Page 8 of The Mr. Right Checklist

Molly chases Clementine across the couches at breakneck speed, trampling over the pillow and blanket I slept with last night, and leaps over the side after the cat, knocking a lamp off an end table. Ryan/Fletch yells for her as Clementine scurries under the coffee table and Molly tries to do the same, knocking the dishes, and everything else that’s on the table, to the floor. We both go for her leash, but Clementine bolts upstairs and Molly races after him.

Ryan/Fletch curses as we run for the stairs, landing on the same one, side to side, and get stuck. “Sorry,” he grumbles at the same time I say it, and we both turn sideways, freeing the other to move forward just as Clementine darts down the hall past the steps and Molly barrels after him. We both hurry up to the next step, getting stuck again, and I laugh, because come on. What are the chances? He looks at me with such a serious expression, it makes me laugh even harder.

“It’s not funny,” he snaps. “She’s making a mess of your house.”

“Have you seen my house?” I ask through my laughter.

“She’s a monster. She could eat your cat.”

“Molly is not a monster. She’s a bit of a bull in a china shop, but she’s a sweetheart, and Clementine can fend for himself. Maybe you’re the monster.”

“Yeah,” he says sarcastically.

“Well, you never smile—”

“Shh.” He holds up his hand, stopping me from moving.

“Rude.”

“Listen,” he demands, and looks upstairs.

I listen to the silence. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Exactly. That can’t be good.” He waves me on, and this time he waits for me to go first.

When we reach the landing, it’s eerily quiet. I know Molly ran to the right, but I glance into the guest room on my left to assess the damage. Grumpy Monster Gus peers over my shoulder. The bed has clearly been trampled over, but nothing else is out of place.

Molly barks, and we hurry down the hall to my bedroom. Molly is in the middle of my bed in prime pounce-and-play position. Her chin is on the mattress between her forelegs, and her big furry butt is up in the air, tail wagging. She’s staring at Clementine, who’s sitting at the head of the bed, staring right back.

“I told you Clementine could fend for himself,” I say as I walk into the room. “The only thing he’s afraid of is thunder.”

“Clementine’s a boy? Never mind. Did you not notice your cat’s ear is missing?” He grabs Molly’s leash, and she’s so excited to see him, she bursts to her feet on the bed and covers his face in slobbery kisses.

I stifle a laugh. “Molly didn’t eat Clemmie’s ear. It was missing when I found him. He was a scraggly one-eared stray hiding beneath a truck full of clementines.”

“You might want to check to be sure he has all four legs.” He looks at Molly. “Down.”

Molly licks him again, and he shakes his head, glowering at the dog, but there’s an undeniable softness to that glower, like the way my dad used to look at me when he was angry at something I did, and it warms my heart.

Maybe Ryan/Fletch isn’t such a monster after all.

FLETCH

“Down, Molly.” I give her leash a yank, embarrassed that my frigging dog has gotten fur all over Destiny’s bed, freaked out her cat, and turned her house upside down. Molly jumps off the bed, heading for Destiny. “No way, troublemaker.” I tug her back to me and begin using my free hand to brush her fur off the sheets. Why isn’t there a blanket or pillow on her bed? Destiny’s cat stares at me like I’m the devil from her perch at the head of the bed, where the pillows should be. “I’m sorry about this. I’ll help you clean up. If anything’s broken, I’ll pay for it.”

“It’s fine. Just leave it.” She loves on Molly, leaning closer to my slobbery beast as she speaks to her like they’re best friends. “You were just doing what dogs do, weren’t you, Mol? And Clementine is no worse for wear.”

I go back to swiping at the furry sheets.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing,” Destiny says. “I’m mortified about what happened at the park. I had no idea you were the guy we were meeting, much less that you weren’t dating Cecilia. There has to be something I can do to make it up to you.”

I turn to face her, and my gaze catches on three colorful lace bras and matching panties hanging on a rope strung between hooks on either side of the windows. My mind skips right over the odd rope/hook situation to ways in which she can make it up to me. I grit my teeth, trying to shut those thoughts down. The fact that I’m thinking about this mouthy mayhem of a woman that way proves what I already know.

It’s been far too long since I’ve satisfied those urges.

I lift my chin in the direction of the lingerie. “As much as I like your decorating, mind if we talk downstairs? It’s a bit distracting.”

She looks over her shoulder, and her eyes bloom wide, as if she is surprised by the lingerie. Her cheeks pink up, and she starts snagging the bras and underwear off the line, her words rushing out. “Yesterday was laundry day. I was drying them in the sun.”