He gathered up his items and change before turning fully toward her. “Let’s just say I’m not a doodle kind of guy.”
It didn’t take effort to process that bit of macho attitude. No doubt a poodle mix was too cuddly for his image.
She offered him a sly look. “Too much dog for you?”
He slanted a stare-down at her that made her vividly aware of the six-inch difference in their heights. Did he have to make everything a contest? Yes. Probably. Because he could so easily win. Walking intimidation.
She held on to her smile. “Come on, Mr. Battise. Sam’s so well trained, a two-year-old could handle her.”
“Do I look like a toddler to you?”
What he looked like was a man-sized helping of trouble for a woman with too much imagination, and too little opportunity to exercise it. But he wasn’t offering her a chance to dance. The back off sign was bright in his gaze.
He slid on his shades, finishing the impression that he was barricaded behind his cap and beard. “Give the dog to someone who needs her.”
Jori quickly recalibrated. Kelli wouldn’t be happy if she didn’t at least try to dissuade him from that action.
As he moved toward the exit, she fell into step beside him. “If Samantha’s not behaving, I can sort her out for you. You wouldn’t be the first client who hasn’t had a dog before. You’ll get the hang of it.”
Instead of stepping through as the automatic doors whooshed open, he paused and looked down, his stare zeroing in on her ninety-nine-cent flip-flops. One was neon green, the other bubble-gum pink. Each sported colorful plastic flowers over the big toe.
Some emotion rounded his cheeks above his tangle of beard as his gaze rose quickly up her bare legs and torso to her face. “What do you get out of bossing grown men around?”
The question was meant to back her off but Jori absorbed it with a blink. “What I get is results, Mr. Battise. See you later.”
She moved first through the exit.
“Nice butt.”
He said the words so softly she wondered if he meant her to hear him. She turned around, eyes narrowed. “In your dreams, Mr. Battise.”
“All the time.” He smiled then, the first time she’d seen anything like humor in his expression.
She turned and put one flip-flop in front of the other, ignoring the slapping sounds they made as she moved out across the parking lot. But she was smiling.
Yep. He held in check more force of personality than most men possessed. The reason she was sweating was entirely her own fault. Battise was hot. All he had to do was appear and she was all sweaty slut in heat. At least she had good taste. Battise was prime slut muffin material.
But not a nice man. He was rude, and curt, and condescending. And he was probably troll-ugly beneath that beard. Yeah, gorgeous body but a weak chin, buck teeth, and pizza-textured skin from years of bad acne, or steroid abuse, or both. He probably lived in a room that smelled of stinky socks and sweaty balls. That’s why he was so rude. He knew women were turned off by his—
“Oh hell!” Jori laughed out loud. He’d be gorgeous without a head. And he didn’t smell. Well, only of fresh sweat. She was just annoyed that he didn’t seem to find her, despite his comment, attractive. His pupils never dilated when he looked at her.
Jori caught her reflection in a passing car window and gulped. With her non-matching flip-flops, bed-head braid, and homemade cutoffs, what was there not to like?
The November breeze made gooseflesh of her thighs as she hurried across the parking lot. Yet the sun rising clear and bright through the remaining autumn leaves promised a true warm Indian summer day.
Once behind the wheel of her vehicle, two thoughts struck Jori. One, she couldn’t really afford the pig-in-a-blanket she was about to devour. And two, Samantha hadn’t been with Battise. Service dogs were supposed to go everywhere with their owners.
She looked up and saw Battise standing next to a truck several yards away. It was an F-150 Super Cab with a narrow second row of seats. Painted a no-nonsense gunmetal without trim work or even a bumper sticker, it reminded her of its owner: big, practical, yet impressive. Samantha had poked her muzzle through the open space in the passenger window and was watching him eat his cruller. As she watched, he offered the dog a bite. Samantha wolfed down the entire remains of the fried dough in a single gulp.
“Huh.” Jori sat back and unwrapped her own meal. Not good canine nutrition but at least Battise was interacting with his dog.