His hair was sticking up in patches, a mix of colors like that of a border collie, but with a flatter snout, straight-up ears, giant feet, one bright blue eye, and one gray one.
U-G-L-Y.
But, let's face it, he was a puppy. So no matter what, he was adorable with his flopping pink tongue, twitching ears, and wagging tail.
My eyes went back up, shamelessly eavesdropping. I felt a smile tugging at my lips.
He chose his dog over her?
Now that was a good man, wasn't it?
"We've been through this," the man, Eli, told her in a patient, but barely holding onto it, tone.
"Yeah, and it's ridiculous!" she hissed, jutting out a hip, her hand waving down her body. "You'd trade all this - and let's not forget the wild sex - for a stupid, hideous dog that destroys your apartment. And, I might add, my very expensive shoes."
"For which I bought you new ones," Eli shot back in a calm tone. "In fact, I bought you three pairs because you threw such a fit."
This was better than TV.
"I was with you before you found that hellbeast."
Oh, boy. She was jealous of the dog. Bad enough that she felt that, but she was expressing it? Yeah, jealousy was never a good look to wear on your sleeve. It was even worse when it was jealousy for a hideous, troublesome, but obviously loved puppy.
"And it wasn't working then either, babe," he said, shaking his head at her, eyes almost a little sympathetic.
"It was working just fine. What? Just because I didn't fit in with those freaking chicks..."
"My sisters-in-law," he corrected.
"Yeah, whatever. Just because we didn't get along, you were going to dump me?"
"Honestly, yes," he said, shrugging.
"Choosing your family over your girlfriend, Eli. What the fuck kind of man are you? Oh, wait, I know. One I won't be wasting this good pussy on anymore." With that, she stormed off, adding a bit too much hitch in her giddy-up as she did, thinking she was showing him what he would be missing.
Oh, shit.
I actually had to press my lips together to keep from laughing out loud at that.
Because, quite frankly, it was sad.
Not for him.
But because that whole display was a bit, ah, needy on her part. First, the begging for attention. Then, when it was clear she wasn't going to get it, trying to have the last word.
Pride, that woman had a lot of it.
What was with people not being mature enough to just... accept that things weren't working out, and move on? Scenes at coffeeshops before a decent hour in the morning were, well, kinda pathetic.
"Don't listen, Coop," the man said, drawing my attention again because, yeah, what a voice. I always had a thing for voices. I drooled over accents, over those gravel-and-glass ones that some men had. This guy, though, his voice was smooth. I swear it slid over the skin like silk, bringing shivers. He was kneeling down at the post out front that had clips to tie up your dogs so you could run inside, threading the orange handle in through one of the holders. "You're not ugly. You're... alright, you're fucking ugly. Sorry, there's no way around that fact. But those shoes you ate were hideous to begin with," he told him, rubbing his head as the dog's tail wagged obsessively. "I'll bring you a treat," he declared, moving off inside.
He didn't even look at me.
This maybe should have offended me.
Most women wanted to be noticed by hot guys.
Hell, I even was apparently his type with my height and blonde hair, though I was just a sight more curvy than his ex.
That being said, I was pretty secure in who I was.
And, you know, sometimes you just weren't in the mood to interact with the opposite sex. We've all been there, in the grocery store running late, feeling sweaty and annoyed at life in general, and some dude's eyes catch yours, and you just know they are going to engage you, so you hurry off in the other direction.
After a run-in with a, ah, spirited ex, the dude likely just wanted a double shot of coffee, and to get on with his day.
I looked over at the dog whose different colored eyes were watching the door where his owner disappeared with clear devotion. A dog that ugly, he had to be a rescue, a street pup, some accidental one-night-stand between two dogs who likely looked decent on their own, but never should have procreated. His devotion to his owner likely ran deeper because he had known the mean pang of hunger, of cold, of being alone in the world.
Gotta love a man who rescued dogs.
And loved his family.
And dumped chicks who got along with neither.
As if my thoughts had summoned him back, the door chimed as it opened, bringing a gust of sweet air from all the varied sugar syrups inside. He walked out with an extra large hot coffee, one I figured he took black because men like him usually did, and a doggy bag for, well, his actual dog.