Worst Wingman Ever (The Improbable Meet-Cute, #2)(5)
The tire was still low. Worse than the day before.
She’d said she was single in the note she left. Maybe she was an older lady? I’d noticed a walker folded up in the back seat yesterday. Maybe she didn’t have any help, didn’t know how to put air in a tire? The car had to have sensors. It was a new model, she had to know it was leaking.
I should have left a note.
I told myself I’d look for the car when I got there later to see if the tire had been fixed yet. It was bugging me. But for now, I had to deal with my real job.
This morning, someone called to tell me there was a bad smell coming from the apartment across from theirs. The tenant wasn’t answering calls, and their rent was overdue.
I was pretty sure it was going to be another body, especially when I opened the door and the stink rolled out.
“Hello?” I called again, breathing into my elbow. It echoed off the walls.
I flicked on the light. The unit was empty. At least what I could see of it from the door. A little bit of trash, but no furniture.
I let myself in and started looking around. It took me about five seconds to figure out what the problem was. The smell was coming from the fridge. It was unplugged and everything in it was rotten. I gagged on the stench I released, opening it. I’d have to tape it shut and take it to the dump. I was unlocking the sliding glass door to air out the room when I heard the noise from the bedroom. A low whimpering.
I poked my head in the door.
There, in the middle of the floor in a wire crate, was a dog.
Four hours later, I sat on my sofa, elbows on my knees, looking at the puppy while he chewed on a rolled-up, frozen rag I’d made him, stuffed with beef jerky.
He was a Lab mix. Black with a white spot on his chest, floppy ears, maybe six months old, tops. He’d been caked in poop, with urine burns on his paws. It took me a solid hour to scrub him clean, but once I did, besides being hungry and thirsty, he was in good shape.
What the hell was wrong with people? Who could do something like that, abandon a living creature to die? I filed a police report, but I doubted anything would come of it.
And now I had a dog.
I’d always wanted one, but Brenda hated animals.
I scoffed internally.
We’d dated for three years. We’d been house hunting, talking about marriage, looking at rings. Then out of nowhere, she announced she was moving to Japan.
It wasn’t entirely out of left field. She spoke the language and had family there. She’d been offered a teaching job. She wanted to go, she felt it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience that she couldn’t pass up. I was willing to go with her. That’s what you do, right? When you find love, you follow it.
Except she wanted to go alone.
Found out later that she’d met someone online and she was moving there to be with him.
At the time I’d been devastated. I couldn’t even get out of bed. Frank helped me move. Let me stay with him until I got the place and job I had now.
There was a time when I thought I would never get over it. But after a few months of thinking about it, I kept coming back to the same thing.
Who doesn’t like dogs?
Honestly. I mean, it’s one thing if you’ve had a bad experience or you’re allergic or they don’t fit your lifestyle or something. That, I get. But who sees a puppy and doesn’t want to play with it? That was Brenda.
There was something fundamentally wrong there. Some red flag that had been waving that I was too in love to see. I’d dodged a bullet, I saw that now. But regardless of my new, healthier state of mind around my breakup, my life was still sort of . . . off.
My apartment was depressing. I didn’t have the time or drive to decorate and furnish it. I preferred to build my own stuff or refurbish things, and I just didn’t have the motivation to do it. I wasn’t dating. I didn’t have the motivation for that either.
Maybe I just needed to get my feet under me. Get used to the job, get through Frank’s to-do list. I’d have more time when that was done.
Speaking of Frank . . . I looked at my watch. I had to head over there.
When I got to the parking garage, I looked for the white Honda. Found it.
The back tire was flat.
I blew out a long breath.
I put the truck in Park and looked at the dog in the passenger seat. “Well, looks like today I’m going to show you how to use a compressor.”
Holly
CHAPTER 5
When I came out at 8:15 p.m., there was another note on my windshield. It was written on the back of a brown paper bag from a pet supply store. I took it and sat in the car to read it.
Hey, it’s me again, worst wingman guy.
I noticed your back right tire was a little low the other day. I figured you’d get the sensor alert and put air in it, but it was lower yesterday. I told myself if it was still low today, I’d leave you a note, but then when I got to the parking garage, it was flat. I felt bad for not saying something sooner, so I went and got my compressor and put air in your tire. I think you might have run over a nail. You should be able to get to a tire store now, but it’ll keep leaking if you don’t get it fixed. Also, I’m realizing how completely unhinged this long note on this bag looks, but this was the only paper I had in my truck. I’m done touching your car now without your permission lol. Have a nice day. P.S. Seriously, please get it fixed, it’s giving me anxiety.