Jensen

I TOSS A TENNIS BALL FROM MY seat on the patio chair behind my apartment building in the afternoon sun. The dog quickly scrambles after it, incorrectly anticipating where it'll land and trips over it, tumbling across the grass a few times. He shakes himself off, hunts down the ball, grabs it, runs back to me with it in his mouth, and drops it at my feet.

It's been two weeks since we found the dog, a week of fostering this rambunctious puppy. Teddy has tried everything to locate his family, but his appearance remains a mystery.

"Sit," I sternly tell the dog. When he continues to stand, wagging his tail so hard he nearly topples over sideways, I repeat the command. It takes two more times before he finally sits.

Since he didn't immediately obey, I make him wait awhile before I throw the ball again, his body quivering in an effort to sit still. When I raise my hand to throw the ball, he takes off before I even have a chance to release it. Chuckling at his enthusiasm, I chuck the ball toward the tree line, making sure it doesn't go too far. I learned that mistake the hard way and then had to go hunting for the lost dog.

"Never thought I'd see the day that my big brother would have a puppy." Sutton is standing on the edge of the patio, her sudden appearance startling me.

"He isn't mine. I'm just fostering him until Teddy can figure out what to do with him."

The dog abandons the ball when he realizes we have company and trots over to my sister, jumping up on her. Laughing, she pushes him off, bending over to scratch him on the head. "Hey there, buddy. Is my brother treating you ok? Wanna come live with Aunty Sutton? I bet you do, huh? Who's a cutie? You're a cutie."

I raise my brows at the sound of her baby talk. "Cut it out, Sutton. He's a manly dog. He doesn't like that cutesy talk."

"His tail tells a different story, brother." She pulls out a chair at the table and sits across from me, pulling the sunglasses off the perch on her head and sliding them on her face. The calendar ticked over to May this week, and the days have been gradually warming up.

"What brings my baby sister to the farm on a Saturday?"

"I didn't come to the farm, J. I came to your house. You just happen to live at the farm."

I wave a hand at her, letting her know the distinction means nothing and to answer the question anyway.

Sighing, she says, "I'm just coming from visiting grandpa. It wasn't a good day."

Our grandpa has dementia and is currently living in an assisted living care center. On his good days, we can see glimpses of the spirited man he once was and hold meaningful conversations with him. His bad days, however, remind us of what the disease has taken.

"Shit, Button, I'm sorry." I nudge her foot under the table. "Was it bad?"

"He didn't remember me at all. Got mad. Threw stuff at me. Finally, I just left. I didn't want to upset him further." She looks off into the distance where the dog has abandoned the boring humans for a pile of sticks.

"Those days are rough. Sorry, sister."

She waves her hand dismissively, a sure sign she wants to change the subject. "I forgot to tell you that I went to the library a few days ago. You know, to look into the missing girl?"

The topic of my Uncle Don's mysterious safety deposit box contents completely slipped my mind in the last few weeks. Apparently, it's been on Sutton's mind, though.

"There wasn't much to find, unfortunately, which is weird, right? A little girl disappears and causes mass panic but then the story just seems to stop. One day it's front-page news; the next its zapped from existence."

I'm only half listening as I keep an eye on the dog, who is now sniffing around a bush. Honestly, I'm not sure I care enough about the topic of the missing girl from two decades ago. I'd be fine pretending like my uncle hadn't handed this bizarre mystery to us from beyond his grave.

"Sutton, maybe we just drop it, yeah?"

She gawks at me in disbelief. "Drop it? How can we just drop it, Jensen? It obviously means something. Why else would it be locked away in a safety deposit box? Why else would we all be dragged into a lawyer's office to be given the key to the box? We can't just drop it without even trying to figure out what it means."

"That's just it. Maybe I don't care what it means. If it was so important, why did Uncle Don hide it in a box at the bank, waiting for it to be discovered after his death? And why is all the important information crossed off? The whole thing is fucked up. It's stupid. It's not worth our time, Sutton."

"Well, I don't agree. I think it's something important. Something that affects our family. Something Uncle Don was hiding. He just didn't have the guts to tell us when he was alive because it probably makes him look bad. Or he wants to cause trouble from his grave because he was a jackass like that. We both know it's true." She stands from her chair in a huff and pushes it back under the table. "I agree that it's fucked up, J. But I have a gut feeling that it's important. Like we're meant to know."

"Maybe you're right. But promise you won't go obsessing over it. And definitely don't go getting yourself in trouble digging into it either." I stand, too, pulling her into a hug. She's so short that her head barely clears my shoulders. When she pulls back, she rolls her eyes at me.

"I'm not a baby, Jensen. I can handle myself." She starts walking away but turns back to me. "You might want to call your dog back before he gets into trouble. He actually is a baby."

The puppy is digging a hole, dirt flying up in a small arc behind his body. "Jesus, that dog can't be trusted." I stomp toward him, yelling at him to stop. "Puppy! Stop right now, Puppy!"

"Maybe name the dog while you're at it! Dogs respond better when you call them by name." Sutton laughs as she rounds the building out of sight.

-

ME: What are you up to? Wanna meet for a puppy playdate?

TEDDY: Is that your way of saying the dog is driving you crazy and you want me to take him off your hands?

ME: Maybe. If I said yes, would it work?

TEDDY: Maybe. Try it.

ME: Yes, Teddy. The fucking thing keeps eating my socks and underwear.

ME: Why my boxers, Teddy. Why?

ME: And he gets into everything. And he won't stop digging.

TEDDY: Calm it down. I can feel you about to erupt from here. I'll meet you.

ME: Where?

TEDDY: I'm at my mom's.

ME: Be there in 5.

TEDDY: To my mom's?

ME: No. Meet me outside.

ME: And grab a basketball.

TEDDY: I have a bad feeling about this. Are we playing P-I-G to see who keeps the dog?

ME: I plead the 5th.

When I pull into the cul-de-sac, I find Teddy shooting hoops. She's wearing a tight pair of jeans and a baggy t-shirt that she has tucked in the front at her waist. When she turns to wave at me, I notice it's my t-shirt, the one she wore home the other day and never returned.

The sight speeds up my heartrate, and I realize I like seeing her in it. It makes me wonder what she would look like wearing only the shirt, no pants, in my apartment, my hand slipping underneath to check for panties.

She sinks the ball in the basket just as I'm opening my truck door. The dog leaps out and races to his favorite human. Laughing at the little creature, Teddy crouches down to pick him up. "Hey, there. I hear you've been a naughty doggy."

"The naughtiest." I take the dog from her hands, setting him on the ground so he can run free, and then I tug on Teddy's sleeve. "Nice shirt."

Ignoring my comment, she says, "You know, we might think about giving the dog a name. I think it's time."

"That's what Sutton says. She thinks he'll listen better if we call him by a name when we yell at him." I steal the ball from her hand and dribble it a few times. "But if we name him, then it's like we're saying he's ours. Are we ready for that?"

"Are you asking me to have a dog with you, Jensen?" A smile teases her lips like she's trying to reel in her amusement before it breaks across her face.

God, she's beautiful.

The thought sucker punches me in the gut. I should be used to it by now. Ever since my talk with Kelly about admitting my feelings for her, I can't seem to reel in the rogue thoughts. I find myself touching her more, using any excuse to see her. It's probably even why I agreed to foster the damn dog in the first place. I knew she'd be around more, and she has been. She stops by to check up on him, bringing him toys and bones, and ends up joining us for walks most nights after work and sometimes staying for supper.

It's starting to feel like our own little mini family. Me, Teddy, and the dog.

"Teddy, newsflash, we already have a dog together. See that furball over there." The dog is struggling to haul a stick double his size across the street toward us. "That's our dog. He's ours."

"Agreed. So let's give him a name already. That way you can yell at him properly when he eats your underoos." When she laughs, her head falls back, revealing her neck. I resist the urge to run my nose along the length of it, inhaling her scent.

"OK, so whoever wins," I say, dribbling the ball between my legs to show off, "gets to name him."

"Whatever they want? Without objections?" She raises her eyebrows. "Um. No. You'll probably call him something like Gus or Rufus. Or probably Jackoff. Just so you can have an excuse to call him a jackoff all the time."

I chuckle, not hating the idea. "I wasn't thinking it before, but now I am. Jackoff has a nice ring to it. Sit, Jackoff. Down, Jackoff. Jackoff, come back here! Yep, it's settled. That's my pick if I win."

"I am not agreeing to this. I refuse to name my dog Jackoff." She crosses her arms over her chest defiantly. "There has to be objections in play."

"Teddy. That defeats the purpose of the whole thing if you can just object. We might as well skip the game and just start listing off names. No objections."

"Yes, objections. But," she counters, "the loser only has three objections. After the third one, he or she must agree to whatever name the winner picks. But!" She puts her hand up before I can interrupt. "The winner cannot name three ridiculous options off the bat just to force the loser to use his or her objections."

"You missed your calling as a lawyer, Chipmunk." I wink at her. "Fine. Three objections. No bullshit names to force the loser to waste objections. Agreed. Now let's play." I pass the ball to her to start the game.

"One more rule." She holds the ball under her arm, looking at me sternly. "Jackoff is off the table. Under no circumstance will our dog be named that. Are we clear?"

"Teddy!" I laugh, stealing the ball back. "Stop stalling. Let's do this!"

"Oh no, you don't!" She lunges at me, going for the ball. "I start! It's only fair. I deserve a handicap!" I hold the ball above her head, moving it away every time she jumps up to grab it. "You jerk! You are such a cheater!"

"It's not my fault you're so short."

Before I know what's happening, she jabs her fingers into my sides and tickles me. I screech in a high-pitched voice and try to move away from her assaulting hands. She knows how ticklish I am and goes right for the most sensitive spots. "Teddy! Stop! Stop!" I huff out between hysterical bursts of laughter.

In my attempt to avoid her fingers, I lose my balance and fall over, taking Teddy with me. I managed to take the brunt of the landing, a grunt escaping as I hit the pavement. Teddy's legs are tangled in mine, and she is sprawled with half her body on me and half on the ground. "Oh fuck, Teddy. Are you ok? I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"

I roll over to examine my friend. A giggle erupts from her mouth, and she slaps a hand over it to stop it, but the laugh can't be contained.

I fall back onto the pavement, joining in on her laughter. "I think we're too old for this shit."

"Speak for yourself." She's back on her feet, dusting the dirt off her pants.

When I notice blood dripping down her arm, I leap up and hold her arm up to determine the source. "Hold still, Teddy. You're bleeding," I say when she tries to extricate herself from my hold.

"It's nothing, Jensen. Don't worry about it."

"It's not nothing, Teddy. You're bleeding." Grabbing the hand of her uninjured arm, I lead her toward my parents' house, whistling at the dog to follow.

"We're just going to use the bathroom quick," I yell into the house but get no response. My parents must not be home.

Inside the bathroom, I hoist Teddy onto the counter, and then rummage in the drawers for the first aid kit.

"Jensen. Really. It's not a big deal. It's just a little scrape. Look." She holds her elbow up to me.

I push her knees open and step between her legs, gingerly taking her arm in my hand. I clean the blood with a wet rag and then blow onto her scraped skin. "This brings me right back to our childhood," I tell her while applying a bandaid over the cut. "How many times did I have to bandage you up just like this?"

"Oh, shut up, J. We can't all be perfectly athletic like you."

"You have always been a klutz. Admit it, Chipmunk." I smirk at her.

She punches my shoulder and tries to shove me away, but I grip her forearms, halting her attempts. When she doesn't make any further movements, I slide my hands down her arms, circling her wrists. My thumbs lightly skim over the skin on the undersides of her wrists, and my eyes trail up her body until they settle on her face.

Her bottom lip is tucked between her teeth, her breathing shallow. Her eyes are glancing between my mouth and my eyes. Tugging her lip free from her teeth, I have the sudden urge to lean forward the few inches separating us and kissing her.

"Teddy," I gruffly whisper, having inched forward, but before I can finish my sentence, a door slams from somewhere in the house.

"Where did this dog come from?" my stepmom screeches.

"Shit," I curse, stepping back from Teddy. Shooting her an apologetic look, I go in search of my dog. He seems to have mastered the art of interruption.

-

"YOU HUNGRY?" THE SUN STARTED TO CRAWL toward the horizon while we were inside my parents' house, filtering light through the houses and trees, casting long shadows. The dog bounces around, trampling over mine and Teddy's shadowed forms on the pavement.

"Yeah, I could eat."

We pause alongside my truck and I lean my hip against the door. "How about we grab something to go and bring that creature over there to a park. We still need to give him a name. I feel like that should be our priority."

"A priority, huh?" She props herself against the truck next to me.

"The number one priority. Yeah?" I pinch her chin, nodding her head up and down. "Yeah."

She slaps my hand away, laughing. "Fine. Let's do it. But my earlier rule still sticks. Absolutely, 100% no on Jackoff."

"What about Jackinoff? That's like a more sophisticated version of Jackoff."

Her look clearly spells her displeasure. "Jackinoff? Like Jacking Off? God, Jensen, you're like a 14-year-old boy. You know this, right?"

"I do," I say pushing off the truck. "And I'm ok with it. Now get in the truck so we can get out of here. Jackinoff! Let's go!"

She shoves my shoulder. "No! Jensen!" The wide grin on her face betrays her anger.

We drive across town to The 365 Diner, the only other restaurant besides Cozy Corner Café in Lake Hope. It serves the best burgers and sweet potato fries. It's especially good if you put a handful of sweet potato fries on your burger and load it up with barbeque sauce. We've been ordering our burgers like this since we were teenagers.

I run inside to pick up our orders, and then I head to the lake that skirts the perimeter of the town, aptly named Lake Hope. There's a park alongside the lake with a small playground with swings, a slide and a merry-go-round off to one side and a spacious open area with benches situated along a walking path.

I pull into the parking lot, backing into a space that faces the lake. The trees are still bare, but little signs of spring are sprinkled throughout.

After opening the tailgate, we hop up, our Styrofoam containers of food between us. The dog zooms around in front of us, occasionally pausing to lap up some water or steal a few quick bites of food that we set out in portable dishes in the grass.

"So, names," I say between bites, my burger squished between my hands. "You want to start?"

With her mouth full of food, she shakes her head. "No, you go for it."

"Hmmm. Ok. Harry. Stuart. Bob. Leo. Dave."

"Wait, wait, wait." She pats her hand over my thigh. "J! Are you just listing random guy names? Are you hoping inspiration hits if you just keep cycling through every name that pops into your head? Stuart? Dave? Come on. You can't name your dog Dave."

"What are your ideas then? Prince Furry Butt? Sir Lick-A-Lot? Duke Cocker." I bite off a huge chunk of my burger, waiting for her response. She throws a fry at me, and it bounces off my face, landing in my lap. I scoop it up and shove it into my mouth. "Does this mean you don't like any of my ideas?" I ask with a mouth full.

"Duh." She points an unamused look at me. "Jack. Milo. Bear. Cooper. Buddy. Those are all acceptable names."

"We are not naming our dog Buddy. You call for him in a crowded place and 300 other dogs named Buddy will come trotting over." I bat a fry across her nose and then stuff it into my mouth, grinning at her when she swats me away.

"Fine. So not Buddy. But something not stupid like your ideas."

"Ace. Scout. Toby. Rocky."

She presses a finger to my lips to shush me. "Shhhh. Stop. What'd you say? I think you had a good idea."

"Uh," I stammer, trying to recall the names I just listed. "Rocky, Ace, Toby..."

"Nope, not those ones."

"Rocky, Toby," I repeat, ticking my fingers as I name them. "Scout, Ace..."

"Scout!" She throws her arms up. "That's it. I like Scout."

Teddy's exclamation draws the dog's attention, and he wanders over, parking his excited body right in front of us. "Are you a Scout? Sit, Scout. Scout, Sit." He sits, but his wagging tail knocks him off balance and he darts back onto all fours, dancing in front of us. "I think that's a yes."

Teddy and I look at each other, both wearing matching grins. Without thought, I cup a hand against her cheek, running a thumb across her lips.

"Scout, huh?" she says against my finger. The tip of her tongue darts out, skimming ever-so-briefly across my thumb. My eyes track the movement; and before I can even form a rational thought, I'm leaning into Teddy's space, my mouth softly brushes against hers. I can feel her gasp against my lips, and I pull back, looking into her eyes. When I read the uncertainty, I lean away, blowing out a breath.

"Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that." I begin packing up the food and shoving it into the brown paper sack. "Should we go? Are you ready to go?"

I leap off the tailgate and call for the dog. "Scout, let's go, buddy."

I take Teddy's hand and help her down. We stand facing each other for a few silent moments, our clasped hands held between us.

She squeezes my hand. "Yeah, maybe we should go."