The Happy Ever After Playlist (The Friend Zone #2)(8)

“Nah, I’m only a pain in my own ass.”

“Oh yeah? What do you do?”

So she didn’t recognize me. That wasn’t unusual—it was also something I was working very hard to change. My luggage came around the carousel. My guitar case sat a few bags behind it. “I’m a musician.”

“Oh, one of those Hollywood types. In the biz, on tour or away filming a soundtrack for an indie movie overseas.”

She wasn’t far off. Jesus, was I really that cliché?

“Something like that. I am touring with a group. And there is a movie involved. But it’s not an indie film.”

The movie was kind of a big one, actually, but I didn’t like to throw that around. Even though that seemed to be the LA thing to do, name-dropping made me feel like an asshole.

I lifted my luggage and guitar off the moving belt. Now both hands were occupied, and I had to hold my phone to my ear with my shoulder. I needed to get through customs and catch an Uber to my hotel, which meant I should probably hang up. But instead I wandered over to the bench just inside the entrance to baggage claim and sat down, setting my guitar case on the seat next to me.

“Hmm…” she said, sounding bored now. “Everyone’s in the business here.”

She didn’t press me for more about the movie. She seemed uninterested. I was a little surprised. All Monique had cared about when I first met her was who I was and who I knew. Come to think of it, I’m not sure that ever really changed. It was refreshing to talk to someone who didn’t give a shit what I could do for their career. Frankly, I was a little sick of talking about it.

I switched the subject. “And what do you do?”

“Nothing interesting,” she said vaguely.

“How do you know I won’t think it’s interesting? You work from home and you have the time to walk five miles a day and rescue stray dogs. I’d like to know what gives you such a flexible schedule. You know, to gauge whether or not your lifestyle is conducive to dog-sitting.”

She made a noise that I imagined went with an eye roll. “I’m an artist.”

“And how is that uninteresting?”

“It just is. What I paint is uninteresting.”

“Then why paint it? Can’t you paint what you want?” I put my ankle over my knee and leaned back on the bench.

The running water shut off in the background, and she went quiet for a moment.

“What’s your website?” I asked, feeling pretty sure she wasn’t going to give it to me, but figuring I should give it a shot.

“I don’t have a website. And if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you.”

I smiled. “You’re consistent. I like that in a dog-sitter.” Then I looked at my watch. “I need to get going here.”

“Okay. Well, have a good trip, I guess.”

“Sloan? Thank you. I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you rescued Tucker and took such good care of him. And I really appreciate you watching him until I get back.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Thank you for saying thank you,” she said finally.

My lips twisted into a sideways smile. “We’ll be in touch.”





Chapter 4





Sloan





? ocean eyes | Billie Eilish


I looked at the pictures of Tucker with Jason.

Again.

I’d been ogling them since he’d sent them to me yesterday. For all the crap I gave Jason, it turned out I was the creeper.

Jason was hot. No, he was beyond hot. He was bearded, thick brown hair, sexy smile, blue eyes hot. Six-pack abs on the beach hot.

I watched a lot of crime shows, and I’d gone full forensic psychologist on the screenshot of his cell phone home page.

The time on his phone was Australia’s, so he was there, like he’d said he was.

The musician thing seemed true enough. He had a disproportionate amount of music apps. No Tinder or other hookup sites. There were Uber, Twitter, and YouTube. All the standard social media. Tons of notifications, but then he’d just landed, and he’d said he had been out of contact for a few weeks, so that made sense and actually gave his story credibility.

Overall, no glaring red flags that screamed pathological liar or mass murderer. And it was pretty adorable that Tucker was his wallpaper image.

I put a hand between Tucker’s ears and tousled his fur. “Why didn’t you tell me your dad was so handsome?” He leaned into me and let me kiss his head.

To say I was sad about losing Tucker in two weeks was the understatement of the year.

Tucker changed me. I felt good. Better than I’d felt in ages, actually. And I realized that somewhere along the line, the tiredness that comes with grief had turned into the kind that comes from inactivity and a crappy diet of caffeine and sugar.

Tucker got me moving. He gave my days purpose. And now he would be leaving me in a few weeks, and I felt panic at the thought of being alone again, like I wouldn’t know how to keep doing this new and improved me if I didn’t have him.

I had been so close to just keeping him. But after I’d hung up on Jason, I’d thought about what he’d said, that he’d been out of town and he hadn’t known Tucker was missing. I wasn’t a dog thief. If I had suspected for one second he was going back to a neglectful home, I’d have kept him and never looked back. But I couldn’t take him from someone who truly loved him.