THE CRAZY GOOD SERIES - Rachel Robinson Page 0,95

A college professor once told me that missing someone meant that you are fortunate to love someone in the first place. If you don’t miss them, you don’t love them. Some don’t get that chance. Somehow, fortunate isn’t any of the things I’m feeling.

My phone rings through the speakers of my car, scaring the ever-loving shit out of me. I slam the answer button to shut off the noise as quickly as possible.

Gretchen’s screeching voice blares out of the speakers, “Where the hell are you? I thought you’d be home by now. Was it horrible?”

I sigh. I won’t hit the green button next time. “Of course it was horrible!” I yell. Gretchen speaks to someone else, her mouth away from her phone. “Who are you talking to?” I ask.

“No one! I have to meet Benji…will you be home soon?” More whispered words and then I hear her say, “Shhhh!”

“I’m pulling on to our street now. Why do I have to be home before you leave? I don’t really want company right now. Or today. Probably not for a week or so,” I admit because, honestly, I don’t want Gretchen to organize anything in my sad, sorry honor. It’s totally something she’d do. Then I’d have to kill her in her sleep.

“Hurry up!” Gretchen snaps. She hangs up the phone. I sigh, leaning my head back on the headrest. As soon as I park, I flip down the mirror and wipe beneath my eyes in vain. I’m sure they’ll be black and smudged for a few days—especially if the freaking radio doesn’t stop scoring for the other team. I need to turn on Pandora on the get-freaking-happy station. Six months will go by in a snap if I can find things to entertain me in my spare time.

I obviously have plans to work like demon. Luckily tax season is coming up and I’ll be working crazy hours anyways. Distraction is key. Morganna told me so. I have a brief urge to call her, then decide against it. She feels like I do. She doesn’t want to talk.

I glance down to grab my phone and see a white envelope sticking out of the side of the passenger seat. My name is printed on the front in tiny capital letters. Maverick’s handwriting. Definitely not reading this until my cry fest later.

I slam my car door and hit the lock button on my key fob. My feet feel like they weigh a thousand pounds each as I trudge up the stairs and push open my front door.

Gretchen squeals and a plaintive little bark echoes the living room. “Finally!” She says rushing toward me with a tiny, and I do mean tiny, tan hairball under one arm.

My eyes are as big as marbles when she thrusts the cutest thing in the world into my arms. “What the hell is this? I mean I know it’s a Pomeranian, but why is it in our condo?” I ask. The dog wriggles in my arms and licks the salty tears off my face. Puppy breath. I melt. The dog is wearing a tiny black t-shirt.

“Maverick didn’t want you to be lonely,” Gretchen explains, looking at the dog with as much fondness as a mother would her newborn baby. “He got him from the shelter you always go to. Someone dumped a litter of Poms a few weeks ago. I’ve been hiding him at Benji’s.” Gretchen smiles wide. “I would never let you be lonely, but this way you at least have a guy sleeping in your bed every night.” She scratches the top of his head, cooing in a high voice. “What are you going to name him? I’ve been calling him Bear because he looks like a fucking teddy bear, but I’m sure you’ll be more creative,” she says. I look down, still in shock at the warm little fuzzy mess, and see that the doggy t-shirt has the words TOP GUN printed on the back of it. I laugh a little and shake my head. “The shirt was at Mav’s request. Obviously,” Gretch explains.

“Goose,” I say. “I’ll name him Goose.” I cuddle him up to my face and, amazingly, this little creature makes me feel better. Looking at him I won’t be able to forget what I mean to Maverick. “Thank you, Gretch.” I hug her, the puppy squirming between us. She pulls me in a little tighter.

“It will be okay. You’ll see. I’ve never seen a man more in love or care about a woman