21. Who Let The Dogs Out?

21

WHO LET THE DOGS OUT?

brISTOL

K itty’s Catwalk saves the day with their last over-the-top event that turns regular people’s lives into fanfare for the rich and hungry. Lila and I are scheduled to make an appearance at an animal rescue to drive adoptions—you know, because there’s nothing people love more than cute animals. A few pictures of us outside, some adorable portraits of the furry adoptees, and there’ll be a huge buzz on social media. The kicker to all of this? Lila’s mother just so happens to be one of the employees who works there.

I’m nervous to meet her mom.

After Lila spilled all her secret beans during her post-orgasm clarity, I’ve been working extra hard to make sure she feels wanted, even though we haven’t agreed to make anything real yet. We haven’t talked about what she said—she didn’t want to have that discussion. Luckily for me, it’s pretty obvious where her doubts lie, so although a conversation would be appreciated, it’s not needed. I still have time to ensure there’s a relationship between us after this campaign. I still have time to prove to her how serious I am about her.

And I think that the only way I’ll truly understand where her fear stems from is if I ask the person who helped her grow into the wonderful woman she is today. So, yes, I’m a little scummy because I have an ulterior motive for this event, but it’s in the name of good, so that has to count for something, right?

I’ve thought about bringing up the ring soon, but she’s just… happy …right now. I’m happy right now. I don’t want to lose this feeling. It’s the first time, fuck—it’s the first time I haven’t been burdened by Summit’s absence in years .

When we pull up to the little animal rescue off the edge of the main road, there’s this pink building that sits in a glade of overgrown foliage, beckoning road-weary families with a white, scalloped awning and a giant hanging sign that advertises in cursive letters: COME MEET YOUR NEW PAL AT THE FUR-EVER FRIEND RESCUE!

A gravel pathway snakes up to the arched, window-paneled door, and it extends out to the lip of the asphalt that wraps around the tree-dotted mountainside. While there are a few buildings scattered like pit stops within these winding hills, this one looks drastically different from the rest—like a 1940s, pastel, vintage French shop plopped into the modern day.

I’ve never seen anything quite as colorful in Riverside, which makes sense as to why it’s hidden beyond the main city. It’s like a little-known secret, a getaway from the nondescript jungle of starving artists and well-off families with roomy wallets. The press has already begun swarming the entrance, causing a ruckus with their eager shouts and camera flashes—an unwelcome catalyst that nearly makes me sweat through the sophisticated button-up I’m wearing. I’m less worried about a public appearance than I am meeting Lila’s mother. Even though we’re not really together, Lila and I have been “dating” ever since this campaign launched. Her mother will probably have a ton of questions for me, assuming Lila hasn’t told her the truth.

I grab the bouquet of peonies I bought for Lila’s mom from the back seat of the car, and I open the passenger door for Lila. The sky’s a backdrop of grey since we’ve sped into the first week of December, and it’s cold enough to herald a faint drizzle of rain. Fat droplets pelt the disintegrated gravel, thin rivulets merging into a confluence where numerous shoe soles have carved out potholes in the soft, upturned earth. They shimmer like crystals atop Lila’s blown-out hair and dangle from the tips of flaxen leaves. The air up here is crisp, mind-clearing, like the first breath you take on a frosted morning right before school. It slips through my hair in light gales of wind, biting at the warmth that temporarily commandeers the color of my cheeks.

Lila’s a showstopper. I’m surprised she didn’t cause a crash on the road with how beautiful she looks right now. She’s wearing the prettiest coffee-colored, knee-length sweater dress I’ve ever seen. Her calf-high boots are suede and a rich shade of caramel, which complements the tightly curled ringlets of her hair. She’s traded high society fashion for cozy country chic, and she’s the only person I know stunning enough to pull off both. So, in short, she’s the epitome of perfection with an agenda to ruin me.

“Bristol! Lila! How have you two love birds been doing? Any trouble in paradise?”

“Lila, how proud are you of your boyfriend? Five goals last night!”

“Bristol, do you think the Reapers can win it all this year? Bring home a second Stanley Cup?”

“Lila, what other projects are you working on at the moment? Fans are dying to know!”

Even though these questions are on the tamer side, I’ll never bury my hatred for the press. I just give them a nod and a smile while I usher Lila through the door, and once we escape the tabloid tornado, aftershocks of relief catapult through my body. A cameraman from Kitty’s personnel and Ester herself joins us on the inside. When that little bell above our heads announces our arrival, I’m shock-stricken at how bright, warm, and inviting everything is.

Tons of cushy pens line the inside of the rescue, home to a myriad of dogs that all start to bark and yap, whacking the confines of their pens with their tails in frenzied excitement. Every temporary enclosure is spacious and decorated with colorful, soft bedding, a plethora of chew toys, and even a personalized food and water dish. I’ve never seen an animal shelter that looks this manicured, well-loved, humane . There’s even a main play area in the center that’s large enough for a few of them to roam around in.

Lila must’ve noticed the conflict on my face—conflict so innate that the pinch of my features is practically muscle memory.

“Are you a big animal lover?” she asks.

I crack a small smile. “I’ve been an animal lover ever since I was a kid. My family and I had this golden retriever named Rocky, and she was one of the best dogs I could’ve ever asked for. She was huge—a whopping sixty-five pounds with a fur coat like a miniature grizzly bear—and she’d always bulldoze me with kisses and headbutts whenever I’d get home from school. We did everything together; we ate, slept, played in the yard, watched television. She was my best friend.

“And she was emotionally attuned to everything I felt, you know? She was there for me more times than my friends or hockey teammates. Whenever I was sad, she’d bring me her favorite tennis ball to cheer me up, and she’d flop all over me until she made me laugh. It was impossible to be upset around her. She was my security blanket. A big, fuzzy, sometimes questionable-smelling security blanket.”

Lila’s electric-blue eyes regard me intently, and she hangs on to every word .

“She passed of old age, in my childhood home, where I got to hold her for the last time. I, uh, haven’t had a pet since her. I don’t think I could go through that grief again,” I admit.

Grief and I don’t mix well. Exhibit A: Summit. Exhibit B: the two fuckups that nearly cost me Lila.

She nods. “I understand. And I bet she’s watching over you every second of every day. I never had a pet growing up because my childhood home didn’t allow it, but I’ve always wanted one.”

“You’re willing to deal with the bad breath and the untrainable house etiquette?”

“I deal with you, don’t I?” she quips.

I’m pretty sure I’m a masochist because I can’t help but laugh. “Fair enough.”

Lila walks over to the first pen, squatting down so she can stick her hand by the front of the cage. A tiny Maltipoo comes loping out from the shadows, little tail wagging like a propeller, and equally little feet scrambling all over the place in short energy bursts. The grey fluff ball yaps, sniffing Lila’s hand and turning in circles.

I feel you, little dude. I’d react the same way if I was meeting Lila for the first time too.

“Oh, Bristol. This one’s so cute!” Lila says, eyes larger than hockey pucks while they twinkle with unconditional love.

Oh, God. Maybe this mission is going to be harder than I thought. I can never say no to Lila, and if she happens to suggest bringing along a sentient dust bunny for the road, I may not have the balls to refuse her. The guy’s adorable, obviously. Small, full of energy, can yap an ear off, eats food off the ground. That’s pretty much Fulton to a T, and Fulton plus an actual dog equals a downfall of disastrous proportions. Just looking at that miniature storm cloud makes me all warm and fuzzy inside.

While she’s speaking in tongues or pspsps-ing or whatever you want to call it, she scrunches her nose up in a cheek-plumping smile, petting the dog on its back.

Resist, Bristol. The house does not need an animal right now. It’s a zoo with six guys already.

“Lila, we’re not here to adopt a dog,” I remind her gently.

“But Bristol! Look! He likes me!” she exclaims, pointing to her now-slobbery hand.

“Are you still going to think that when he poops in your shoe before you have to leave for work?”

“I’ll just take him to work with me. Easy fix. That way he won’t get sad or lonely when I’m gone.”

I deadpan, “Uh-huh. Because modeling agencies love when you bring a pooping machine onto their set.”

Adopting a dog is a big commitment, and I’m already failing at committing myself to another person. I’m realistically not fit to be a parent right now—whether the child is hairy or not. These dudes look like they have a pretty sweet life here. Mature, responsible families will come around in no time and sweep them all up.

I don’t want to touch it. If I touch it, I’ll feel how soft it is. When I acknowledge how soft it is, I’ll fantasize about cuddling in bed with it. I don’t need to get attached, and I also won’t be reading any of their names. Rookie mistake.

Lila says a quick goodbye to her (hopefully not) fur-ever friend, wincing slightly when she rises back to a stance, and she employs the upper pen to support her.

One eyebrow hikes to my hairline. “Why are you moving like that?”

“Like what?” she asks, feigning confusion like I didn’t just see her go full granny mode and use that enclosure as a cane.

“Like you have something stuck up your ass.”

She gasps. “I don’t have anything stuck up my—I’m fine! I fell into a bush earlier and messed up my legs. ”

“Oh, sure. Okay,” I muse, nodding. I then whip my head around for added theatrics and pretend to sniff the air. “Do you smell that?”

“Smell what?”

A grin threatens my lips. “I don’t know, but it smells a bit like bullshit .”

I know why she’s walking funny, and it’s not because she fell into some vengeful vegetation. It’s because she fell…on my dick. Over and over again. All last night. The fact that she’s being shy about it only makes some sadistic part of me more turned on.

God, last night was a fucking dream. None of it felt real. I’m not a Fifty Shades kind of guy, alright? I have pretty vanilla sex in the safety of my bedroom. But taking that risk—where anyone could’ve walked in on us—and watching as she let go, fell, and trusted me enough to catch her was a night I’ll never forget. I never expected any of that from her, and even though she was wearing a fa?ade of dominance, a vestige of vulnerability had to exist for her to get there.

Lila’s cheeks stain red, and although the evidence speaks for itself, she chooses not to speak at all, walking— wobbling —past me to visit another row of dogs. She’s got her attention set on a chunky corgi whose tongue permanently lolls out of its mouth.

Since nobody is in the immediate vicinity, I step closer to her and whisper under my breath, “No shame in admitting you like things gentle, Lils.”

I’m not exaggerating when I say this—Lila turns disturbingly slowly toward me like some kind of possessed demon, and she’s got this deranged look in her eye that says, Don’t fuck with me. I know how to circumcise a man with a nail file.

“Pretty sure I proved to you just how gentle I like things.”

She’s so hot when she’s combative. That’s not a normal response. I need serious help.

Thankfully, before things escalate, a petite woman with a blonde bun comes over to us, donning a paw-stained apron, cat-eye glasses, and a genuinely enthusiastic smile on her face. She has a few wrinkles, but other than the cheerful crow’s feet by her strikingly blue eyes, she doesn’t look a day over thirty.

“Lila!” the woman says, throwing her arms around Lila in a nanosecond.

Lila squeezes her back instantly. “Mom! I’ve missed you so much.”

Ohhh. Mom.

When Ms. Perkins pulls back from her daughter, tears swish over her lower lids, fogging up her glasses before a nasally exhale clears the condensation. “Look at you!” she exclaims, staring at Lila with so much pride that I feel this twin flutter right where adoration slumbers in the chamber of my heart.

Her mother blinks the tears into a cascade, but she doesn’t wipe them away. “You look so beautiful, Lila Bean.”

Lila Bean? That’s adorable. And definitely something that’ll put me in the hospital if I ever utter those words outside of this building.

Lila fans her face to keep the tears at bay, a choked-up sniffle evolving into embarrassed laughter. “Mom, don’t embarrass me in front of?—”

Her mother immediately turns to me, rams into me, and constricts me like a python with surprisingly strong arms. “Oh, hello! Apologies, I’m a hugger!”

“Hi,” I wheeze, the bouquet of flowers getting squashed between us.

“Mom, this is Bristol. He’s my…boyfriend.” There was a deliberate pause in her sentence, and a part of me can’t help but wither a bit, buffeted by the quick—and seemingly easy—delivery of her lie. I guess telling her mother the truth could compromise the “relationship.” Only our mutual friends know what’s really going on behind the scenes .

When she finally lets me go, I try not to gulp for air. “It’s very lovely to meet you, Ms. Perki?—”

“Please, call me Janice! We’re practically family at this point.”

I hold the flowers out to her—which look like they’ve just been run over by a car—but she accepts their broken stems and flattened petals anyways, setting them for safekeeping on the front desk. “Thank you. You know, you two are quite the talk online. Lila Bean, everyone from Moreno Valley is so proud of you. Even got a message from your third-grade teacher, Mrs. Finch! She was so excited for you. Said she knew you were gonna be a big star one day.”

As I watch a mother reunite with her daughter, I realize that I don’t know anything about Lila’s childhood. We’ve never talked about it. Well… she’s never brought it up before. The only thing I know is that her piece of shit father abandoned his parental duties and fell off the face of the planet. She also mentioned to me that her mother raised her all on her own in a poor household, but that’s where the extent of my knowledge ends.

We’re closer than we’ve ever been, yet we’re still so far apart.

“Mom, you’re going to make me smear my fifty-dollar mascara.” Lila chuckles through a sob, her eyes blinking comically fast to dry the proliferation of tears. Her chest stutters, too congested to dissipate the bout of hiccups that slip out of her in cute little squeaks, and she excuses herself to the restroom to tidy up, unintentionally leaving me alone with her mother.

It was at this moment that he knew…he fucked up.

Lying to the public? Easy. Lying to the mother of the woman who I want to be with for the rest of my life? Not so easy.

So, while the ambience of dog barks fills the awkward silence, I try to keep my stomach from using my mouth as an escape route, and I wipe my now-slick palms on the back of my pants. Oh, God. I’m a terrible person. Look at me, lying to this scarily strong, four-foot-eleven woman who could fold me in half like a pancake if she ever finds out how badly I’ve treated her daughter. I’ll have to pole vault over any truth-bearing questions until Lila gets back.

On the ice, my nerves are under control; most of the time, the adrenaline cancels them out completely. But here, my nerves are like a bunch of should-be-leashed toddlers running around and wreaking havoc in the cereal aisle of a Walmart.

Considering I haven’t moved—or breathed—for a full minute, Janice catches on pretty quickly, and she cocks her head toward a pen tucked in the far back corner of the room. “Walk with me, Bristol.”

It’s half an offer and half a demand, but it’s said in this overly sweet tone that I’m not sure if I should be scared of. I acquiesce and walk with her, crossing the bulk of the open space before arriving at a pen that’s much farther from the others. It’s quieter over here, far calmer, and at first glance, I don’t think a dog is actually inside the enclosure until I get a closer look. This crusty, small, white dog is sleeping in a ball in the corner, minding its own business while the rest of its cohabitants bark and yip and paw at the bars of their cages.

“This is Alfie. He’s been here the longest—three years. He’s on the older side. He has to be around six, but we’re not really sure the exact date of his birthday. He was found on the side of the road up here, and you know how driving can get in the mountains. It was a miracle he survived at all without getting hit. When he was brought to us, there was no microchip, no collar, no nothing. I don’t know where he came from, but he must’ve been abandoned,” she explains.

“A lot of people who come looking to adopt want puppies, the more sociable dogs, the ones that look ‘cuter.’ Alfie’s a bit rough around the edges, but he has a good heart. He’s very wary of newcomers until he meets the right one, and then he’s like a totally different dog. He has his moments when things get too overwhelming, but we all have moments like that, don’t we?”

This goddamn Q-tip of a dog is about to make me burst into tears. How could someone abandon an animal so easily? How could someone abandon an animal they agreed to take care of for the rest of its life? And how could anyone make any judgments about this dog based on the slightly dirty, scruffy fluff hanging from his chin like an old man’s beard? He’s adorable. A little mangy looking, but I would be too if I was abandoned by the person who promised to love me.

Janice rubs me comfortingly on the arm, a smile still fastened to her lips. And not an I-have-to-be-nice-to-my-daughter’s-boyfriend-because-he’s-her-boyfriend smile. An authentic one—one that she would give anybody to make them feel safe, understood, welcomed.

“Alfie reminds me a lot of Lila. They’re both snappy but full of love. They’re careful with their hearts, but they’re just waiting for the right people to let them be vulnerable. Alfie’s never been picked before. Lila’s been picked by many people, but never for the right reasons. And both of my babies were abandoned by the people they thought loved them the most. They’re both an acquired taste, but that doesn’t diminish their worth.”

Fuck. Hearing that…from Lila’s own mother…is eye-opening. I know that Lila blames herself for her father’s absence. And while I’ve gotten to know her, it’s clear to me that she seeks external validation to make up for the validation she was never promised. That has to be why she models, right? Why she’s overcritical of how she looks in front of people. All she wants is to be heard, loved, wanted for who she really is deep down. She wants to be good enough for someone to stay.

And I’m the fucking idiot who should’ve told her she was from the very beginning.

Lila’s stubborn, opinionated, determined. Life hasn’t made it easy for her to trust people. I haven’t made it easy for her to trust people. But she’s also caring, considerate, sensitive. I forced that side of her to go into hiding, and little by little, she’s shown me those parts again—she’s shown them to me when I didn’t deserve to see them in the first place. I know Lila’s still contractually with me because of the campaign, but a little part of me hopes that she’ll stay with me because I’m worth saving. She hasn’t given up on me, while I’ve inadvertently given up on her twice.

I told her I’d wait for her, but I’d wait forever if she asked me to.

I can’t believe I’m thinking this in the middle of an animal rescue, but I want to have a real relationship with Lila. The campaign’s practically over anyways. I don’t want something fake. I want to make things official and tell the whole world she’s mine. I want to brag about her to everyone I meet. I want to come home to her and fall asleep next to her. I want to spend every second of every day with her. I want her to knock me on my ass and poke fun at me and be exactly who she is when she’s not trying to be somebody else. She doesn’t have to change herself—or dull herself—to be accepted by me.

She’s my best friend. She makes me want to be a better person. She always puts everyone else before herself, but she’ll never have to again, because I’m finally choosing her for the right reason. I want to spend the rest of my life listening to her snort-laughs. I want to spend the rest of my life falling over and over again into those blue eyes of hers.

I’ve been so determined to spend the rest of my life in the storm, punishing myself for events out of my control, that I hadn’t realized how close peace actually was. And now that the rain has stopped, I’m never going to let it start again.

“I’d like to adopt him,” I tell Janice, crouching down so I can get a good view of my second best friend, and that semipermanent wound on my heart is cauterized the moment Alfie opens his eyes and looks at me.

After a series of never-ending, impromptu photoshoots with us and the adoptable dogs, Kitty’s Catwalk leaves Fur-Ever Friend Rescue with one last hoorah destined to flood the internet with heart-tugging articles by midnight. It was amazing to catch up with Lila’s mother, but it was also amazing to finally see this campaign through to the end. And our jobs were only almost compromised one time! I say that’s a win.

Alfie’s going to stay at the shelter until I can get the house ready for him, buy all the necessary dog accoutrements, and debrief the guys on our new furry roommate.

Ester, with her pointed heels and disdain for anything that lives and breathes, turns toward me and Lila with a surprising expression of approval. “Ms. Perkins, you and Mr. Brenner have done an incredible job promoting this campaign. We’ve had more traffic than ever in the history of Kitty’s Catwalk. Menoulé’s completely sold out of their fragrance, and this whole fake dating ploy seems to have been the determinant in driving sales.”

Wow. I never thought I’d hear praise from Ester. And to be honest, I didn’t really think we did that good of a job, but I guess we were convincing enough.

“I’ve gotten calls from all sorts of sports companies and designer brands dying to work with the two of you. Mr. Brenner, you’re no stranger to the limelight, but Ms. Perkins, you may have just secured a long-term career for yourself in the modeling industry.”

Lila buzzes with excitement. “Thank you, Ester. For all your patience and forgiveness and understanding. ”

Ester flaps her hand indifferently, her eyes shaded by tinted sunglasses despite the cloudy forecast. “I’m used to working with my fair share of divas. Finding real talent is rare. And even though we did encounter some speed bumps, you truly have a gift, Ms. Perkins. A gift that many will try and rob you of. Don’t let that happen.”

“I won’t,” Lila says.

I stupidly think I’m in the clear when Ester looks in my direction, regarding me with…disgust? Strangely disguised admiration? “And Mr. Brenner, might I suggest a secondary job as a fashion model. You’re a hot commodity. It would be a shame to see all that hard work wasted on a silly little sport like ice hockey.”

“Um, thank you?”

After The Kitty Mobile—as I’ve named it—takes off and disappears around the mountain bend, Lila and I slowly trudge to the car exhaustedly. The press must’ve fled the scene early on, which thankfully will make pulling out of here a lot easier. I’m too drained to deal with them today. The only thing on my mind right now is getting Lila home and spilling my feelings for her. Is that a bit sabotage-y? Kind of, but I can’t wait another second to tell her how I truly feel. I can’t spend another second not being her real boyfriend.

And hell, maybe she’ll decline me in the end. Who knows! I don’t! But I’m cool. Yep. That’s totally fine. Cool as a cucumber. Cooler than cool. Ice cool, baby.

Lila yawns and stretches her arms. “It was great catching up with my mom, but I forgot how much that lady can talk.”

“Do you get to see your mom often?” I ask.

“I try to, but since my career started taking off, finding time when both of our schedules are free is nearly impossible.”

“Well, I’m glad I came along. Otherwise I would’ve missed the story about you wetting your pants in the middle of your play.”

She shoves me in the arm playfully, a fresh batch of pink tickling her cheeks. “It wasn’t my fault the teacher wouldn’t let us use the bathroom before the performance!”

I haven’t turned the engine on yet…I don’t want to. I turn to face her fully, losing myself in the infinite, star-flecked universe in her eyes, and I watch as she leans her head back to laugh. I memorize the way her eyes shut and her nose wrinkles in unadulterated bliss. And oh…that sound . That heavenly sound. That peace-bringing sound that could probably stop wars.

When she realizes I’ve been staring at her like a creep, she arches an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m just…I’m just staring at you.”

“I know. It’s weird.”

“It’s not weird. It’s…I’m admiring your beauty.”

Lila clucks her tongue. “O-kay, weirdo. Get a good look at my ‘beauty.’ This is the last time you’ll ever see me looking like I’ve splashed my face with sewer water.”

I hope it’s not the last time.

“Psh, you don’t look like that. And even if you did, you’d still be drop-dead gorgeous.”

“Mm-hm.”

Undercaffeinated and overanxious, I do everything in my power to lengthen our time together, even if that means getting into the nitty-gritty Lila will have my throat for. But I don’t care anymore. It’s worth the risk.

“Your mom told me that you started modeling as a teenager to help her with the bills. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

She prickles, as if she didn’t expect her mother to “betray” her—or for me to pick open the lock protecting her heart. “I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to keep that part of me in the past. It’s not really a time I like looking back on. ”

I know exactly what she means.

“If it’s any consolation, I think what you did is amazing. You gave up your teenage years to help bear some of the responsibility. I know middle-aged men who won’t even lift a finger to help their wives with the dishes.”

“It really wasn’t a sacrifice. I would’ve done anything for my mom. I still would,” Lila confesses, her gaze strolling along the dashboard to evade my stare, and I wish I could exorcise every last bit of her worry.

I don’t get too close, although I’d give up my entire fortune—and my left leg—to hold her right now. “You know, after my first year with the Reapers, I earned enough money to buy a house for my parents. I wanted to give back to them for all their support. God, they spent endless hours Ubering me to hockey practice. They spent their paychecks covering my gear and travel expenses. They basically dedicated their whole lives to seeing me live out my dream.”

She would never admit it, but this battle-scarred common ground that we’ve both found ourselves on feels like an unconventional home.

“I guess family’s important to the both of us.”

“Yeah, it is.”

Suddenly, sitting a console away from each other, the nerves make one last guest appearance, and my mouth goes as dry as a desert badlands. Family is what I crave, and whether Lila knows it or not, she…she’s the closest thing I have to family out here in Riverside.

“I know you were probably just going to go home after this, but would you maybe want to—you don’t have to, it’s totally fine if you’re tired and just want to go to sleep—but would you want to…”

Her patience wanes. “Bristol, I’ll pass out if you don’t get to the point sooner. ”

“Cometomyplaceandeatdinner?” I blurt out.

Lila blinks at me in surprise, totally at a loss for words—or maybe she’s trying to find the politest way to turn me down because I look like I’m one strained heartbeat away from entering cardiac arrest.

She takes a second to contemplate my offer, but finally, I receive a nonchalant, “Sure.”

OH, THANK GOD.

I don’t think I’ve stopped smiling. “That’s great! Great. Awesome. Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, actually,” she replies, strapping her seat belt across her body and wiggling into the ultimate comfort position.

I reach for my own seatbelt when my stomach breaks the silence with a loud, hungry growl that seems to go on forever before pitching into a lower whine.

“But probably not as much as you are,” she quips.

I stick the key in the ignition and turn it, waiting for the car to rumble to life and the dashboard lights to blink into existence. “In my defense, the yogurt cup I had earlier seemed filling enough.”

Lila gives me a once-over, which I definitely shouldn’t like as much as I do. “Yogurt cup? You’re huge. Shouldn’t you be drinking raw eggs and eating three steaks or something?”

“That sounds disgusting.”

She pins her eyes to my grumbling belly. “Well, your stomach sounds like it’s harboring a pissed-off grizzly bear.”

I roll my eyes, but it doesn’t cancel out the smile taking shape on my lips. “Maybe I’ll eat you before we get home.”

“Oh, Bristol. If you wanted to eat me, you should’ve just asked.”