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“Don’t laugh. It’s not funny.”
“It most certainly is funny,” Brooke said as she cleaned Jack’s ears. They were in one of Brooke’s grooming rooms at Pawlish, her pet grooming service in the Lower East Side. She cupped Jack’s face and pursed her lips. “He’s a big studmuffin,” she said in a cutesy baby voice. Jack made a deep rumbling noise in his chest, and Brooke burst into laughter again. “He’s a big, lovable, studly studmuffin.”
“Stop it,” Callie said, but she, too, couldn’t contain her mirth, and rubbed Jack’s head affectionately. “Don’t encourage him. He’s in enough trouble.”
“What did your parents say?” Brooke said with another chuckle.
She tried to keep from flinching at that. “I haven’t told them yet. We’re driving out to Harrison this afternoon so I can break the news and they can look Jill over.”
“We?” Brooke frowned.
“That’s right, but the trip is totally about breaking it to my parents. I think once they see Jill, they’ll be okay with it. It’s not like Owen tried to steal Jack’s…ah…pedigree.”
Brooke snickered. “No, he obviously is clueless about females.”
“Female dogs, anyway. He’s not clueless about females at all.”
Brooke took a brush from the grooming counter and paused. “Oh, no. What happened?”
“Just a stunning gypsy goddess, who showed up when we were talking in the hall after Jill soared over the sofa like an Olympic hurdler in an attempt to get to her studmuffin.” Jack’s ear pricked at the mention of Jill’s name.
“You sound jealous and miffed. I thought you were going to steer clear of this guy. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
“I was, then Jack had his way with Jill, and—lo and behold!—we’re connected by puppies.”
Brooke gave her a sidelong glance, her eyes sparkling as she efficiently whisked the brush through Jack’s glossy coat.
“I will,” Callie insisted. “Stay away from him, I mean.”
“Uh huh.
“Stop being your skeptical self for one minute. I promise to think of your stern look every time I feel any attraction to Owen. That should kill it stone dead.”
Brooke raised a brow.
“Does that make you feel better?”
She set the brush down and kissed Jack on the bridge of his black and white nose. “Marginally. But, seriously, Callie. We both know he’s not the man for you. We’ve discussed the kind of relationship you want.”
“Yes, I know, but Owen is exciting and handsome.”
“Right, but that’s not everything.”
It was Callie’s turn to give Brooke the sidelong glance.
“Okay, it’s something. But you wanted to be more practical. We’re not exactly young, hip city girls anymore.”
“I’m not sure I ever was, but I see your point. Mature business owners like us have to be smart. It’s pretty clear that Owen is commitment-phobic.”
“There you go. Good for the sprint, but lousy for the long haul.” Brooke glanced at her watch. “Do you have time for lunch?”
“Something light. My mom is making peach cobbler.”
Brooke groaned. “I wish I had my afternoon free. I’d go with you.”
“How about I bring some back for you?”
“I knew there was a really good reason we were friends.”
Two hours later Callie sat at the curb in her lime green Jeep Sahara and waited for Owen. She’d already strapped Jack into his doggy seatbelt, folded the seat down so that the two Danes would have plenty of room, and removed the roof panels above the driver’s and passenger’s side. The day was full of sunshine and warm for October in New York. Orange, red, and yellow leaves rustled in the breeze.
Owen emerged with Jill on a leash. Jack got agitated the moment he saw her. “Keep your pants on, Jack. She’ll be here in a second.”
Owen opened the back door and the dogs greeted each other happily. “Settle down,” Callie ordered, and Jack folded down on the seat. Owen strapped his excited dog into her restraint, and when she immediately obeyed his firm command for her to sit he turned and beamed at Callie like a proud papa.
When the passenger side door opened, Callie got the full impact of Owen. He was dressed in beautifully made but more conservative clothes than usual—in deference to her parents, probably. He also smelled delicious. The idea that he might want to impress her parents made her feel that maybe Owen wasn’t as arrogant as the press implied. He smiled as he settled into the seat.
His dark hair was spiked, and he wore a navy blue crewneck sweater over a white polo, the sleeves pushed up his muscled forearms. His pants were slim-fit grey, a light summer-weight wool, and his shoes a high-shine black oxford with a contemporary blue sole. He looked sharp and successful.
“This is a crazy color for a Jeep, but it suits you.”
“What? Its sportiness?”
“Yes, you have that fresh, girl-next-door, tomboy thing going.” His voice dropped an octave and his eyes traveled over her from the baseball cap on her head to the tight denim encasing her thighs, to the brown cowboy boots on her feet.
Her pulse kicked up a notch. Coming from any other man, the tomboy remark might have offended her, but from Owen it sounded like he found her sexy just the way she was. “I hope that was a compliment.”
Owen’s smile came slowly. “It was meant as one. I can’t say I’ve met anyone like you before.”
That gave her a big boost. “I’m one of a kind,” she quipped to lessen the escalating tension.
“That’s the problem,” he said softly as he sat back in his seat. She pondered that for a moment, decided it was a powder keg that was best left unlit, and put the Sahara in drive.