“It’s not playtime, Mouse,” I hiss under my breath. He’s the largest dog in the room by a mile. Most of the attendees have brought in small poodle mixes, and though I’m hesitant to admit it, they look to be much easier to handle than Mouse.
I find a nice spot on the ground beside the last chair and place Mouse on my left side, away from the tiny Chihuahua currently cowering under his owner’s chair. His eyes seem to be begging for dear life, but Mouse is lying on his side, trying to get as small as possible so the puppy might start to like him. Poor Mouse; it’s hard being the size of a bear.
The Chihuahua’s owner scoots her chair away from us.
“Oh, he’s really friendly,” I promise with a smile.
And he is. For all his faults, Mouse wouldn’t hurt a fly—just his owner.
“I have no doubt,” she replies haughtily, turning her attention to the woman on her right.
Well then.
For a few minutes, I focus on Mouse and try to get him to settle down. Once he realizes we’re staying with all these other puppies for a while, he might not feel like he has to OMG meet them all right this very second. I can feel him begging me to let him go play. His big eyes stare up at me, and then he lets out a hilariously dramatic groan. I rub his belly as a consolation prize.
“Yeah, once I saw that flyer downtown, I knew I had to come to the class,” Chihuahua girl says to her friend.
“Was that the one with his photo?”
“Yes!” she replies. “It was just there at the bottom, but I saw all I needed to see.”
They both laugh, and I pretend I’m not eavesdropping.
“I heard from Cassie, who heard from Mary, that he just moved to town. Apparently he’s the new vet.”
“Oh really?” her friend asks. “Looks like I’ll be taking Moxie in for monthly—no, weekly checkups.”
Another round of annoying tittering follows, and for some reason I’m shocked that they’re talking about Adam. When he mentioned the training class yesterday, he didn’t mention he would be the one running it.
That changes things. I’m honestly not sure I would have shown up had I known, but it’s too late now because Adam is walking through the gym doors with training supplies tucked in a bag over his shoulder.
“Oh my word, he’s even better in real life,” Chihuahua girl whispers under her breath.
I decide that as soon as it’s not so obvious, I’m moving to sit at the other end of the half-circle. I can’t take much more of their commentary.
Adam spots me right away, probably because I’m the only attendee parked on the floor. I half expect him to ignore my presence altogether, but he walks straight for me. Mouse takes notice and leaps to his feet. All my effort in calming him down is out the window now that his favorite target as of late has made an appearance. Mouse jumps and whines, desperate for Adam to step within the three-foot radius his leash allows. I try to get him to sit, but it’s no use.
I’m aware of the entire room watching me try and fail to corral my dog, and yet all it takes from Adam is one deep command—“Mouse, sit.”—and the dog actually listens. Only then does Adam reward him with a few pets.
“Is that part of the training class?” I laugh. “Learning how to alter our voices so they sound more commanding?”
It’s meant to be a joke, but Adam looks up at me with an odd expression.
“Oh, I was kidding…”
He smiles. “I know. Here.”
He tosses me something and I have to think fast to catch it before it falls to my feet. I hold it out and then realize it’s two somethings: black kneepads like the kind I used to wear whenever I roller-skated as a kid.
“Oh ha-ha, looks like everyone’s a comedian,” I say, genuinely amused.
He’s wearing an adorably crooked smile when I glance back up.
“I saw them in a shop earlier and thought of you.”
Whoa.
I freeze, slightly taken aback by his admission. I guess he sees the shock on my face, because he shakes his head. “Y’know, only because of your skinned knees. Obviously you don’t have to wear them.”
The whole exchange is made a thousand times more awkward because we are still the center of the universe, AKA this small puppy training class. I don’t have to look at the women sitting beside me to feel the death glares they’re sending my way. Adam walked into class and talked to me first, and he gave me a gift, and he said he was thinking about me.
I’m almost tempted to put on the damn kneepads just to prove a point.
“Well thanks,” I say, holding them up. “Maybe I’ll go rollerblading with Mouse.”
“I’ll call the National Guard.”
As soon as Adam walk away, Mouse leaps into the air, and snatches one of the kneepads out of my hand.
“No!” I rebuke. “Bad dog!”
He drops it instantly, coating my shoes in a nice bit of slobber.
“I guess some dogs need this class more than others,” says the woman beside me. Her friend laughs, and Adam pretends he doesn’t hear them. For that, I’m grateful.
After a nod in my direction, he walks to the center of the gymnasium and offers a small wave to everyone. “I guess it’s as good a time as any to get started. We have one more attendee joining us in a bit, but we’ll go on without her.”
Oh good, another person to compete with for Adam’s attention.
The thought is there, blaring in my brain before I can stop it. Since when am I competing for his attention? If anything, I want to do the opposite. I’ve made such a complete fool of myself the last few times I’ve been around him, there’s no hope for anything but a nice, weird friendship to settle into place between us, and even that is probably asking a bit much. Still, he invited me to the training class, and he extended an olive branch in the form of kneepads, right?
“Sorry! I’m here! I’m here!”
Spiders crawl down my spine as a familiar voice drifts into the gym, and I glance up just in time to see my coworker Lori bobbing into the room, all but dragging an ancient-looking Pomeranian behind her.
Adam waves away her apologies. “No, you’re just in time. Have a seat—” He remembers that all of the chairs have already been claimed and corrects himself, “Or stand, it doesn’t matter. We’ll be moving around here in a second anyway.”
Lori sees me, narrows her eyes, and continues speed walking to the opposite end of the half-circle. I rarely see her outside of work, and the fact that she’s here means I won’t be enjoying this training class nearly as much as I’d hoped. Though, there is one bonus: Lori in civilian clothes. I’ve had the pleasure of seeing her sport some truly heinous work clothes, but tonight she’s gracing us with a hot pink Juicy Couture tracksuit à la early 2000s. Her dog, the decrepit white fluffball, is wearing a matching hot pink fur collar.
“Isn’t your dog a little old to be in here?” someone asks, trying to edge out the competition.
“Yeah, isn’t this a puppy class?” pipes in another.
Unfortunately, Adam quiets the rebellion before it really starts to spread. “In my experience, the whole can’t-teach-old-dogs-new-tricks story is just an old wives’ tale. I think everyone should be welcome here.”