Take a Chance On Me

Chapter 5 Macho Man

She would come through for him one last time, he just knew it. Emma wasn't the kind of woman to let a piece of paper stand in the way of basic decency. When she brought up divorce for the first time, she said she would always love him. He remembered how her statement made him laugh at the time, considering the context.

Well, he wasn't laughing today. It better be true, because this was the end of the road for him-and maybe for Emma. The truth was, he was running out of options.

Aaron pushed up on the bridge of his Ralph Lauren shades and checked his gas gauge. He hoped to God she had some cash on her because he needed to fill the tank before heading back to Annapolis, and as they both knew, his credit cards-the ones that hadn't already been confiscated-weren't worth shit these days.

He sighed and cranked up the volume on his CD player. How long had it been since he'd been out to Beckett's farm? God-he couldn't remember, but he didn't think there were this many houses around the last time. The new developments were sprouting out of the ground like fields of giant McMansion mushrooms.

Aaron wondered how long it would be before some developer approached the old guy with a big wad of cash for his land. He wondered how he might be able to get his hands on a piece of that wad.

It would be nice to see Beck today if he was around. He could be a pretty amusing geezer-when he wasn't jumping on Aaron's ass about how he treated Emma.

Aaron caught a glimpse of the farmhouse down the hill off to the left. True, it was a pretty place, surrounded by green and gold waves of farmland, but he'd almost fallen off his chair when Emma informed him she was leaving their Columbia townhouse to live out here with her dad.

He supposed she could live wherever she wanted, but damn-this place was in the middle of nowhere and a good half-hour from the clinic.

So what? It was her life now-hers and Leelee's. Aaron smiled and shook his head. He couldn't get over how that crazy Becca just went and got herself killed and dumped her kid in Emma's lap. Unbelievable.

But there were a lot of unbelievable things about Becca, if he recalled correctly. Emma would croak if she ever found out what had happened the first summer they went out to visit Becca in L.A. But it would always stay his and Becca's dirty little secret, wouldn't it?

Aaron smiled to himself. Oh, yes, he knew firsthand that Becca never put much stock in the whole concept of "safe sex," so it came as no surprise that she'd died giving some sitcom actor such a great blow-job that he infarcted and drove his Jaguar into a canyon. He'd noted the poetic justice of that to Emma at the time, but she didn't laugh.

He turned into the lane and immediately winced. The loose gravel was pinging off the sides of the car, which he'd spent six hundred to repaint and detail only four months ago. Shit!

It hardly mattered, he supposed. If Emma didn't come through for him today, he wouldn't need the car where he was headed. He didn't think you were allowed to bring personal belongings to hell, anyway.

Damn. Why did everybody assume that because he had that "doctor" label in front of his name that he had money, but just didn't want to part with it?

Nothing could be further from the truth.

Gretchen left him last week. She said she'd expected more from him-more attention, more gifts, more, more, more. What was he supposed to do? He was in a stranglehold of debt from setting up his solo practice. He was behind on his business insurance payments, his mortgage on the building, his student loans, even the goddamn utility bills! The sad truth was that Gretchen had been keeping them afloat for many months. It must have just dawned on her a week ago. The way it had once dawned on Emma.

It was probably better for Gretchen that she left when she did. It wouldn't have been much longer before those bastards would've tried to use her as a bargaining chip.

It made him nauseous to think of the night the ugly one lay in wait for him outside the office. That piece of scum popped him in the eye, then thrust some kind of knife under his chin and told him to pay up or die.

He'd heard it all before. But the guy had been so convincing that night that Aaron pissed himself.

He reached the end of the long driveway and could see into the open barn door to Emma. She was moving in a golden spill of sunlight, stacking hay bales up against the aisle, dust and hay swirling around her, and she looked like some kind of heavenly apparition.

Aaron grinned-there were a few pieces of hay in her hair. She looked flushed and pretty the way she always did, an uncomplicated, undemanding kind of pretty. Not like Gretchen-good God, that woman was one wild female. Hot and sleek and always dressed to bring a man to his knees.

He kind of missed her. Emma, not Gretchen. Watching her stand there frowning at him made him laugh. In fact, he missed Emma so much that sometimes he would lie in bed at night and try to conjure up that certain way she smelled-like a breeze through a field of wildflowers. He'd never been able to get it quite right in his imagination.

He felt bad for what had happened, he really did.

But it was good to be free.

Now if he could just catch a break-just one-he was sure he could turn this whole fucking mess around.

Emma tossed the last hay bale on the pile as she heard the rumble of a car engine and the crackle of gravel beneath tires. She'd recognize the sound of that car anytime, anywhere. How many nights had she lain awake waiting to hear it?

Aaron was here. And she bet she knew why.

Emma stepped from the cool shade of the barn into the early evening sun, placing a gloved hand over her brow to shield her eyes.

"How's it going, Em?"

He leaned against his precious Datsun 280 Z, his ankles crossed casually, his thumbs hooked in his jeans pockets, that lazy smile spreading across his handsome face. Emma's heart did a leap off the high dive at the sight of him, then she felt it sink to the bottom with a thud.

Like always.

"What's the problem, Aaron?"

"Can't I just come see you every once in a while?" Aaron pushed off from the antique black sports car and took a few steps toward her, his dark eyes shimmering, his head cocked to the side seductively.

Yes, Aaron was handsome. And no, she wasn't going to succumb to his charm today, or any other day.

"The answer to whatever you're going to ask me is no way in hell." She turned and went back inside the barn, hoping he wouldn't follow her.

Emma needed a moment to deal with the cruel mix of desire, anger, and gut-wrenching sadness that came with seeing Aaron. She took note that there was more anger than anything else this time, and hoped it was a sign of progress.

She removed Vesta's nylon halter and lead from a peg, then pushed back the door to the last stall on the left.

"Come on, girl, let's get some evening air. Bud needs some company." Emma tried to touch the horse but Vesta snorted and tossed her head with uneasiness, keeping a wary eye on Aaron's progress down the center aisle of the barn.

"He's not going to hurt you, baby," Emma whispered, watching Aaron lean back against the rough wooden wall and grin at her. Emma wondered who she was trying to reassure-the horse or herself.

His black eyes locked on hers. He seemed to be measuring the situation, planning his attack.

"You're looking good, Em. Have you lost weight?"

Emma's entire body jerked with the loaded words and she turned away. Aaron knew just how to get to her-he always had. She tried to ignore how much the remark hurt, but her heart was beating hard and fast and it was obvious he'd hit his mark.

"Not that you really needed to. I swear you get more beautiful with each year."

She said nothing, and clipped the lead to the halter.

"It looks like Vesta is really coming along." He flashed her a white-toothed, movie-star smile. "You never give up, do you, Em? The eternal optimist."

Emma hissed with disgust. "Oh, that's me, all right." She brought the skittish horse out into the aisle, nearly trampling Aaron's toes in the process.

"Is she doing any better with her phobias? What have you got her on? Cyproheptadine? Have you taken her off grain?"

Emma ignored the shoptalk and led the Thoroughbred out the barn door and toward the east pasture gate. Aaron was by her side in an instant.

"Looks like you've worked miracles with her, actually. Most abused track horses don't bounce back this good." He shrugged. "But then, you know that."

Emma looked out on the gently rolling land to avoid searching Aaron's expression for signs of sincerity. She didn't care whether he was sincere, she reminded herself. It was obvious what he was really after.

"I don't have any money to give you." Emma tried to sound matter-of-fact, not letting on how much he could still hurt her. "And that box of your stuff is still at the office. If you don't come get it in the next couple of days, I'm throwing it out."

"I'll come get it."

"That's what you've been saying for a year."

She unclasped the chain on the green metal gate and led the horse to the field. Vesta began to fidget at the prospect of freedom, and she pawed at the ground and excitedly tossed her head, making Emma dance around in her effort to unsnap the lead. The instant she was free, the horse bolted, her dark, shiny form racing down the fence line, her head lowered, her mane and tail flying.

"That is one fine animal," Aaron said with a hushed voice. "She really lets you ride her? God, I'd like to see that."

Aaron nodded toward the Quarter Horse in the adjoining field. "And how's the Bud Man doing?"

Emma yanked the chain closed, then looped the lead around her wrist as she headed back to the barn, ignoring him

"I only need about eight hundred," he said, falling in step with her. "And I can pay you back next week, I swear to God."

They'd reached the barn door and Emma walked ahead of him into the dimness, pretending she hadn't heard him. But she had, and her blood was hammering against her skin and she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to kill him!

In all their time together-through the other women and the debt-she'd never been more disgusted with Aaron than she was at that very instant. Maybe signing the divorce papers earlier that week had given her permission to feel everything she'd ever wanted to feel, in a way she never dared when she carried the title of "wife."

There was nothing to salvage anymore. No reason to pretend it could still be all right.

Aaron's hand went to her shoulder.

"Don't you dare touch me!" She spun around.

Aaron took a step back. "Hey, wait a-"

"I wouldn't give you a dime if I were the richest woman on earth! God, Aaron, thanks to you, I'm barely keeping the clinic doors open! I can't believe you've got the gonads to come out here and ask me to bail you out again!"

"Hey, c'mon, Em, settle down. We can talk about-"

"We're not going to talk about anything!" Emma stomped her foot and looked around the barn in desperation, trying not to completely lose it. She took a big breath. "We're divorced. Does this ring a bell? I am your ex-wife, Aaron. You are no longer my problem and I don't give a damn what unbelievably stupid thing you've done this time because it has nothing to do with me. Are we clear on this?"

Aaron shoved his hands in his pockets and looked contrite. "It was a parlay and it was one of those fluke things. It wasn't my fault."

Emma threw up her hands, the lead line snapping in the air. "My God! It's never your fault, is it? It's always somebody else's fault, somebody else's screwup-never your responsibility for making such dumb-ass decisions in the first place!" She felt the tears building and fought hard against them. She would not let him see her cry.

She turned away and hung the rope on its peg, then took several calming breaths before she had the courage to look him in the face.

Aaron Kramer had been a good vet. He could be sweet and witty and fun. Emma had loved him so much, for so long, that she could hardly remember a time when he wasn't at the center of her life.

They'd had their minor differences in opinion through the years, but Emma and Aaron had always shared the same basic philosophy about life and work. But that day about a year ago, the day Aaron lost his cool with a patient, was the end for them.

He'd screamed at an owner-told her right to her face that she was more fucked up than her crazy dog-and suggested she be the one euthanized instead of the animal. The owner ran crying from the practice. The dog was destroyed later that day over Emma's protests.

And Emma suddenly knew that Aaron was a lost cause. That he was beyond her help. That her love no longer made enough difference. It was then that she saw him as two entirely different people. One Aaron was kind and brilliant and loving. The other was so twisted up in his addictions that he no longer even pretended to carry out his duty to care for people and their pets, let alone his duty to her. All that mattered was the rush, the thrill, the sickness.

That day, she knew that Aaron was going down-and she refused to go down with him.

Emma studied him now, in need of a shave and obviously tired, and did the only thing she knew would ever help. "You have an illness, Aaron," she said.

He shut his eyes and groaned.

"You're a brilliant, caring man in so many ways and you've worked so hard to get where you are-I know because I was right there at your side the whole way, remember? But you're going to lose everything." She sighed heavily. "God, Aaron, you need help again, another inpatient program. Please get some help."

His eyes flew open and he laughed bitterly. "What I need is a thousand dollars, not another fucking lecture from you."

Emma let go with a sharp laugh of her own. "It was eight hundred just a minute ago-is the interest accruing that fast?"

Aaron rubbed his eyes. "I meant to say a thousand."

"Get out of here. Leave."

"Emma, listen. It's bad this time. Believe me. I'm in trouble." He grabbed her hard around the upper arms. "Please. You've got to help me."

"I said don't touch me!" She shoved her hands flat against his chest until he let go. "I've had an unbelievably shitty day-a shitty week, in fact, that happened to include finalizing our divorce-and I refuse to let you do this to me! Get out of here!"

Right then Emma felt a nudging against the outside of her leg. Ray was there at her side, probably drawn by the raised voices. She watched Aaron's deep brown eyes flicker toward the dog, then return to her face. His expression was now flat, an indication that he'd decided to drop the charm routine.

"You owe it to me," he said.

"I don't owe you a freaking thing!" Her mouth opened in astonishment. "You are something else, Kramer."

"Just one last time."

Emma felt a wave of failure and loss wash over her, so black and airless that she nearly drowned in it. It took every bit of strength she had to put an end to the encounter. She squared her shoulders.

"I'll give you one last deal, Aaron. Take it or leave it. I won't call in all your outstanding IOUs if you leave right now and swear you'll never come back. I don't ever want to see you again. That's worth ten thousand to me, easy."

Aaron said nothing, just glared at her a moment before he turned back to his car. He opened the door and began to lower himself inside but stopped. He turned to her, and cocked his head.

"You have no idea what you've just done," he whispered, the corners of his mouth turning down, trembling. "Take good care, Emma."

The big engine rumbled awake and she watched him race down the lane, an angry cloud of gravel and dust spewing into the air behind him.

Emma stood without moving for a long while, feeling the numbness spread to her limbs, her heart. Then she walked toward the east pasture, folded her arms along the fence, and propped a foot on the lower rail.

The warmth of the evening sun hit her back, and for a moment it felt like somebody was stroking the tension out of her shoulders, like someone's gentle caress. But it was her imagination, and it made her feel so alone.

Right then, it all came crashing down on her-the scene with Leelee that morning, the shameful sting of Thomas Tobin's rejection, and now Aaron's latest attempt to use her. It was too much, and it squeezed powerfully at her chest, wrung out her heart, and she started to cry.

Emma turned her head and rested her cheek on her folded arms. She felt the tears run downhill and tickle her wrist.

Here she was trying to show a young girl how to successfully deal with life, when she'd totally screwed up her own! Who in the world said she was fit to be a mother? Why was it that she had to pass a grueling three-day board examination before she could care for a Schnauzer yet didn't have to demonstrate any aptitude whatsoever to hold the life of a human child in her hands?

Emma swallowed back a sob and shook her head. The look in Leelee's eyes that morning had been such a raw mix of fear and vulnerability that it nearly broke Emma's heart. She knew all too well how it felt to grow up without your mother there to guide you. It was scary as hell. And she didn't have any magic answers for Leelee. In fact, Emma was quite aware she had no idea what she was doing-she was making it up as she went along.

She sniffled and turned over onto the other cheek, blinking back another round of tears.

Then there was Thomas Tobin. How stupid could she have been? It amazed her that she'd actually thought there was something special about that man, that there had been a connection between them. How had she made the mistake of thinking he was interested in her?

The truth was that he was a conflicted jerk and she didn't want anything more to do with him-not that she'd been given much of a choice in the matter.

She knew that at the core of it, the Thomas Tobin two-step was nothing but a typical case of fear-based aggression. In her mind, she pictured him as a big yellow Lab who'd been teased and hurt one time too many, who'd turned mean in an attempt to protect himself.

He had all the classic signs. He answered many of her questions in an indirect manner. He limited his eye contact. He tried not to reveal emotion. He was uncomfortable with physical contact. And he tried to puff himself up with all that stupid macho rugby garbage in an attempt to insulate himself from future hurt. It was his way of saying to the world, "Back off! You really don't want to mess with me!"

Issues? You bet your ass he had issues!

On Monday, she'd have Velvet transfer Hairy's follow-up care to someone else.

She wiped her eyes and thought of that little dog. Poor Hairy. Of all the animal's problems, the biggest was that he was now owned by an emotionally impaired idiot.

Emma straightened up and looked down at herself-a few pieces of hay clung to the old denim shirt straining at her ample chest. Dirt smudged the thighs of her jeans. Horse manure was packed into the thick treads of her barn boots. She laughed out loud at her own foolishness-whyof course Thomas Tobin found you attractive, Miss Horse Offal! How could any man resist such beauty, such panache!

Such a joke!

The ground rumbled beneath her feet and Emma looked up to see Vesta racing toward her, all glossy muscle, speed, and fire. She stopped at the fence, snorted and tossed her head.

Vesta stayed long enough to let Emma briefly stroke the white blaze between her huge, dark eyes. Then she was off again.

As Emma watched the horse, she took a deep breath and made a promise to herself. From here on out, she wasn't going to waste another minute worrying about why she couldn't find a good man to love. Instead, she was going to be like Vesta, and just appreciate having the pasture all to herself, the wind in her hair, making the trip under her own power.

If the right man never materialized, so be it.

And if-miracle of miracles!-he showed up on her doorstep someday, her heart would know him in an instant. He'd be normal. Honest. Kind. He wouldn't lead her on or try to use her to support his bad habits. He'd be sweet to her. He'd love her just the way she was. He'd respect her.

Emma decided right then that she'd waste no more energy pining for some man to sweep her off her feet-because clearly, once the sweeping part was over she'd end up sprawled on her butt!

She watched Vesta out in the middle of the field, still cavorting and throwing her head in joy. It made her smile to think that maybe she had worked miracles with that horse.

Maybe she could do the same with her own life. Maybe she really was an eternal optimist.

Damn, he felt like a senior citizen tonight. He'd done a number on his left knee in the serum. His lower back and neck were killing him. And he'd smashed up his left hand something fierce. If he wasn't careful they really would be carrying him off the pitch in a body bag, and soon.

Hairy tugged at the leash as he sniffed eagerly around the base of a newspaper box. Thomas gave a few nervous glances around the street. He couldn't believe he was walking down a public sidewalk with a dog in a sweater. Dear God, there couldn't be a single thing more humiliating in this entire world.

Unless, of course, Hairy had been out here in his maxi pad. Thomas sighed. Walking around the house with that thing tied around his waist, Hairy had looked like a-well, he'd looked like an ugly dog in a Kotex. Thomas had laughed his ass off at first, but soon discovered the crazy scheme had saved him about three cleanup jobs in one evening alone.

Emma had been right.

Thomas suddenly groaned in discomfort and stopped to press a hand into the small of his back while he stretched, giving Hairy just enough time to skitter around in circles and tangle the leash around his ankle.

"Damn, Hairy. What have you done now?" Thomas reached down to unravel the mess and a hot streak of pain raced up his back. He was locked up. He couldn't move. Un-fucking-believable.

"Are you all right, young man?"

Thomas raised his eyes to see the familiar face of the elderly lady from three doors down. He had no idea what her name was-he'd never said a word to her. Obviously, that was about to change.

"Fine, ma'am. Just a little stiff."

"Well, I certainly know all about that." She made several "tsk tsk" sounds with her tongue. "Sometimes you just have to jerk up real quick and face the pain." She gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder. "I'll give you the number for my chiropractor, Dr. Feldman. He's wonderful. He-"

"No. Really. I'm fine." Thomas heaved himself to a stand and watched black patches of agony pulsate on the surface of his retinas.

"I'm Mrs. Sylvia Quatrocci, by the way. I'm a widow." The lady scrunched up her mouth and examined Thomas from head to toe, then wagged an eyebrow. "We've never officially met. You've always seemed too busy to talk before, always so serious."

"Uh-huh." The pain was so bad Thomas feared he would faint. Meanwhile, Hairy had managed to nearly hang himself on the leash and was making wretched gagging sounds.

"Here, let me help you with your little friend." Mrs. Quatrocci bent effortlessly and unhooked Hairy's collar from the leash, then yanked the thin cord of nylon out of Thomas's hand.

"It's an unusual-looking little thing. What is it?"

Thomas stood stunned and annoyed. A little old lady had just rescued him. The last time he checked, it was supposed to be the other way around.

"It's a dog," he said.

Mrs. Quatrocci laughed heartily and looked into the animal's face. "Well, no kidding. But what kind?"

"A Chinese Crested-want it?"

Her face widened in horror. "Of course I don't want it! I was just curious. Here." She shoved Hairy into Thomas's arms. "Be a little more careful with that leash. So what's your name again?"

There was no again about it. "My name is Thomas Tobin."

"Well, Mr. Tobin, it was a pleasure. I suppose we'll see each other around, the way we've been doing for the last five years. Maybe now we can exchange pleasantries the way real neighbors do."

"Yes, ma'am."

Mrs. Quatrocci was about to continue her evening stroll but suddenly remembered she had another meddling question. "So what's her name?"

Thomas nearly said "Emma," but stopped himself. "Whose name?"

"The dog's."

"Oh. It's a him. Hairy-H-A-I-R-Y."

Mrs. Quatrocci roared with laughter. "That's just adorable!" She patted Thomas's arm and smiled sweetly. "You know, I never took you for a man with a sense of humor. Just goes to show you that you can't judge a book by its cover."

"No, ma'am. I couldn't agree more."

With that, she moved on. Thomas reattached the $10.95green nylon leash to the matching $7.49 collar and was about to bend over and return Hairy to the sidewalk when he realized that wouldn't be a smart move. Who'd come along to rescue him next-a kid in a wheelchair?

He pondered the physics involved in returning Hairy to the ground, then gingerly leaned to one side at the waist, dangling the dog above the concrete by one hand, getting as close to the sidewalk as possible before letting go.

Hairy's legs splayed out upon impact and he yelped a bit, but nothing seemed to be broken. And they were off again.

Emma had said that Hairy's anxiety would lessen with lots of exercise. She was right about that. Hairy definitely slept better if he'd had a half-hour walk in the evening. And the medicine, lotions, and relaxation exercises seemed to be helping a little. Hairy shook less. He seemed happier. His skin looked healthier.

Emma had been right about so many things-the pustules, the maxi pads, the crate, the fact that they should be dating.

Thomas groaned, and he wasn't sure if it was because his knees hurt or because he'd just remembered what Emma looked like as he'd walked away that morning. Her smile was gone. Her chin began to tremble, like she was going to cry. Those soft blue eyes looked shocked and hurt.

Did she cry after he drove away? Did he make her cry? The thought made him sick.

Oh, God, that little patch of skin right behind her ear had smelled like summer air and warm, delicious woman. And when he'd nipped that earlobe between his teeth, she'd tasted like a dollop of hot salt-water taffy. He wondered what her other dollops might taste like. He wondered if she might ever be willing to give him another chance.

He wondered why he wanted another chance.

He wondered what was wrong with him.

"Should I send her flowers, Hairy? Do you think she's the kind who likes flowers?"

Hairy looked up at him.

"Is she the dozen-roses type, or the tulip type, do you think?"

Oh, God-just that single little taste of her and it had taken every bit of willpower he possessed not to fold her in his arms and touch her everywhere-those gorgeous breasts, that perfect, round butt of hers, the satiny throat. He'd wanted to put his mouth on hers and taste her on the inside. He wanted to cup her between her legs. He wanted to tell her she was-

"… such a darling little thing!"

Thomas nearly yelped with surprise. He had company again. Where were all these people coming from? Was Federal Hill overpopulated? And why the hell did everyone suddenly get the urge to take a walk?

Thomas's eyes widened as he did a once-over on the man who now stood beside him. The guy was short and skinny with dyed blond hair and a silver hoop harpooned through his eyebrow. He wore a pair of black leather pants so tight that his lips should have been purple from the lack of circulation.

Then Thomas realized the man had some kind of little dog, too. It looked like a wig on four sticks, wearing what could only be described as a purple halter top and matching, crotchless hot pants. What kind of man would put a dog in such an absurd get-up?

Just then, the man made eye contact and broke out into a glorious smile, and extremely loud sirens began to wail inside Thomas's skull.

"I'm Franco," the man said, holding out a manicured hand. "This is Quiche Lorraine. I don't think we've seen you out before. I'm pretty sure we would have remembered." Franco giggled and gave his head a sassy little shake.

"I'm Thomas." He accepted Franco's hand and shook it. Real hard.

"Ooh! Down boy!" Franco laughed uncomfortably, then rubbed his injured fingers. "So. Are you new to the neighborhood?"

Thomas quickly summed up the situation. Could this nut job possibly think he was gay? And if so, why the hell would he assume something like that? Since when did he look gay? Since when did he sound gay? Was it something he was wearing? No, he was in a real hetero pair of cutoff sweatpants and an old Orioles T-shirt. Then what could it possibly-?

Thomas looked down at the two dogs, their tiny tails wagging as fast as hummingbird wings as they sniffed at each other's ensembles.

Oh, dear God.

"You know, you don't see too many Cresteds in town," Franco was saying. "I knew a guy a few years back with one, but they're few and far between. How long have you had him?" Franco blinked, his mouth pulled into a pert little smile, waiting.

"You've actually seen one of these before?" Suddenly, Thomas's back pain faded in comparison to the headache now eating away at his brain stem.

"Of course."

"Want it?"

Franco giggled. "Uh, not really."

A sharp "yip!" drew the men's attention to the dogs. They looked down to see Hairy humping Lorraine like there was no tomorrow.

"Goddammit, dog!" He pulled at the leash, then looked at Franco in horror. "Uh, sorry about that, man."

Franco laughed as he reached down to retrieve Lorraine. "It's perfectly natural-just the way dogs decide who's going to be the dominant one in the pack." Franco batted his eyelashes at Thomas. "You know, who gets to be on top."

That was it. That was all he could take.

Thomas mumbled goodbye in the most polite way he could muster, then sped down the sidewalk, dragging Hairy behind.

"Hurry up, you horny little neutered-"

Right then, Thomas swore to God above that he would never, ever, take Hairy out in public again. He'd get him a little doggie treadmill if he had to, but he wasn't taking this oversexed, sweater- and maxi pad-wearing, flamer-magnet on a walk again.

Not in this lifetime.

What a great walk this has been-three new friends in one night!

I think I'll lift my leg right here on this nice tree. Ahh, fabulous! Now everyone knows I was here. That I'm male. That I exist.

What a lovely evening! My sweater feels so snuggly. The sound of my nails clicking on the sidewalk makes me happy. I feel proud to have Big Alpha at my side.

Something feels so right about the two of us males out in the world together, leaving our scent on the neighborhood. I believe we could accomplish anything we set our minds to!

I'm reminded of one of Slick's favorite songs.

"Macho macho man… I wanna be a macho man!"