Stevie smiles. “Thanks, Jude. Sounds great.”
Emmy glances at me as they walk off. “Want to help me work out with Meadow?” She leads me over to the group where her dog sits unleashed, calmly watching the other dogs run around.
“I can’t believe how well trained she is,” I say.
Emmy snatches an errant disc rolling toward us. She spins it smoothly back to the person, who yells thanks and immediately throws it for their dog. I think that pair was here last week, but I’m not sure.
“Meadow is like a short human with four legs and a fur coat,” she says as she calls her over. “I’ve never really had to reward her with treats or food; she seems to know what I’m asking for and does it.” She smiles at me. “Although, I do give her treats, of course. I mean, what kind of life would it be for a dog without treats?”
At the barest hint of a whistle, Meadow hustles over to her mistress. Emmy grabs a disc out of her backpack. “Ready to work, girl?”
The border collie wags her tail, her eyes fixed on the disc. Emmy steps up to the rope line, turns so her body is sideways and spins the disc, a smooth gesture that sends it flying straight and true and parallel to the ground. Meadow launches herself after it.
The dog doesn’t have to leap to catch the frisbee; she collects it easily in her mouth at the end of its flight and runs back to offer it to Emmy.
“Wow. Clearly pros,” I say.
“We’ve been doing this for years but thank you. I’m proud of her. Do you want to throw a few for her?” Emmy asks.
“Yeah, definitely. Although my throw won’t look like yours.”
She hands me the disc. “It doesn’t have to. The dogs should get used to all kinds of throws and catches, and it’s important for them to practice them in training.”
“Good thing,” I joke, “because this might end up in the lake.”
Emmy rubs Meadow’s head and tilts her own at me. “Luckily for you, she’s a good swimmer, too.”
I take the disc. As I weigh it in my hand, prepared to not humiliate myself, I glance over at Stevie and Bean.
Jude stands close behind her, his dark head close to her blonde one, his arm wrapped around her, their hands together on the disc. Slowly, their hands and arms extend. My eyes narrow and my muscles tense.
Cool it, Logan. He’s showing her how to improve her throw, like he said. I force my eyes back to the waiting Meadow, and then I curl my forearm and spin it. Too hard.
The frisbee goes straight for a second, and then curls right, almost skimming the back of a running dog down to the right. Meadow does her best to catch the disc I threw, but she has to dodge the dog, which destroys her timing. The frisbee lands with a hard thud.
I curse under my breath as Emmy laughs. “No worries, the good part about this sport is the dogs love chasing even if they don’t get to catch. Try it again.”
When Meadow brings the disc back, I line up, determined to do a better job. At least Stevie isn’t wrapped up in Jude’s arms now. But from the looks of her unbalanced, tilting throw, she might be again soon.
Wonderful.
“Can I get you a beer?” I ask Emmy and Jude about an hour later.
We’d caught a ride with Jude to Station 26 Brewing Company. Stevie and I had planned to run Bean home and grab my car, but he’d offered to drive us and Emmy there. She lives within walking distance of the park too. The rest of the club gathers with their dogs at a couple of picnic tables.
“Thanks, man,” Jude says. “I’ll take an IPA.”
“I’ll have the blonde,” Emmy says.
“Same for me,” Stevie says after checking the menu. “And can you get a water for Bean? I didn’t think to bring any to the park.”
Bean has stopped panting, but she’s lying at Stevie’s feet, probably ready for a drink and a snooze. Emmy brought a bowl and water for Meadow, and Bean has already drunk her fair share of it.
“That’ll be ten bucks and a foot massage later,” I say in a low voice in Stevie’s ear.
“Not on your life. I’m not touching those hairy toes now or ever. Here’s some cash, though.” She digs in the back pocket of her denim shorts.
I wave her off. We share expenses equally, and when we go out, we take turns paying. It might be my turn, it might not, but we’d decided long ago that it all comes out in the wash.
I buy the pints of beer and the water and head back to the table to find Stevie sandwiched between Jude and a woman who I think is named Chloe. There’s a spot next to Emmy on the other side of the table, so I take it after distributing the beverages. I pet Bean’s head under the table as I put water in a plastic bowl in front of her, but she doesn’t even look up. She’s pooped.
Emmy’s talking to Aaron, a short and muscular black guy I met today. It was his dog Bear that I almost hit with the frisbee. They glance at me as I sit down.
“Logan, right?” Aaron asks me.
“That’s it,” I say.
“And what’s your girlfriend’s name?”
I’m distracted by setting my pint glass down on a crack in the picnic table and having to grab it before it tips over. “Stevie,” I say without thinking.
“Oh—I didn’t realize you two were together,” Emmy says. “She introduced you as her housemate.”
“What?” I rewind what I’d said. My face heats up. “Oh, no, Stevie and I are friends. I . . . uh, didn’t hear you right.”
Emmy’s gaze stays on me for a second, but Aaron takes my explanation in stride. “Well, glad you two joined the club. We need some new blood. Bear and I get tired of making Emmy and Meadow look bad all the time.”
She smiles sweetly at him and I laugh. Even to a novice like me, it’s already pretty clear who the best thrower and catcher in the club are.
“How long have you been doing this?” I ask them.
Aaron answers first. “Bear and I joined last year. He was so bored at home while I worked all day, he needed something active to do in the evenings other than a short walk.”
His dog lifts his head when he hears his name, then his head drops back down. He’s a big dog, brown and black in color with triangular-shaped ears that stay up and alert most of the time. Some sort of German shepherd mix, I guess. Bear looks as strong as his owner.
“What about you and Meadow?” I ask Emmy.
She reaches down and pets her slim, black and white border collie, who stares up at her mistress adoringly. “We’ve been playing with discs since she was a puppy.”
“It shows.”
“Thanks,” she smiles at me again, and I can’t help noticing how pretty, straight, and white her teeth are against her creamy tan complexion. “I taught Jude to work with her, too, so if I was busy after work, she still got her training.”
“What do you do for work?” I ask them.
“I’m a yoga teacher,” Emmy says, “and I work at Starbucks.”
“Caffeine and chill,” Aaron says.
She nods. “It’s a good mix. My heart is with wellness and yoga, but Starbucks has consistent hours and benefits, so.” She shrugs.
As Aaron tells me about his engineering job, my gaze slides briefly to Stevie and Jude. She’s leaning close to him, listening to him talk about the last time the club competed. I keep my eyes on her for a second, hoping hers will meet mine.