Tattoo Thief (BOOK 1) by Heidi Joy Tretheway Read Free Book Online Page A

good life.
    I tow That Bitch into the living room and open it, swapping my rumpled, sweaty linen skirt and blouse for shorts and a T-shirt. I bandage a quarter-sized blister courtesy of my long hike in flats and put on cotton socks and running shoes. Finally, I hitch Jasper back up to his leash and hit the elevator button, wishing I had Dan’s company credit card with me. Gavin is so going to pay for this dog food.
    Jasper and I take the scenic route to the grocery store, two extra-long blocks to find Jasper relief in a pocket-sized park. When we get to the store, I’m overwhelmed—even though it’s half the size of stores back home, it’s packed to the gills with stuff, every square inch covered in products.
    I realize that moving to a new place doesn’t just mean learning a new grid of streets, like the fact that Fifth Avenue is sometimes Museum Mile and Sixth Avenue is sometimes Avenue of the Americas.
    Moving means learning a new way for everything— from a grocery store’s layout to the subway system to how to walk on streets without being a major pain in the ass (hint: if you want to slow down while walking, pull over and let other people pass).
    I buy a bottle of wine and the most expensive bag of designer dog food I can find to make up for poor Jasper’s incarceration. I know I should get myself some real food, but I can’t stomach the thought of cooking until Gavin’s place is sparkling clean.
    It’s a good excuse to spend a little more of my dwindling savings on my ultimate comfort food: dumplings. We pick up a container of piping hot Chinese pork and shrimp dumplings at a take-out place and head back to the apartment.
    Jasper and I dine al fresco on the terrace. He dives into a monster bowl of dog food—I have no idea how much to feed him—and I pig out on wine and dumplings. I give him a few bites of my dumplings because it feels wrong not to share.
    “So what’s your story, Jasper?” I say out loud, even though I know this takes me one step closer to being a crazy cat lady who talks to her pets. All I know is he’s a boy. Not how old he is, how long Gavin Slater’s had him, or if he can do any tricks.
    Jasper whines and cocks his head at me.
    Something’s wrong.
    Jasper’s nose is getting puffy and his cheeks are swollen. I get down on my knees and stroke his neck. He gurgles. His eyes are wide and fearful—is he struggling to breathe?
    I panic. What’s wrong with this dog? What did I do?
    I race to the foyer and hit a button for the intercom. “Charles! It’s Beryl! You’ve got to come help me! Jasper ate something and now I think he can’t breathe!”
    “He’s choking?”
    “No, his face is puffing up.”
    “Allergic reaction,” Charles diagnoses. “Keep him breathing. Give him mouth to mouth if you have to. I’ll be up in thirty seconds.”
    I rush back to Jasper, who is lying on his side, wheezing. I pry open his jaws and he whimpers. I spot a dumpling-bit in the back of his throat and swipe it out with my finger. Those Red Cross Infant CPR classes I took for babysitting a decade ago are coming in handy.
    Charles barrels through the front door with a bottle of translucent liquid. He pulls back Jasper’s head and pours a dose down his throat. I freeze, watching to see if it works.
    Jasper’s breathing slows, no longer the frantic panting. As I see his body relax, mine does too, melting into a puddle on the terrace floor next to this weird little dog.
    “What did you give him?” I ask Charles.
    “Benadryl,” he says. “Poor little Jasper. Did he get into something he shouldn’t?”
    I gulp, trying to decide whether to lie. But since Charles is my only friend in New York besides Jasper, I tell the truth.
    “I gave him part of my dumpling.”
    Charles walks over to my sad little wine-and-dumpling dinner. “Pork and shrimp, right? From the place on Seventy-Fifth? These are really good. But Jasper’s allergic to shrimp.”
    Oh.
    I am so not cut out for this.
    In what