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When I thought Dodger looked good as all hell in his sheriff uniform, him in dark jeans and a gray tee might be my demise.

I can only stare at him openly for a few seconds before my brain finally sends words down to my throat.

Honestly, not only can I believe he’s here, but that it’s normal that he’d be here.

“The German shepard runnin’ around town.”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh. Him.”

“What do you mean him? That’s my future pet.”

“Well, your future pet is causin’ chaos through the town.” He crosses his arms along his wide chest, making the muscles on his forearms flex. “He stole an apple pie outta Mrs. Northwill’s window the other day, and he’s pissin’ all over everyone’s fences.”

Ew.

Still.

“He’s markin’ his territory to warn others that no townfolk is to be messed with.” Dodger blinks at me, alluding that not only am I coming up with excuses, but I’m being delusional. “He needs a home.”

“Is that your replacement for a man?”

I bristle because now I’m starting to develop a complex for this man asking and implying things into my love life. “Maybe. At least he’d be faithful.”

“Right.” He doesn’t seem impressed by my response and asks, “Can your dad and I get some lemonade, AK? We thought we’d have two extra hands out there, but I see Bobbie took a snack break and the other is babysittin’.”

Quickly, I move, getting him something to drink along with my dad because he’s right. We were supposed to be out there helping, and we’re not.

I just needed a minute.

Or ten, to settle down.

Handing him a glass, I carry my father’s so I can get out and help.

“You comin’, Bobbie?”

She lifts the bag of potato chips. “Be there in a few.”

Sighing, I know she’s going to take her time, so I exit my back door without waiting for Dodger. There’s so much damn tension between the two of us that it’s hard to breathe around him sometimes.

Like unbearable.

I’m always upfront, straight, and I don’t like wondering. I’m the oldest of my siblings, and my brother was a troublemaker, so I’m used to confronting things head-on so they don’t become bigger than they are or could be, but I don’t know how to handle this thing with Dodger.

Does he like me? Does he not like me?

Is he interested or not?

All roads lead to just flirting and nothing more because he hasn’t asked me on a date or sent me flowers in any capacity. There’s been no gesture that would tell me otherwise that he’s eager to get to know me, other than being friends.

And I’ll use that term loosely.

Everyone has the same acquaintances in school if you weren’t already friends. And that’s what Dodger was for quite a while.

Now, I’m just the new house owner who thinks weird things happen at night around it.

“Be good. Or don’t. That’s solely up to you and that fantasy about being at my mercy.”

Spinning around on my heels, Dodger almost bumps into me, looking down at the ground—not me—and what I was going to say disappears off my lips.