“I’m looking for a dog.”

“Awesome. I’ll give you the family discount.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Technically, Bryce was Colleen’s cousin-in-law, and now, since Bryce dated Paulie, and once Mom and Ronnie got married in a few weeks, Paulie would be his stepsister, so Bryce would be something. It was complicated. But Bryce was a good guy. Always smiling, extremely bright blue eyes.

He wondered abruptly if Jessica had slept with Bryce.

It was possible. He’d never asked for names. He knew some, since the guys had been pretty proud of it back in the day, but...well, shit. It didn’t matter.

“What kind of dog are you looking for?” Bryce asked.

“I don’t know. Something kind of easygoing and low maintenance.”

“Purse dog?”

“What’s that?”

“You know. Like Honor Holland’s dog. Fits into a purse.”

Hell, no. “Something a little bigger. But not huge, either, not like Rufus.”

Bryce nodded. “Here’s your paperwork, bro. Fill it out and we can get looking.”

“I’m waiting for Davey Dunn to help me pick one out.”

“Cool. Yeah, he’s great. Comes here a lot to play with the dogs, keeps me company.”

“Hey there, Connor.” Keith Dunn came in, Davey in tow.

That was something, Jess letting her father be in charge of Davey. Oh, but wait, Gerard Chartier was here, as well. That made more sense.

“Hi, Bryce!” Davey bounced over and high-fived their host. “Can I show my dad the cats?”

“Sure, dude. You know the way.”

“Bryce, got any reading material for me?” Gerard asked. “I’ll just hang here while you guys help Connor pick his puppy.” He grinned at Connor and accepted the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition from Bryce.

“You read it for the articles?” Connor asked drily.

“There are articles?” Gerard said, flipping through.

Connor looked at the application. Reason for wanting a dog. To make my girlfriend’s brother like me. “Always wanted one,” he wrote instead.

It seemed akin to adopting a child, all the questions about his income, his hours, who’d supervise the dog when he wasn’t home. Was it wrong to put Colleen, when she’d have a kid? He put Lucas instead. Davey came back into the room with Keith.

“All set,” Connor said, handing the application to Bryce. “Ready to rock and roll.”

“Ready to rock and roll,” echoed Davey. He hadn’t yet made eye contact with Connor, but he wasn’t smashing his head against the wall, either.

They followed Bryce back to the dog kennels, which were nicer than his first apartment, really—each one had ceramic tile floors, a plush dog bed, chew toys, animal-themed artwork on the walls and a little door to a fenced-in area outside.

There were four or five of the usual suspects—the Chico types, pit bulls or pit mixes. One growled at Connor, and he felt the flash of remembered fear, Chico One’s jaws clamped on him, Colleen’s eyes wide, the sound fading as he almost lost consciousness.

“These are all nice,” Davey said. “These are like Chico.”

“Yeah,” Connor said. “Very nice.” Chico Three was nice. A real sweetheart. Not a biter, not at all.

“Got anything else?” Keith asked, and Connor hated to admit it, but he was grateful.

“Well, we have this beautiful lady here,” Bryce said, crooning over a speck of white fluff, about the size of the dust bunnies that roamed under Connor’s bed. There was no way in hell Connor was going to get a fluffy white dog.

“So cute!” Davey said. “Hi, what’s your name?”

“I’ve been calling her Lady Fluffy,” Bryce said.

There was also no way in hell he was getting a dog named Lady Fluffy who was, according to the sign on the cage, a Maltipoo.

“That’s a perfect name!” Davey said. “Hi, Lady Fluffy! Dad, isn’t Lady Fluffy so cute?”

“She’s gorgeous. Hey, sweetie!” The dog yapped in response.

“Dad, she’s licking you! She likes you! Maybe you should adopt her!”

“I can’t have dogs,” Keith said. “The landlord won’t let me.”

Damn. “Got any golden retrievers?” Connor murmured.

“Dude, no,” said Bryce. “When we do get one in, it goes so fast, you wouldn’t believe it.”

“Irish setter?”

“Nope.”

“Weimeraner?”

“Dude, we’re a shelter. We hardly ever get a purebreed.” Bryce gave him a disapproving look.

“Get Lady Fluffy, Connor!” Davey said.

“She’s definitely a contender,” he lied. “But let’s see all the others, too.”

The next dog was a bullmastiff mutt who lay like a dead lion, gas escaping in long, poisonous hisses. “We’re trying to figure out his diet,” Bryce said, his eyes watering. “Hey, boy! How you doing?” The dog didn’t move.

The last dog was a spaniel of some type. It seemed very, very old with a white face, milky eyes. “I didn’t know they had diapers for dogs,” Connor said.

“No, they do,” Bryce said. “Really convenient.”

Connor lowered his voice and tipped his head toward Davey. “I don’t want to get a dog who’ll, uh...”

“Go to the Rainbow Bridge anytime soon?”

“Exactly. Do you have any puppies?”

Bryce shook his head. “This is it.”

Davey was cuddling Lady Fluffy under his chin. If Connor brought that dog home, he’d probably step on it and kill it and not even know. He was not going to put the poor Malti-whatever at risk.

So it was the dead lion, the octogenarian or a pit bull.

* * *

“MEET LADY FLUFFY,” Connor said two hours later, taking the dog out of his jacket pocket. “My new best friend.”

“Oh, Hail Mary,” Colleen wheezed, then bolted for the bathroom. Her gales of laughter could be heard loud and clear.

“That is one great-looking dog,” Lucas said, fighting a smile. “Really manly. A poodle, is she?”

“Maltipoo. And shut up.”

“You gonna put a bow in her hair?” Lucas broke and started laughing.

“I repeat—shut up. Jessica’s brother picked her out for me.”

“God, you are whipped,” Lucas said.

“And you’re not?”

“Point taken.” He went over to the ladies’ room and knocked. “Mia, you okay in there?”

Colleen emerged from the bathroom, wiping her eyes. “She’s really cute, Con. When you said you were getting a dog, I just pictured you...with...with a...” The laughter started again.

“Get her out of here,” Connor told Lucas. “Leave, Dog-Face. Go push out that baby rhino.”

She stuck out her tongue, then said, “Rafe! You’re godfather.”

“I’ve already bought seventeen bisexual outfits in size newborn,” Rafe called back, peering out the kitchen window. “Is that the term? Bisexual?”

“Unisex,” Connor said.

“Got it. Why are you here? Get out. It’s your day off.”