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1 " What did you just call him?” “Rufus is a stupid name,” she says with a shrug. I choke on air. “Excuse me?” “You heard me. What even is a Rufus anyway?” “A name,” I answer. “A manly name for a manly dog.” “He looks like vanilla ice cream with chocolate sprinkles. It had to be changed.” “You can’t just change a dog’s name. He’s eight months old. He likes his name. He knows it.” “Does he?” she asks, arching a brow. Jesus, she looks so much like her mother right now it’s almost scary. “Rufus.” I whistle. “Come here boy.” He lets out a whimper, but stays rooted in place, his eyes trained on the girl with the snacks. “Sprinkles, come.” Priss points to the floor. That traitor rises to all fours, looking more regal than Queen Elizabeth herself as he marches to her side. Man’s best friend, my ass. “Good boy,” she says, stuffing another treat into his mouth. “Sprinkles, sit.” He sits. “Shake,” she says, holding out her hand for his paw. “You taught him all of that in less than two hours?” “Uh-huh. Wasn’t hard. I watched some dog training videos.” “Let me guess, YouTube?” She grins. “Well, it worked.” “I see that.” “So…Sprinkles?” She steeples her hands in front of her face, poking out her lip for added drama. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the story of how my beast of a dog became a pansy. "
― Heather M. Orgeron ,
2 " Isn’t this the kind of thing boyfriends do?” She fans her lashes. “I need you, Wyatt.” Well, hell. “Fine,” I growl. “But only because I have a really big soft spot for those baby blues of yours. "
3 " Momma doesn’t let me play with hers. Now I can practice for when I’m a mortician!” Hmm. Maybe she’s not faking after all. “Maw-Maw…Mimi…think I could practice on y’all after breakfast?” And. I. Am. Dead. She actually just asked the two oldest women in the room if she could use them as guinea pigs to hone her mortuary makeup skills. This kid is fucking brilliant. "