At least this time Jude doesn’t have to put his hands all over Stevie. I thump myself mentally. Even if he does put his hands all over her, it’s none of my business. I repeat that to myself. None of my business. Yet, anyway.
“Logan?” Emmy looks at me as if I missed something she said. I focus on her face. On her pretty face. On her very pretty face.
Her tea-brown eyes are almond shaped, and her shiny dark-brown hair is pulled back into a loose braid. She’s wearing one of those tight-fitting sports dresses that show her lean arms and a good bit of her legs.
“Yeah, sorry. What was that?” I ask.
She tosses me the disc. “I asked if you wanted a turn.”
“Sure, thanks.” I line myself up and spin the frisbee out. Meadow races across the grass and catches it as it comes down, timing her arrival and grab perfectly. She looks pleased with herself as she carries it back to me.
“Do you and Meadow win all competitions or only most of them?” I ask teasingly.
Emmy answers the question seriously. “Meadow’s a state and regional champion, and I’ve been thinking about taking her to worlds. I think she could do well there. She’s really disciplined and focused, you know?” She laughs. It’s a sweet, tinkling sound, like a spoon tapped against a champagne glass. “Is it bragging if I’m talking about my dog?”
“I don’t think it’s bragging when you’re being factual, and I asked. Although, Meadow couldn’t do this without you. You’re both champions.”
“I guess that’s true.” Emmy smiles and toys with the treat bag she carries. Of all the dogs, Meadow seems the least interested in food rewards and most motivated by the joy of chasing the disc, but Emmy reinforces the joy through Meadow’s stomach.
“When’s the next competition?” I ask after throwing the disc again. My spins are not as good as Emmy’s. They don’t go as far, stay on as straight of a path, or dip as smoothly and with the right timing as hers or the others in the club do.
“End of August,” she says. “It’s in Littleton. Sometimes we travel to Fort Collins or Colorado Springs, and there’s a fun one up in the mountains in Avon every summer, but this one is here in the Denver metro. I think Bean’s ready if Stevie wants to compete.”
I pause to watch Stevie and Bean for a minute. They’re getting better quickly, but Bean’s nowhere near Meadow, Bear, or a few of the other dogs’ levels. They’ve been at this a lot longer, after all.
I must look doubtful, because Emmy adds, “There are novice, intermediate, and advanced divisions, plus a freestyle competition. Bean would do great with the novices.”
“Oh, in that case, I have a feeling she would.” As we watch, Bean trots back with the disc in her mouth and tries to give it to Stevie. She’s too involved in something she’s telling Jude to take it from her, even after Bean knocks it against her leg.
Hands on his hips, Jude smiles and laughs, totally focused on Stevie. I wonder what she’s telling him about. He’s new, he’s fresh, he’s probably a lot more interesting to talk to. I know all her stories already.
“Logan?”
I glance at Emmy. She looks . . . sympathetic. “Do you want me to take over?”
Meadow sits at my feet with the disc, waiting for me to take it.
“No, sorry, I’ve got it.” Turning away from Stevie and Jude, I throw Meadow’s disc long and hard. And yeah, I might be picturing Jude’s good-looking face as the target.
Later, over beers at Station 26, I sit beside Aaron and an Indian woman from the club named Nisha. This is the first time she’s come to a workout since Stevie and I joined, although she said she’s been a member since moving to Denver two years ago to do her residency in internal medicine at the nearby University of Colorado Hospital.
Her dog, a white and brown Australian shepherd mix named Jack, had barked excitedly every time she threw the disc for him. But now, like the others, he’s laid out under the table snoozing.
Nisha tells me her name means night in Sanskrit. “Which is appropriate,” she jokes, “because as a resident I work all night. And all day for that matter.”
She tells us a story about a patient she had this week who had a mysterious set of symptoms that he was convinced was leprosy, even though none of the symptoms matched. “I’m pretty sure he was disappointed when I told him it wasn’t leprosy, and more likely to be a virus. Or maybe hypochondriasis.”
Aaron and I laugh. I glance down the table at Jude, Emmy, and Stevie. Bean is at Stevie’s feet, a bowl of water in front of her tired nose, and her gaze focused on some squirrels chasing each other around a nearby tree. How can the dog still be interested in running after small animals after all the running after frisbees she did this evening?
“What do you do, Logan?” Aaron asks me.
“I’m an accountant.” When they both nod, I joke, “And that’s usually the end of that conversation.” They chuckle. “Not the most exciting of careers, unfortunately, although I enjoy it.”
“What do you guys do for fun, other than this?” Nisha sighs. “I have no time for hobbies, much less a social life, so I live vicariously through other people.”
“I like to run,” I say. “And I game with friends to relax at night.” I’m shy about telling people about my bird watching hobby. I shouldn’t be, I know, but the humiliation lingers from a time I told a girl I liked in middle school about it and she laughed at me. And promptly told all her giggling friends.
“Me, too. Gaming, not running. I only run when chased.” Aaron makes a face and then pets Bear’s head when he pops up under the table to scratch an itch. “I also play the violin.”
“Really?” Nisha looks interested. “I had no idea. I played the cello in high school. I’ve been wanting to pick it up again. We should get together for a session!”
Aaron almost chokes on his beer. “Hang on now, I didn’t say I played well.”
“I haven’t played in like seven years! How bad could you be compared to that?”
As they talk about their music backgrounds, my attention drifts down the table again. Emmy’s talking to Scott, another guy from the club, and Stevie and Jude lean in toward each other, deep in conversation.
Jealousy punches me in the gut. I have no right to be jealous. None at all. But tell that to the warty green trolls playing tackle football in my abdomen. As I watch from the corner of my eye, Bean worms her way out from under the table and flies after the squirrels by the tree, her leash trailing behind her.
Stevie squeezes out from behind the picnic table and runs after her, Jude hot on their heels. Jack and Bear leap up and bark. Bear hits his head on the underside of the table with a thump.
I grab a handful of chips from the plate of chips and salsa I bought when we got there. Stevie and Jude try to trap Bean between them, but she keeps darting away, her eyes on the tree top the squirrels escaped to.
“Bean,” I say over the wild barking, “want a treat?”
She looks over, looks back at the tree, and then comes to me. I give her a chip and grasp her collar.
Stevie rewards me with a grateful smile as she collects Bean. “Why don’t I ever remember the food?”