Me and Brad
by Mal Olson
Smashwords Edition
COPYRIGHT © 2011 by Mal Olson
All rights reserved. No part of any of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author.
Me and Brad
Liz didn’t need a dog.
She didn’t want a dog, and no way was Jenny going to con her into taking the pound’s latest inmate.
“Dogs shed,” she pointed out to her best friend, a Humane Society volunteer. “And you have to get up early and walk a dog.” Not that the extra inch that had accumulated around her hips since Jason had betrayed her couldn’t use a little help in the calorie-burning department. But, pent up inside her were at least six more months of moping, eating chocolate for breakfast, and crying jags before she would consider herself on the road to healing. And even then, a dog didn’t fit into the picture.
“But you’re lonely, and you have to get over You Know Who sometime.”
“I will…sometime…maybe when he catches an STD and loses all of his hair.”
“Can you lose your hair from that?”
“I don’t know.” Liz curved her mouth in a half grin. “But it’d serve him right…they say time wounds all heels.” But as far as Liz’s wounds healing…“No more serious relationships for me.”
Jen cocked her eyebrow. “You need someone around.”
“I thought we weren’t going to talk about him.”
“You know what I mean. It’s been three years since your mom…”
Died. There had been no time to prepare for it. Her mom had up and died suddenly of a brain aneurysm when Liz was a senior in college. And since she had no siblings and the Gulf War had claimed her dad when she was an infant, she was alone in the world. “Some people are destined to live a solitary life.” She pasted on a smile. “It’s not so bad. You never have to host Thanksgiving dinner for a crowd.”
“Anyway,” Jenny segued as she led Liz past a row of cages holding puppies, kittens, and one with an iguana, “the dog I was telling you about is a Belgian Malinois. He’s very intelligent. Probably a veteran police dog or military animal.”
“An attack dog?” Liz stopped short. “Aren’t they vicious? Really, Jen, do you want your best friend to be ravaged in her sleep by a ferocious animal?”
Jenny laughed as they came to a stop next to the last cage in the row. A handsome but forlorn, buff-colored dog lay moping in the corner. He barely acknowledged their presence.
“There’s nothing like a pet to brighten your life and give you a sense of responsibility and purpose,” Jen said.
“You think I have no purpose in my life?”
“I think you need companionship, something to brighten your perspective.”
“I can see this guy’s a glowing ray of sunshine. Just what the doctor ordered.” Liz edged closer to the cage, eyeing his black-muzzled face resting between large paws on the bottom of the cage. “He’s kind of big isn’t he?”
“Give it a try, Liz. Just wait and see, he’ll bring happiness into your life.”
“Uh-huh…that sunny disposition’s already cheering me up. Have you tried spiking his Alpo with Prozac?”
“The vet thinks all he needs is someone to take him under their wing. Um…you know…to snap him out of his depression. We can’t really give him psychotherapy here—”
“Psychotherapy? They have that for dogs? I can’t even afford psychotherapy for myself.”
While Jenny rolled her eyes, Liz added, “You think he’s a manic depressant?”
“Psychotherapy as in stuff like the dog whisperer does. Anyway, we don’t have that option, and we’re short on space.” Jen reached down and opened the cage door, scratching the dog behind the ears. “If he becomes a problem, they’ll have to…you know.”
The dog perked one ear and glanced at Liz.
She sighed, and a twinge poked her in the stomach, a twinge she didn’t want to feel. “What’s his name?”
“I’ve been calling him Sparky.”
It was Liz’s turn to roll her eyes. “How apropos.”
“You can name him anything you want if you agree to take him,” Jenny said hopefully.
***
Half an hour later, bemoaning her ability to say “no,” Liz found herself driving home with “Brad.” She’d decided if she named the dog after a handsome movie star it might give him a lift. It certainly gave her a lift to think she’d be spending the lazy summer Friday evening—dateless Friday evening—with Brad Pitt.
She glanced over the seat. “So, Brad, how are Angie and the kids doing?”
The number one box office star’s namesake ignored the comment.
She puffed out a breath. Really, Liz, you’re going to name the dog Brad?
Fido? Rover? Benji? About as original as Spot. How about something macho like Terminator? She glanced once more at the apathetic blob curled up on the backseat of her Honda. A Terminator who couldn’t scare a kitten.
When she turned her attention back to driving, blue and red lights swirled in her rearview mirror, and a sick uneasy feeling spread across her chest. Oh, Lord, had she been speeding? She certainly hadn’t been concentrating on driving. Glaring at the dog, she said, “If I get a ticket, it’s your fault.”
He lifted his head and yawned.
***
Of course, the officer who pulled her over was wearing sunglasses like a daunting hard-nosed cop from the movies. The Camaro he drove was unmarked, but the words McCoy County Sheriff’s Department was embroidered on the patch that stretched across his thick biceps.
Thump, thump, went her heart when he leaned over and placed his clean-shaven, perfectly chiseled face in full view.
“Ma’am,” he said in a double-rich voice that flowed from full sexy lips like hot-fudge sauce oozing over Ben and Jerry’s special delight.
“Did I do something wrong, Sir?” she managed to ask.
“You were swerving a little, and you were going ten miles over the limit. May I see your driver’s license, please?” He straightened and made a note on his clipboard. She noticed a pair a handcuffs hanging from his belt. Wow, I wouldn’t mind being cuffed to him for a night or three.
A grin tilted the corner of his mouth like he knew what she was thinking, and heat surged up Liz’s neck and splotched her cheeks. When she handed over her driver’s license, he examined it a few seconds and asked, “Is this address current?”
“Yes.” And how about my phone number?
“And this car is registered to you?” He lowered his sunglasses, and met her gaze with startlingly blue eyes. His glance slid to her lips. Hers fell to his ringless left hand.
“Ah--” I think so. “Um…y-yes, it’s registered to me.”
Then, all stern and cop-like, he said, “You haven’t been drinking have you?”
“No, of course not…I just turned around for a second to check on my dog.”
Looking into the back seat, he locked his attention on the pooch, and his expression softened. Then he turned those Caribbean blue heartbreakers on Liz. Smiled again. “This’ll just take a minute while I check the registration with DOT.”
He was gone for five minutes. When he returned and handed back her driver’s license, he settled his gaze directly into her eyes. “Miss Elizabeth Jorden, is it?”
“Y—yes.” Liz to you.
“I’ll let you off with a warning this time, but take it easy, okay, Miss Jorden?”
“Thank you—I sure will—take it easy…I mean.”
Walking back to the Camaro, the deputy gave her one last glance over his shoulder.
“Woof,” came a comment from the peanut gallery. Looking longingly out the side window, watching Sheriff Yummy climb back into the squad car, Brad pranced in a circle and started whining.
“What? You like men in uniform?”
As the handsome enforcer of the law drove off, Brad continued to whine.
“Hey, he’s my X-rated fantasy, not yours. Watch it, Fido, your stay of execution is not official yet.”
Brad’s ears flattened, along with his body, as he plopped his belly on the seat, melancholia rolling off his back like a wave of fleas.
Oh, jeez, could the mutt understand her? “Just kidding, no one’s going to take you for that long walk to you-know-where. The G, A, L, L, O, W, S,” she spelled.