The Escape Diaries by Juliet Rosetti Read Free Book Online Page B

“Gigi?”
                “She’s
not mine, thank God. I’m just dog-sitting.”
                “Looked
more like dog-running, but what do I know?”
                Looks
and charm, too. I wished I wasn’t wearing clothes that looked pulled out of the
St. Vinny’s donations bin. I wished I’d remembered to put on deodorant that
morning. I wished I wasn’t holding a pooper-scooper and a Piggly-Wiggly bag. In
fact, I knew I looked so awful that no male with twenty-twenty eyesight would
be interested in me anyway, so it didn’t matter what I said or did and I could
just relax.          
    “I had a golden
retriever the same color as Gigi when I was a kid,” the guy said, reversing
direction so he could stroll along with me and the now perfectly behaved Gigi,
the hypocritical little bitch.
                “Oh.
Do you have a dog now?”
                He
shook his head. “I got turned off dogs when my mom bought the shih tzu-bichon
frises.”
                I
wasn’t familiar with the breed; it sounded to me like he said shit-bitches. Which, as it turned out, was remarkably apt. He told me how they never stopped
barking, how they attacked clothes flapping on the clothesline, tried to bite
the TV when a cat commercial came on, rolled in their food, terrorized
repairmen, and had once, attacking as a pack, ripped apart a vacuum cleaner.
                I
told him about Sam, our farm dog, who was bullied by our rooster, peed on car
tires, and was so horny he attempted to hump our lawn tractor. We walked on the
beach and told bad-dog stories and flirted. He walked me to the parking lot and
we exchanged names and phone numbers. I wasn’t very hopeful. I was certain he’d
toss away my number as soon as I was out of sight. Guys always said they’d call
and then they never did.
    As it turned out,
Kip didn’t call me. Instead, he showed up on my doorstep. He was waiting at the
curb in front of my building when Gigi and I pulled up half an hour later.
    “I got your
address off my BlackBerry,” he said sheepishly. “I didn’t want our date to
end.”
    “That was a
date?”
    He smiled.
“Technically, I guess not. So let’s have our first one. One of my friends is
throwing a volleyball party and you’re coming with me. I bet you’re terrific at
volleyball.”
    He had a lot of
nerve, I thought, assuming I would simply drop everything and waltz off with
him. Maybe I had a dozen other guys waiting to go out with me.
    Sure, in an
alternate universe. “I’m lousy at volleyball. Everyone’s elbows are always
exactly at my nose level. Besides—” I gestured at Gigi. “I can’t leave
Miss Piggy alone or she’ll eat all my shoes.”
    Kip Vonnerjohn
had the remarkable ability to combine puppy eyes with wolfish grin. It was
devastating. Women should be inoculated against guys who can pull off that
look. “Bring her along,” he said.
    Of course in the
end I said yes, which was pretty much what I said to Kip Vonnerjohn for the
next two months. The party was being held at the lakeside pad of one of Kip’s
buddies, and it was my first taste of the lifestyles of the rich and fatuous.
The guys were good-looking and athletic, the women were skinny as paper dolls
and wore skimpy designer bikinis, and everyone had perfect teeth. I was used to
parties where you grabbed a fistful of chips and a can of beer out of a plastic
cooler, but in Kip’s circle you quenched your thirst with chilled champagne and
munched on smoked salmon and lobster salad. Gigi turned out to be Miss Party
Dog, winkling canapés from guests and then horking them up on their shoes. I
finally got her to sit down and we watched Kip play volleyball. He was amazing,
practically professional level. He looked even better with his shirt off than
on. Daily workouts, skiing, horseback riding, and crewing had given him thighs
of steel and abs of iron.
    If only he’d
spent as much time developing