. “Is this your runaway puppy?”

My jaw dropped. I couldn't believe my ears—he had an accent!

“Are you Scottish?” I blurted out.

One corner of his mouth twitched up. “Irish, actually,” he said. “My family moved over from County Kildare when I was in middle school. But you were close.”

“Oh. Sorry.” My face flamed.
I know the difference between a Scottish and an Irish accent!
I wanted to scream.
I swear I totally do! I can even identify whether a speaker comes from north or south of the Firth of Tay, for Pete's sake!

Yeah, no. Probably not the best way to impress him at that point. Instead, I smiled weakly and glanced at Muckle. He was cradled in Mr. Irish-Not-Scottish-Accent's arms, tongue f lopping out and a look of bliss on his little puppy face. Clearly a dog with taste.

“Thanks for catching him,” I said. “He pulled away and took off before I could catch him. He's not very good with obedience.”

“It's okay, shelties can be tough at first. But they're very smart and trainable once you get their attention.” He gave Muckle one last cuddle, then held him toward me.

As I took my puppy, my hand brushed against the guy's, and an electric jolt went through me from head to toe. For a second I felt dizzy, as if my fantasy life was colliding with the real one—as if Corc himself had just stepped into my local suburban strip mall and was about to whisk me away to enjoy the life of romance and adventure I'd always dreamed of. . . .

“So you should bring him to my puppy K,” the guy said. “I've got a class for teen handlers starting right now, actually.”

I blinked at the vision of male perfection before me. “Wait—you're teaching the puppy class?” I exclaimed. “We're in that class!”

If he noticed how over-the-top geeky-psyched I sounded, he didn't let on. “Cool,” he said with a smile. “I'm Adam O'Connell, by the way. Certified dog trainer.”

“Lauren,” I said, pointing to myself. “Certified spazzy-puppy owner. And this is Muckle. Certifiable.”

Adam laughed as if my joke had actually been funny. “Charmed.” His smile lit up the store, putting the overhead fluorescents to shame. “Come along then, Lauren and Muckle. Let's get over there and get started, what do you say?”

“Sure.” I smiled up at him, still dazzled. Suddenly the difficulties of the past six weeks melted away. It had all been worth it, because it had led to this. Fate. Kismet. Destiny. Basically, a dream come true. Even though at the time it had seemed to be turning into a nightmare. . . .

Chapter
Three