Second Hand: A Tucker Springs Novel 2

reason for moving the party.”
“No, that’s the bullshit, what you just said to me. When
you said you wanted to invite someone, that was the truth.” Goddamn Rosa and her ability to see right through him.
“It’s nobody. Just this guy that’s been hanging around the
shop. He’s a friend.”
“A friend you want to fuck. Interesting. What’s his
name?”
Fuck. “Bob.”
“You’re lying,” Rosa declared, sounding pleased with
herself. “Don’t worry, I’ll get it out of you while you’re
cleaning.” She hung up.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
Though it hadn’t been his original intention, El headed
to Lights Out instead of back to the shop. When Denver
greeted him at the door, the bouncer’s expression changed
from welcoming to something heavy and sober.
“Somebody die?” he asked.
“No, but I have the feeling I’m going to wish I had.” An
idea struck him, and he seized it. “Denver, what are you doing
for the Fourth?”
“Working here, what do you think?” He gave El a funny
look. “Why?”
“Nothing. I just had this—” He grimaced and shook his
head. “Forget it.”
Denver grinned at him. “You’re looking nervous, buddy.
Any chance this nothing has to do with Strawberry? Because if it means I get to watch you with him again, I’ll get Jase to
find someone else to man the door that night.”
Murmuring “Fuck you” under his breath, El nudged past
his friend and a gaggle of giggling girls playing tourist, heading
straight for Jase and the bar and the alcohol.

chapter 15
    I
    arrived at the office on Monday a few minutes early to unlock, as I usually did. A large cardboard box waited on the sidewalk in front of the door. My first thought was that it was odd for the mailman to have arrived already, but then I heard a scratching from inside.
    The cardboard shook, and then I heard something else: a high-pitched, desperate whine.
“Oh no.” I got down on my knees, tore open the box, and was immediately attacked by a wriggling ball of black and white fur. “Puppy, who left you here? Are you okay?”
The dog seemed unharmed and eager to be free. “Where’d you come from?” I asked, and the dog lapped its little tongue ineffectually in the direction of my face.
There was a note inside the box.
    This is MoJo. She’s a good dog, but I have to go home, and I can’t take her with me.

    Please take care of her.
    “MoJo?” I said to the dog, and her wriggling went into overdrive. She was a small dog, and shaggy. My guess was that she was a Lhasa Apso mix, not more than two years old. She had ears as expressive as Yoda’s and about the same shape. “Poor MoJo. How long have you been here? I can’t believe your owner left you! What a bad, mean owner.” I was talking like an idiot to her, but she clearly liked it. Her little tail whipped back and forth so fast it dragged the bulk of her backside along with it. “Are you hungry? Want something to eat?”
    By the time Nick arrived, MoJo was happily snarfing down a can of dog food like she hadn’t eaten in days.
“Where’d he come from?” Nick asked.
“She,” I corrected. I showed him the note. “Somebody left her on the step.”
He shook his head. “I’ll never get why people do that. There’s a shelter two miles away.”
“They probably worry they won’t get adopted, but think if they bring them here, you’ll take care of them.”
“Looks like this one’s on you,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m maxed out on dogs. I have three, which is already one more than my lease allows, and they’re all big. They’d think that little thing was nothing but an interactive squeaky toy.”
“I can’t have dogs at my house,” I said.
“Too bad.” Nick shrugged. “Well, she can hang out here today. I’ll drop her at the shelter on my way home.”
The shelter. Yes. That was logical. That was the right thing to do. A good dog like her would be adopted in no time.
Probably.
And if not . . .
Well, maybe it was a no-kill shelter? Maybe I should call and ask?
MoJo finished her breakfast and spent half the morning attacking my shoelaces, and most of the afternoon napping at my feet, and meanwhile I spent every free moment picturing her locked in a cage. Not being adopted. Being put to sleep. All because her owner hadn’t understood the obligation involved in owning a dog.
All because I couldn’t have pets.
By the time we closed for the day, I knew there was no way in hell I was letting Nick take her to the shelter. The