Unleashed (A Sydney Rye Novel, # 1) - By Emily Kimelman Page 0,3

got a dog because you broke up with your boyfriend. It’s so pathetic.”

“You’re a real sweetheart.”

“Somebody has to tell you.”

“Jesus, I wanted a dog, so I went and got a dog.”

“Oh, this was something planned?” James leaned his elbows on the table with mischief dancing in his eyes. “It’s just a coincidence that you happened to break up with your boyfriend the night before.” He smiled at me.

“Oh, just shut up. So what if I bought a dog to console myself?” He was right, of course. I had gone and bought a dog because I broke up with my boyfriend. And, yes, that was pathetic.

“So, what kind of dog?”

“He’s really beautiful. He has one blue eye and one brown. Oh, oh, the best part is he attacked Marcus when he tried to come over.” James laughed. “I know. Can you fucking believe it? He left me five messages today.” I held up my hand with all five fingers extended.

“Your dog attacks people?”

“Not people, intruders,” I said with more confidence than I felt. For all I knew Blue attacked all sorts of people. Maybe it wasn’t that Marcus was breaking into the house. Maybe Blue would attack any douchebag we passed on the street. The thought made me laugh.

James smiled at me. “Not to talk badly about Marcus, Lord knows he was sexy as hell, but the guy is kind of an idiot. Not to mention that he tried to control you way too much. Low self-esteem fucks up a lot of men.” James sat back, his hypothesis fully expressed.

I laughed. “I guess. Whatever, I’m over it.” I sat up and scooped up my drink taking a long sip. “I’m so over it.”

“Well, are you going to call him back? I don’t think you should. Make a clean break.”

I knew he was right, but I also knew that I had no control over myself whatsoever and would probably call him. “How’s Hugh?” I asked, changing the subject. Hugh was James’s boyfriend of four years.

“He’s good,” James smiled. “Actually, we’re really good … Our offer was accepted.” Hugh and James had spent the last eight months trying to find an apartment. Two months ago, they’d found it. A fifth-floor walk-up with a roof deck, two bedrooms (OK, a bedroom-and-a-half) and a kitchen that was recently renovated.

“Holy shit. That’s awesome. How much?”

“It’s a little out of our price range, but you always pay more than you want, right?”

An hour-and-a-half later, I stumbled into my building blind-drunk. I climbed the steps humming to myself, swinging my keys. I was feeling pretty good. Sure, I had no job, no boyfriend, and a mildly retarded dog, but life was not so bad, not so bad at all. I would make it; I could fix it. Everything was going to be just fine.

Blue greeted me at the door. “Hi, boy.” I crouched and rubbed his ears. He nuzzled my chest, knocking me against the wall. Blue wrapped himself in my arms. I breathed into his neck, smelling the pound. “We’re going to be OK,” I said into his neck. “I’m going to take care of us. Starting tomorrow, I’m going to fix this mess of a life of ours.” Then I passed out.

Fixing this Life

I opened my eyes and immediately closed them again. The sun rushing through the living room windows sent bolts of pain to the back of my head. Blue pushed his muzzle against my arm, encouraging me to get up. I squinted through my fingers at him. He tried to lick my eyeball. I laughed and then groaned.

Sitting up, my entire body rebelled. “Jesus fucking Christ,” I muttered through sock-coated teeth. Groping the wall I struggled to stand. I could feel my brain floating on an ocean of tequila. Every movement sent it crashing into the walls of my skull.

Gently, I moved down the hall to the bathroom. In the mirror I saw I was wearing the same clothing as the morning before. I struggled with my jeans while the bathtub filled. Steam fogged the room, and I sank under the hot water, listening to my heart resound in my head.

My hair combed and my teeth brushed, I checked the fridge hoping for fresh milk for my coffee, knowing that I hadn’t bought any. I poured the coffee, scooped sugar in by the tablespoon, splashed in the milk (only one day late) and topped the whole thing off with a load of cinnamon.

After my second cup of coffee, I knew what to do. “First