due to that French bulldog in heat he’d encountered here while his balls were still intact. The canine couple had shown everyone present the true meaning of doggy style.
Jake chuckled at the memory of Trooper’s satisfied grin after dismounting the Frenchie. “Sorry, boy,” he said, gently tugging the leash. “No hot bitches for you today.”
The dog grumbled at Jake’s request to continue moving. Nothing more than the canine version of a complaint, but the guttural sound drew a distrustful glare from a passerby. Not the first time Trooper had been judged based on his appearance.
“Shit.” For all Jake knew, Candace didn’t like dogs, or worse, she feared them. Things he should’ve considered before bringing his black German Shepherd along to meet her for their first unofficial date. He issued the hand signal for Trooper to sit at the crossing, then checked his watch. Nearly ten. No time to turn back now.
Probably for the best anyway. Didn’t matter how strong his attraction to Candace was—if she hated his dog, they might as well take separate paths out of the park. Jake didn’t have many hard limits, but accepting Trooper was one of them.
Pointless to contemplate the end of a relationship that hadn’t begun. At another click of the tongue, his dog rose and padded across the path, never more than a few inches from Jake’s side.
He followed the path to the right. Past some trees and benches. Beyond the end of the sports zone. Across a section of green space. Lots of people out enjoying the sunny early-autumn day, but no sign of Candace.
A quick check of his watch showed him it was ten past ten. Maybe she’d changed her mind about meeting him. Disappointing but not surprising. The jump from “no personal contact outside the massage parlor” to “meet me at the park Saturday morning” had shocked the hell out of him. The important thing was that it’d happened, that she’d been the initiator, even if the meet-up hadn’t materialized. He’d go back to Lucky’s next week and lay more groundwork. Her no-show today was a bump, not the end of the road.
“This way,” he said to his dog.
They skirted to the right of the playground area. Halfway past the equipment, a familiar laugh caught his ear. He stopped on the spot, searching.
There—found her. Fifteen feet away, pushing a child on a swing. He couldn’t see the woman’s face fully. Didn’t need to, there was no mistaking Candace’s voice as she spoke to the child. A little girl with hair identical in color to Candace’s.
“Higher, Mommy, higher,” the girl called.
Mommy. Candace had a kid.
Jake turned away, quickly directing his dog from the area. Bailing wasn’t his style, but shit. Talk about blindsided. He’d pictured all kinds of scenarios with Candace—from filthy dirty to romantic to everyday hanging-out kind of fun. Everything he’d imagined had involved two people, not three.
He stopped near the park’s entrance and motioned for his dog to sit. If he took off like this, without talking to her, he might not get another chance. But go back to the playground and act as if her parental status and the fact that she’d withheld it were no big deal…not possible. Not without lying his face off. Something he wasn’t prepared to do. Today, or ever.
“Let’s go, boy.” Homeward bound. Best choice he could make right now. For all of them.
Jake
Jake did a visual sweep of the parking lot. Still no sign of Curtis’s vintage Mustang. For the first time in the five years Jake had known him, Lawler was late. Probably got sidetracked by his now-official, live-in girlfriend. Sara had certainly kept Curtis occupied since they got back together. Occupied in a good way, based on the smug-as-shit grin that’d rolled across Curtis’s face when Jake asked how things were going. Lucky bastard.
The double honk of a car horn caught Jake’s attention as he lifted his frosty mug of draught. He turned toward the origin of the sound, practically choking on a mouthful of beer at the sight of Curtis exiting the passenger side of Sara’s car.
“Never thought I’d see the day,” Jake called, as Curtis headed for the patio table.
Curtis narrowed his eyes as he settled on a plastic chair across from Jake. “What day’s that?”
“The day Curtis Lawler hands over the reins and rides shotgun.”
“Kiss my ass, Campbell.”
“You’re not my type.”
Curtis grunted while surveying the restaurant Jake had chosen. “This place isn’t your type either. Kinda shocked you didn’t suggest grabbing a beer at the strip