“Oh, you’re a goner.” Ronan shook his head, stretching his long legs out and watching me.

  “Fuck off,” I retorted, but my heart wasn’t in it. I watched myself run by and Tiberius’ stumpy legs were a blur as he kept up with me.

  “Oh hell! This beautiful man just ran past.” Ronan shot upright, scrambling over the arm of the couch to watch over my shoulder. “Should I whistle at him? Shout at him? Throw myself at him and beg him to take me right here in the dog park? Oh God, what should I do?! I look like hell. My face is all blotchy from running, and my hair is not liking this new oil treatment I used on it. It’s so lanky…”

  The video cut abruptly, shifting to him cutting up a peach. “So I just met the most beautiful man at the dog park today. He was dreamy. Tall, beefy, shoulders so wide he could drape me around them like a mink stole and shy as a little lamb. Or I think he was shy. Maybe he was just bedazzled. Now I’m fretting that I came on too strong.”

  I turned to Ronan, his mouth stretched in a wicked grin. I could feel my face burning.

  “Good thing I got that shirt,” I mumbled around a nervous laugh.

  Chapter Five

  Sullivan

  I spun from my closet with a silvery-sparkly shirt on a hanger to find my fashion advisor sleeping on my dog. I huffed theatrically, popped a hip, waved the shirt, and then finally slapped Aliyah’s foot soundly. Her head jerked up from Pizzy’s back. One angry human eye opened.

  “No!” she snapped then let her head drop back on my dog. Both were sprawled across my messy bed. I stomped a foot. “If you throw a pissy bitch fit I’ll pinch you so hard you’ll cry.”

  “I need counsel on my outfit! Will you please tell me if this shirt goes with my boots?!”

  Pizzy snored loudly. Aliyah said foul things about my ancestry as she pushed herself upward into a seated position.

  “Okay first thing,” she said, her speech slurred with sleep. “Knee-high alligator boots are not what one wears when one is running. This is a running date, right?”

  I looked down at my boots. They were really fabulous. “But they show off my calves,” I whined while rolling an ankle to show off my calf. I had such nice legs and an ass that you could bounce a half-penny off. If you had a half-penny, which most didn’t here in Brooklyn. But if you did…

  “This whole situation is bizarre,” she said then yawned. “Why did you agree to meet this man so early? And no boots.”

  “Ugh, I so hate you.” I whirled back to my closet, hung up the shirt which was slinky and sexy and would have looked marvelous with my boots. “How about one of my club vests and nothing under it?” She made gagging sounds behind me.

  “Tone it down. This is a date to walk dogs, right?”

  “Oh, cheekykins, did you really tell me to tone it down? Do you not know who I am by now?” I asked my wardrobe, which had officially outgrown my closet. This had happened about ten months ago and now my older clothes were in the empty storage apartment. Maybe I should go poke around in them?

  “Sorry, sleep deprivation.” She yawned again. “Try looking like you’re there to, oh, I don’t know, maybe walk your dog?”

  I turned to look at her, my rainbow half-tee with fringes in hand. She shook her head. I flung the shirt to the floor in a peak.

  “Because walking the dog, or running with her, is not the look I want him to see. I want him to see sexy Sullivan. Sassy Sullivan!” She rolled her eyes. “Do not tamp down my effervescence.”

  “I’m not, but if you show up at the dog park looking like you just stumbled out of The Pink Hippo, he’s going to think you’re a club boy,” she replied then blew some wild hair from her face. “Advice given. Can I go back to bed now?”

  “No, because everything I own looks like I just stumbled out of The Pink Hippo.” I threw myself into the doorframe, draped an arm over my eyes, and slithered downward. “He’s going to see me, think I’m a trollop and run off like he did before. I think I might die alone and unloved. A shriveled old queen with only my memories of youth to keep me warm…”

  “For fuck’s sake.” My roomie snarled. I peeked out from under my arm to see her flinging herself off my bed and stalking toward me. “How you’re not starring on a soap opera is anyone’s guess,” she mumbled as she pushed her way into my closet, with her hands in front of her as if she were diving into a pool. In a manner she was. A pool of fashion.

  I wiggled back up the doorframe, lowered my arm, and waited, eyeing my chunky heeled alligator boots in the mirror on the back of the door. When she emerged from the closet, I stumbled back in fright.

  “What are you holding?!” I gasped. She threw the jeans, button-down shirt, and loafers on the bed then fixed me with a truly awful smirk. “Where did you find those?! Oh God…those were given to me by the college student job counsel to wear to interviews. Those were supposed to be burnt. Someone find me some lighter fluid!”

  She waved a finger under my nose. “Okay, you need to stop the histrionics. Listen, no, put down that damn book of matches and listen to me!” She tugged the matches from The Pink Hippo out of my hand and shoved them into her top, right between her boobs.

  “If you think I won’t touch boobs you are greatly mistaken.”

  “Touch my tits and you’ll draw back a stump.” I lowered my hand. “Now, can we discuss this calmly?” I nodded but refused to look at the frumpy clothes on my bed. “Sullivan, you can’t go into this possible meet-up like you do all your other dates. From what you said, this guy was stunned by your brassy ways when you met.”

  “I’m not sure I’d call myself brassy. Maybe playfully cheeky.” I flashed her a winning smile. She frowned. Five fifteen a.m. was terribly ugly on her.

  “I was being kind with the word brassy.” She pointed at the humdrum pile. “If you don’t want to terrify the guy, try dressing like every other guy out there walking their dog.”

  “But Boobie, I’m not like every other guy out there. I’m me. He has to know right off if he can handle dating a force of nature.” I nodded in agreement with myself.

  “Okay I get that, and on some levels, I agree, but dude, you’re like a gaudy, bright, garish tempest at first. I know I was a little staggered when we first met. Where are my smokes?” She patted down her jammies then scowled at me. I fluttered my lashes in reply. “Look, if the guy is shy you might scare him if you unleash all your gay at him at once.”

  “But…”

  “Try the jeans, okay. And the shoes. Or hey, you have some torn jeans, right?”

  “Well, yes, because those are trendy.”

  “Right, so wear the torn jeans, the loafers, and a T-shirt. Maybe that one with the rainbow frog on it? You like that one.”

  “I do. He’s such a cute little frog.” I met her questioning look. “Okay, fine, I’ll wear my jeans and my frog shirt but I’m not sure about those shoes. What if they turn my feet straight?”

  She snorted then slapped my arm. Hard. “Can I go to bed now?”

  “Yes, of course. I need to shower and work some of that new pomade into my hair before it dries then I need to find a poncho to match my frog shirt.”

  “Good luck with that.” She patted my cheek and dove back into my bed, pulling the covers out from under Pizzy, who merely rolled along with the covers until she was spread out over Aliyah’s back like a pittie blanket.

  Forty minutes later, I was out the door with Pizazz. I was in the torn jeans, frog T-shirt, and the miserable loafers topped with a marvelous Honduran fringe poncho with green, yellow, and black stripes. My tote was yellow and had matching fringe. This was really as mediocre as I could go before I broke out in hives. We stopped at the coffee shop, got two jumbo coffees with cream and sugar on the side, and then set off for the park. As soon as I was through the gate, I let Pizzy off the leash. She dashed off, and I hustled to the bench I’d been sitting on when I had first met Mr. Sinful Lips.

  Pizazz ambled up to me as I was arranging my poncho in an alluring way, the coffees resting in a carryout tray on the bench next to me. I checked my phone for the time. I had about five minutes. There was only one other person here, an old man with a brown miniature poodle. He was sitting across from me, his chin resting on his chest, his dog snoozing by his feet, which were dressed in loafers!

  “Well fuck,” I snapped as I began recording. “I shit you not, the octogenarian gentleman over there is wearing the same kind of shoes I am. This is the last time I take fashion advice from my roomie at five in the morning. God, can you believe it?! I’ll have to compensate for my ugly old man shoes.” I sighed dramatically. “Right, so it’s close to seven in the morning on Sunday. Here I am at the dog park with my Pizzy waiting to see if my dragon master shows up or not. I’m a ball of nerves.” I brought the phone closer. “I only used a bit of moisturizer today because when I’m nervous I tend to get splotchy and greasy. I know, it’s disgusting, but what can you do about genetics? Also, I dabbed a bit of powder on my cheeks and nose, went light on the liner, and let the rest be natural. My hair is being a flyaway nightmare, so I doubled up on the Moroccan oil molding pomade.”

  My gaze left the phone when I heard the gate squeak.

  “Oh shit! He’s here. Oh shit! I hate my shoes! He’ll think my feet are heterosexual, I just know it!” I pulled in a deep breath then let it out through finely pursed lips. Then I waved at him, and he waved with a small brown bag in his hand. “First contact has been made!” I whisper-squealed into my phone. “He is so delicious. Look at those glasses. If they’re not screaming ‘Kiss me, Sullivan!’ I don’t know what is. I love swarthy men in glasses. Oh look, he’s worn a blue dress shirt! Oh. My. God. I want this man to impregnate me now. No tie, just the shirt and jeans. Yum, yum, yum. Okay, I have to go. This is private date time now. Wish me luck!”

  I shoved my phone into my tote, got to my feet, and smiled up at him as he stood before me. His dog was bouncing around like a rubber ball down by our feet. Pizazz sat beside me, squirming with excitement.

  “Hi,” I said, trying not to bedazzle him right off the bat.

  “Hi. Duane Hart.” He offered me his hand. I slid the tips of my fingers into his palm. His eyebrows arched a bit, but he shook my hand in the customary fashion instead of lifting my knuckles to his full lips to kiss them. Poor thing. I’d have to teach him about such things—after I rolled him around my bed for six or seven days filled with carnal pleasure. “The last time we met I was kind of…”

  “Discombobulated?” I offered, released his big hand and then dropped to a crouch to fuss over his dog.

  “Sort of, I guess.” I stood with his dog cradled in my arms. “I’m not usually that stupid, but you’re kind of…”

  “Magnificently resplendent?” God, I love adjectives.

  He smiled at me, and my knees went weak. Good thing I had a big man to lean into or I would have swooned. His hand found my elbow, and he righted me gently. What a gentleman! He was racking up points quickly.

  “Sure, that works. I uhm, I stopped and got us some doughnuts to go with the coffee.”

  “Then let’s sit. Can we take her off the leash and let them play? I promise Pizzy will not hurt her.” I crossed my heart as his dog wiggled to be free. “She’s been through all kinds of training and is just the sweetest little thing.”

  “She’s not all that little,” he nervously said, taking his dog from me after I held her out to him. “She’s a he by the way. Tibby is short for Tiberius.”

  “Well, that’s quite the manly name. Well then, can he play with my Princess Pizazz?” I waited patiently as he mulled it over. Worry moved across his handsome face, but in the end, he gently set Tibby down. The two dogs licked each other’s parts, sniffed loudly and without any decorum, and then set off to frolic. “There they go! She loves other animals. Dogs, cats, mice, pigeons. I know pit bulls have this stigma, but it’s really all in how they’re raised. Come, sit down.” I sat and patted the bench. He sat on the other side of the coffee—dammit. I’d wanted his thigh next to mine.

  He shifted on the bench to face me. “I have a confession to make,” Duane said as I fiddled with the tray and the coffee cups. I glanced up. Lordy his eyes were beautiful, lush dark lashes framed deep brown pools of chocolate. His glasses were stylish and hip.

  “If you’re going to tell me my shoes are ugly, don’t bother, I already know and am ashamed to my core to be seen in public with them on my feet.” I pulled the large cup free and handed it to him with care. “It’s hot, don’t burn your lips.”

  That would be criminal. Oh, but then I could kiss them and make them all better!

  I giggled at myself. Duane gave me a confused look. “Don’t mind me. I thought of something funny. So…” I wiggled around to face him, crossed a leg over a knee, and put all my attention squarely on him, “what is this confession of yours?”

  “I kind of looked you up after we met.” Oh God, the man was adorable. “My roommate…he knew you just from my description.” I smiled widely. It was nice to know people followed my vlogs and antics on the internet. “He showed me a video of you dancing. It was…amazing.” He took a sip as I blushed prettily. “No, I mean it. It was the only one though. Aren’t you dancing anymore?”

  I thought of Julian and my soul shuddered. “I still dance, it’s just hard to find time to work and try to attend all the calls for shows and have any kind of social life. I suppose I’ve gotten swept up in the monotony of the daily drudgery. Would you like to see me dance again?”

  The tips of his ears grew red. “Yeah, sure. It was really sensual.”

  I fanned my face. He chortled. “You do flatter me,” I said in my best Southern belle. “Enough about little ol’ me. Tell me about Duane.” Our dogs raced past. Tibby doing a fine job of trying to keep up with Pizzy. His little legs were blurs. His tongue was lolling out of the side of his mouth. “Look at how much fun he’s having.”

  “Yeah, he does like to run.” Duane sipped his coffee and observed his pup for a moment. I soaked in his profile. My fingers were desperate to travel over his cheekbones. “There’s not much to tell. I work as a dishwasher, come home, play video games and go to bed.”

  “With men?” I tossed out because it was a burning question that needed an answer.

  “Sometimes.” He threw me a smoldering look then kind of looked embarrassed. What a cutie. “Sometimes women.”

  “Well, as long as I have a chance,” I teased then pointed at the bag. “Got anything in there that’s not loaded with calories?”

  “A diet doughnut? Is that even a thing?” he asked as a smile danced on his lips.

  “I could eat a hole,” I said with total innocence. Duane nearly choked to death on his coffee. After I was done pounding on his back, I sat down, nudging the empty coffee tray aside so that I could snuggle my thigh to his. “So no doughnut holes in that bag then?”

  “No, no holes. I’ll split one with you. That okay?” He lifted a succulent glazed doughnut out of the bag. Oh sweet Minerva. It had been so long since I’d had a doughnut. Drool pooled in my mouth.

  “Just a small bit. Like an eighth.” I showed him a tiny space between my fingers. “I cannot have flab showing when I’m in tights or leggings. No one would hire me if I were sporting a spare tire.”

  He tore off way more than an eighth and glutton me, I ate it all and even licked off what remained on my fingers. We sat there for a while longer, talking about life and dogs, nothing too revealing or scandalous, just two men feeling each other out. I liked him. He seemed natural, smiled readily, and had a lovely sense of humor. Also, he doted on his dog. When the two canines had run themselves out, they’d come right back to us, flopped down at our feet, and fell asleep. Duane lifted Tibby from the sidewalk and cradled him like a baby. It made my heart all pitter-pattery to see.

  I was bent over a bit, legs crossed, elbows on my knees, enjoying the moment when he nudged my arm. I looked over at him.

  “I kind of have this thing that I do once in a while on Saturday nights,” he said. Tibby was sleeping soundly in his arms. “I mean, it’s not anything exciting, but me and my friends do karaoke and have a few beers. Think you might like to come along? No pressure if you have plans or a date.”

  “How cute are you?” I asked. He lifted a shoulder. “No, no date. And nothing planned aside from giving myself a deep-oil treatment but that can wait.” I ran a hand over my hair. He watched me hungrily as if he wanted to be the one touching my hair. I wiggled closer, mischief on my mind. “You might regret inviting me. I have a low tolerance for alcohol and a high appreciation of my own singing voice.”

  He lifted a hand, shuffling the Yorkie to the side for a safe hold, and gently plucked a strand of hair from my face. “I kind of doubt I’ll regret it,” he said while he rubbed my hair between his fingers as if it were delicate Oriental silk.

  I knew I sure as hell wouldn’t regret any time spent with this man. “Then it’s a date.”

  Chapter Six

  Duane

  I shot a text to my friend’s group chat.

  I’m bringing a date, please don’t embarrass me.

  I stuffed my phone back into my pocket as it buzzed, looking at myself in the bathroom mirror. Now that it was the day of the date, I was starting my typical pre-date panicking.

  Ronan shuffled into the bathroom, quite a feat considering how small it was, a huge bottle of hair gel in his hand.

  “Move, wanker, you’ve been in here for an hour,” he teased and pushed me aside. My hair was still not cooperating. I had shaved the sides down again, which wasn’t exactly rocket science, but now the top was refusing to do anything. It was a curly mess. It looked like someone sat a poodle on my head.

  “I gotta look good,” I huffed, moving so he could erect his mohawk. I was still in the shirt and jeans from this morning, which were now covered in my shaved off hair. I would have to change again.