Flash Fiction Friday: For the Love of Dogs

I took my two dogs and walked on the rail trail. I had my phone and was texting a friend when my arm wrenched as the dogs strained at their leashes.

I raised my eyes to find a beautiful blonde with emerald eyes and a quiet yellow labrador retriever by her side. She was eyeing my dogs as she and her dog were trying to pass us.

She met my eyes. I smiled. “Hello.”

“It appears your dogs need some training.”

“I’m sorry. Yeah, they won’t hurt you or your dog. They’d like to greet the two of you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think so.” She frowned at my dogs.

She hadn’t stopped moving and I was now facing the opposite direction than I’d been traveling, looking at her back.

“Wait. Can I at least get your name? Are you married?” Other people were now looking in our direction.

She glanced over her shoulder and I began moving toward her.

“No, I’m not married and my name is Amanda.” The corners of her lips twitched.

I jogged a few steps to get closer to her. “Can I take you to dinner?”

“I don’t think so.” She grimaced at my dogs.

“Seriously? You’re turning me down because of my dogs?”

“You can actually tell a lot about a person by their pets. But also, I’m not a fan of Boston Terriers and I don’t think your dogs and my dog would get along.”

“If it’s that important to you, I’ll get rid of my dogs.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous. You don’t even know me.” She turned and began walking again.

“Look, Amanda, okay, I know I may sound crazy, desperate even, but you are the most beautiful woman I have ever met and I just can’t let you get away.” I knew I was groveling, but I was tired of being alone.

Her lips twitched again, and then broke into a wide smile. “That’s definitely the most original pickup line I have ever heard. What is your name?”

“My name, oh right, my name. I’m Jason. Jason Walters.”

“Well, Jason Walters, why don’t you get your phone out of your pocket and I’ll give you my number.”

“Really?” I began digging for my phone.

“My name is Amanda Reynolds.”

I typed furiously.

“My number is 555-4202.” She waited as I typed. “Got it?”

“Yeah, I got it. I’ll call you soon.”

She smiled, turned around and walked away.

It was then that a terrible thought niggled its way into my brain. That’s probably not her real last name or her real phone number. Do you really think she’d give you her real information as foolishly as you acted.

I hated it, but that thought was probably more accurate than I cared to admit. I guessed I’d find out soon enough.


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