Statues of basset hounds stood guard on either end of the door. Paintings of Dalmatians in top hats and fedoras playing cards lined two of the walls, dog treats, food, and toys were on display in every corner and crevice, and, I kid you not, “Who Let the Dogs Out” was playing overhead.
The entire back wall consisted of two large whiteboards filled with different colored ink. A calendar of sorts showed who was checking in and who was checking out and listed a detailed schedule of grooming, training, and play times.
Behind a makeshift desk, not really more than a fold out table really, sat a girl with her gaze glued to a laptop. Tufts of bleached-white hair curled out from beneath a turquoise cowboy hat, and her black studded T-shirt read, “Get in Line, Bub.”
“I’m almost done,” she said, not shifting her eyes from the screen. “The cutest Pomeranian came in for a grooming today and the owner let me video her. I’m making it look like she’s shaking it to Taylor Swift.”
Peyton bit her lip and glanced at me with an unreadable expression. “Uh, Faith, can that maybe wait a second?”
Click, click. The girl continued typing, but heaved a dramatic sigh. “Geez, where’s the fire? Something happen at school? Another failed run-in with Baseball Stud?”
Peyton choked and sputtered beside me, but Faith continued despite her distress. “I already told you what you have to do. Find out whichever locker is his, stake it out, and when that Diamond Doll floozie leaves his side, offer to be his bat girl instead.”
She giggled as she said it, wiggling her eyebrows for innuendo, and Peyton’s face blazed five shades of red. I couldn’t wipe the smile from my face if someone paid me to.
As Peyton’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, I leaned close to her ear, inhaling the intoxicating scent of sunflowers, and murmured, “I’d love it if you did that.”
My low voice must’ve carried because the clacking stopped and Faith suddenly lifted her head. When her dark eyes met mine, they widened like saucers. “Holy crap!”
Time to turn on the charm.
Best friends are vital when you’re into a girl. Knowing that, I put on the crooked smile known to make girls loopy and said, “Hi, I’m Justin.” Then, unable to help myself, I shot Peyton a sly grin and added, “Or, as someone people like to call me, Baseball Stud.”
Peyton’s eyes narrowed as she fought back a smile, and I gave her an innocent look in return. Faith watched our interaction with ever-growing delight before sending Peyton a nod of endorsement. “I completely approve.”
“Oh, no. We’re not… It’s not…” Peyton lifted her hands in the air to explain, realizing as she did so that she was still clutching one of mine. She dropped it like a hot potato. “It’s not what it looks like.”
Faith snickered. “Sure it’s not.”
Amused, I watched as Peyton smashed her lips into a hard, thin line, which only caused her friend to smirk more. The two entered that silent communication thing girls do where they hold an entire conversation in nothing but eyebrow lifts and facial expressions. After a few moments, Faith winked, Peyton exhaled, and then, they both glanced at me.
“Anyway,” Peyton said, her smile at once embarrassed and exasperated. It was adorable as hell. “I thought I’d give Justin a quick tour of the place. Is Mama in the back?”
“She’s in the salon with Buster.” Faith tipped the rim of her rhinestone cowboy hat up with a pointer finger, sizing me up one final time. “My girl was right about one thing, though. You are pure eye candy.” She shot me a playful wink as Peyton gaped beside me. Oh, this girl was fun. “You know, if you read the top ten fashion trends of the season, my views would go through the roof!”
I chuckled and shook my head. “My apologies, but the only video I do is game tape.”
Grinning, she took that in stride and said, “Let me know if you change your mind.” Then she blew Peyton a kiss and went back to her work.
When I turned to face Peyton again, I expected her to be red-faced. Embarrassed that her friend spilled so much, worried that I was going to use it against her. But she wasn’t. If anything, she appeared more confident than I’d ever seen her, shoulders back and a serene expression on her face that seemed to say, “oh well, whatcha gonna do?”
“Come back and say hello with me?”
Saying yes meant meeting her mom. Willfully doing that was the stress-ball equivalent of suggesting Coach let me squat behind the plate without a mitt. But, as I’d already established, logic flew straight out the window when I was around this girl. Especially when she looked at me like I was the answer to every question ever asked.