Pub Fantasy

I take exception to this and dig deep within myself to find the tiniest reserve of energy to get myself to my feet. I wander tiredly through the dining room to the kitchen and retrieve the individually wrapped packets of sliced cheese from the fridge, then slink back to the sofa.

The owner of the slobbery tongue sits between my legs, big blue eyes pleading in the most heart-breaking way as I fight the cellophane packet. After much cursing I fish the cheese out and throw it on the floor. As quickly as I can, I throw another couple of pieces after it and lie back again on the sofa, muscles aching from the days exertions, and listen as the big, blue-eyed Dalmatian wolfs down the cheese.

Welcome to the world of dog-sitting.

Jeff is a three year old rambunctious Dalmatian owned by a couple of friends of mine. They've only him a couple of months and he came to them untrained, but they've already done a lot of work with him, and he's calming down somewhat although he still does things no well-trained dog would do. Like attempting to devour annoying little Chihuahua's for breakfast. I tell you, I'm on Jeff's side for that one. As for taking him for a walk, forget it, you don't take him anywhere; he takes you. He's a big powerful lad, and I've had my entire year's workout in just one day. I'm knackered. And he still wants to play.

We've managed to reach an agreement, though. I either play or give him cheese, and he leaves me alone for half an hour. I somehow think that he's getting the better end of the bargain, but it works for me.

Why, I hear you ask, am I doing this? I could say it's because they're my friends and they asked. I could also say, because it makes a nice change from watching the paint peel in my own house. But its probably because they bribed me with free food; and it's even more likely because they swore blind that Jeff is a babe/stud magnet, and I've been without a fella for way too long. Not that I'm desperate, but sometimes a girl needs all the help she can get.

After all the work I've put into keeping him entertained (and despite the aches and pains, I have enjoyed it), I decide to find out if his alleged magnetism is true and head for the shower, preparatory to going to the pub.

Half an hour later, Jeff is happily escorting me to my car, tail thumping the back of my legs as he virtually quivers in anticipation of whatever it is we're going to do next. We have a brief argument as to who's going to drive; I say brief, because once he's rapidly ensconced himself in the driver's seat, there's no way I've got the strength to budge him. I chuck a piece of cheese in the back, though and that solves that little problem.

The pub's about ten minutes drive away and Jeff won't be a problem because it's a nice sunny evening and it's got a nice garden. I loop Jeff's leash under a table leg and get myself a drink, ordering dinner at the same time. Within five minutes, I discover that my friends were right; he really is a magnet. He attracts mothers with their children; an old couple who drone on forever about the poodles they've owned, all called Edna, since the dawn of time; a businessman who's toupee keeps lifting up in the breeze and a butch woman who I swear is giving me the eye.

No studs.

I tell Jeff that he's failing me, and he just gives me that soulful blue-eyed look that I really can't resist, so I pet him. He's happy with this until my chilli arrives, whereupon he leans his head on the table and looks at me as I eat. He makes me feel as if I'm depriving starving babies in Africa with every mouthful.

When I've finished, I think about going home, but as it's such a nice evening, I decide to have another long cold drink instead.

I'm about to fish my book out to read when two men come out of the pub and into the garden, carrying drinks. The first guy is really cute, kind of like Pierce Brosnan, but younger and cuter with the most amazing eyes that can't make up their mind whether they're silver, green, grey or blue.

He spots Jeff, no pun intended, and bends down to pat his head, smiling, his eyes twinkling. Jeff looks at him happily, tongue lolling, then launches himself at the man's expensively stylishly clad long leg. I can't look and have no idea how to call Jeff off. The man solves the problem by pulling away and looks down in horror at the beautiful stain spreading across the material.

I'm completely speechless as merry laughter comes bursting from his companion, who I now see for the first time. If the first guy was really cute, then this guy is really, really cute. Really. Kind of like Keanu Reeves. Keanu Reeves in Speed, that is, not, god forbid, Bill and Ted. So I watch too many movies, okay? Cat-like eyes, moves and a body to absolutely die for.

The Brosnan guy gives me a weak smile and heads off to a table with two bimbettes giggling inanely and throwing me dirty looks. The Reeves guy sets his drinks down on my table and crouches nose to nose with Jeff, then leans in to pet him. Jeff's loving it of course and happily washes the guy's face.

My embarrassment flees as the man screws his face up comically and makes out that he's drowning in slobber, and I'm unable to hold back the laughter. Out of breath, he stands up and steps away from Jeff, keeping well out of the way should Jeff decide to go back into leg-humping mode.

Jeff's sitting, grinning at me mischievously and I realise that the guy hasn't walked away and is, in fact, talking to me. I look up into blue eyes whose sparkling intensity is only matched by the dimples that shine as he grins. He's asking me about Jeff, and I refrain from admitting that he isn't mine, thoroughly hypnotised by his soft voice with its unusual accent. This man could make the phone book sound unbelievable sexy; especially the 'S' section, and right now, it's melting my very bones.

He asks me where I walk the dog and I mention the park, and he says that maybe he'll see me there. I'm left blinking and smiling dazedly as he moves off to join his companions. Did I just miss a pick up line? I look at Jeff who has a sorely disappointed expression on his canine face, and I can't help feeling that I've let him down...

...With a sigh I dig out my book, but I find it hard to concentrate. My attention keeps getting drawn away to glance over at the group at the far table, spirits sinking a little further every time I see the perfectly put together faces and figures of the giggling girls there. The dark-haired Brosnan guy seems to be enjoying himself, regaling them with stories and laughing at their (what I rather cattily imagine to be) inane comments. But I notice with a small degree of satisfaction that the other one is sitting back in his chair, playing with his beer bottle and observing the proceedings with a hint of distant amusement playing across his features.

I finish my drink and decide regretfully there's nothing much to keep me here, so I unhook the lead from under the table leg and rouse Jeff from his doggy dreams. As I rise to go, I cast a final look across the garden and experience a return of that bone-melting feeling when I see those blue eyes register my movement and turn my way. He smiles and raises his bottle in a farewell salute, but his attention is re-claimed by one of the blondes before I can do anything more than smile shyly back.

Even the glare the girl throws me before she leans over to loop her arm possessively through his can't totally squash my lifting heart as I head out to the car park. There are other people leaving and, as I fumble in my bag for my keys, I'm vaguely aware of the yapping of another dog mingling with slamming car doors and engine noise. It's obvious, however, that Jeff's interest has been piqued when I feel the lead jerked from my hand. I look up in horror to see the other car disappearing down the lane, a small fluffy white head poking out of the open rear window yapping encouragement to her potential suitor as he lollops along behind.

I stand open-mouthed for long moments, staring after them, but the thought of that big silly dog loose on the road like that galvanises me into some sort of action, and without conscious thought I find myself rushing off after them, exertions of the day forgotten.

Dusk is beginning to fall as I pelt down the narrow road, feet slapping against the tarmac, calling desperately for Jeff though I know from my brief experience of him that he's unlikely to respond when he's following a trail like this. The sounds of the car are already fading beyond the next few bends, and I wish I'd thought rationally enough to use my own car rather than following on foot.

Then, from somewhere up ahead, come the sounds I really didn't want to hear - tyres squealing under severe braking, a thud and a stomach-wrenching yelp. Heart in my mouth I speed up, steaming round the corner to the horrific sight of a stationary car looming over a huddled black and white shape on the road.

A yell of 'No!' is torn from me, despair warring with anger and guilt as I sprint forward, hurling myself to my knees to skid to a halt beside Jeff, oblivious of the rough tarmac ripping through my jeans and digging into my flesh. I'm almost afraid to look, to touch him, not wanting to feel the coldness I'm certain I'll find. But as I whisper his name, Jeff raises his head a little to look at me with hurt and confusion in those blue eyes, whimpering plaintively. I reach to pat him gently, speaking comfortingly to him, scanning his spotted white coat and amazed to find no signs of the spurting blood and other external damage I was expecting. But apart from his head he's not making any attempts to move, and I know I need to get him some help.

I look up at the car still sitting with its engine running, seeing the pale shocked face of an acned youth staring back at me from the driver's seat. I start to rise, to ask him to give me a lift or go for help or something, but my movement seems to scare him to the extent that he suddenly slams the car into reverse, pulling back enough to get round the obstruction we're causing before screeching away into the growing gloom.

I curse at him for his lack of concern, unaccustomed feelings of helplessness welling up inside me. I'm always the capable, practical one, working my best under pressure, bringing order to chaos - but the trust in Jeff's eyes as he makes a pitiful attempt to reach my hand so he can give me a reassuring lick reduces me to a useless mess, completely unable to come up with a sensible course of action.

I become aware of pounding footsteps racing towards me from the direction of the pub, and a mental rewind adds in the sound of someone yelling indignantly over the noise of the escaping hit-and-runner. The footsteps halt beside me, and I glance round to see a pair of booted feet attached to obviously muscular, black-denim-clad legs, which disappear into a well-worn leather jacket. The legs suddenly bend as their owner squats easily, bringing himself down to my level and I blink back tears which seem to have come from nowhere to find myself staring mistily at the subject of Jeff's latest face-washing exploits.

He grins, making a rude comment about idiot drivers going too fast, and asks how we're doing, resting one hand lightly on the dog's heaving side and the other on my shoulder as he looks at me, blue eyes studying me assessingly. His touch is warm and comforting and I take strength from his calmness, forcing back my sniffles to give him a watery smile in return, telling him although I can't see any obvious injuries I badly need to get Jeff to a vet. He asks if there's one nearby, and although I know I know exactly the location of the local vets' surgery with an emergency service, I'm horrified by the fact that at that precise moment I can't remember where it is.

He must sense my rising panic because his grip tightens on my shoulder, and he tells me it's OK, not to worry. He asks for my keys, responding to my bemused expression by telling me he came with his friends and doesn't have his own car, so he's going to get mine and come back to fetch us, then we'll find the vet together - if that's OK with me? I'm stunned to silence by this, but manage to gesture to my bag, abandoned on the road beside me, disturbed to find myself starting to tremble almost as much as Jeff at the loss of contact when he removes his hand to retrieve it and dig out my keys.

A car roars towards us up the road, headlights glaring, and my companion insists on moving my charge carefully to the grass verge despite my protests that it might worsen any injuries. His assertion that it's better than getting him - and me - run over again is delivered in that soft voice which washes over me and oddly seems to increase my trembling.

He asks if I'm OK and I produce a nod which doesn't seem to fool him if his expression is anything to go by, but with a final reassuring grin and a brief touch of his hand to my cheek he disappears back towards the pub.

He isn't gone long, but I start to see all manner of horrors in the dark, and my whirling thoughts get round to how on earth I'm ever going to explain my carelessness to my friends, or expect their forgiveness if the worst happens and Jeff is too badly hurt to save. By the time my car pulls up beside us I practically have him dead and buried, and myself with him, and those wretched tears are making an unwelcome reappearance.

Our Good Samaritan has us both in the car with bewildering rapidity, pushing me gently into the back seat and lifting Jeff effortlessly to lay him with unexpected care beside me so I can continue to try and calm his obviously terrified tremors and whimpers, and prevent him moving too much. I only vaguely notice the soft creak of the leather jacket as its owner slides back into the driver's seat and sets off at a speed my car rarely gets to experience - at least rarely under the kind of smooth control he exhibits.

Before I really have time to work out what's going on, he's pulling up in front of the surgery, laughing softly at my confusion and telling me he got directions from the barman at the pub. Then he has Jeff bundled up in his strong arms again and is urging me ahead to open doors and alert staff to the incoming emergency.

What follows becomes a blur of bright lights, fast-moving people, intense questioning and form-filling, and when everyone finally disappears, leaving me with assurances they'll let me know as soon as they have news, it seems to take me an age to focus on anything other than the closed swing doors next to the reception desk. But eventually common sense returns enough for me to realise that I could be in for a long wait and I turn away towards the waiting area, only to be brought up short by the sight of the man in black leaning patiently against the wall.

Embarrassment colours my cheeks at having forgotten all about him, but his full lips tug up into a half smile and he moves towards me, hand grasping my elbow gently to lead me over to the seats. My discomfort seems to launch me into a sad case of verbal diarrhoea and I start babbling, thanking him for his help and kindness, apologising for leaving him standing there, for taking him away from his friends - oh God, his friends, won't they be worried? he should get back to them, no need to stay...

He silences my tumbling stream of words with a warm finger pressed against my lips and a broad grin of understanding. He gestures to the hard plastic chairs, indicating I might as well sit, and drops down beside me, saying casually that Sam - who I think must be the Brosnan guy - would probably be doing just fine without him. And in any case, he adds looking up at the clock on the wall, by the time he got back they'd more than likely be gone.

The realisation that he's more or less stranded here because of me does nothing to alleviate my feelings of guilt and, to add insult to injury, my grazed knees and aching muscles decide to make their presence felt in a big way. Self-pity does its utmost to take over and to my mortification those traitorous tears well up from the depths again. I turn away, fumbling in my bag for a tissue, struggling to stop my eyes and nose dribbling unbecomingly, and all the while desperately aware of his solid presence behind me, waiting quietly for me to regain control.

I find myself talking again to fill the silence, telling him about my friends - Jeff's owners - and their holiday plans, my first and probably last day as a dog-sitter, Jeff's bizarre cheese-eating habits and his boundless energy. Somewhere during my monologue I turn back towards him, noticing dimly that the tight black top he's wearing under the leather jacket - a top that seems to mould itself to his torso in a most distracting way - is covered in fine white hairs which I know from experience will be hell to get off.

I finally raise my gaze to his face again, half-expecting to find him bored witless and looking for escape. But instead he's watching me intently, that small smile playing about his mouth again giving rise to just a hint of dimple, cat's eyes sparkling with suppressed humour. Somehow I instinctively know he's laughing with me, though, not at me and a spark of warmth starts to glow inside me, melting the icy knot that my stomach has become. I trail off, finding myself unable to tear my eyes from his, being drawn into their depths and not having the slightest inclination to fight the sensations starting to flow through me.

But the moment is broken by the double doors slamming open to reveal a woman in green scrubs, and I leap up to hear the worst. I'm confused by the smile on her face, unable initially to take in her words, to believe that she's actually telling me that Jeff is going to be fine. Bruised, yes, and pretty sore and sorry for himself for a few days, but nothing broken and no apparent internal injuries - and we can take him home.

Those sneaky tears are back, but this time brought on by my delight at the news, and I turn unthinking to throw my arms around my companion's neck in a triumphant hug. The reality of what I'm doing comes immediately on the heels of the feeling of his well-muscled body against mine and the strength of his arms wrapping around me to return my embrace, and for long moments I revel in the contact. But regretfully I pull away to acknowledge the nurses invitation to come through and fetch my dog, not wanting to look up at him for fear of what I might - or might not - see.

He follows me, though, sticking close behind me as we accompany the woman through to the treatment room where Jeff is sitting on one of the tables. His tail starts to thump when he sees me, and his tongue lolls out through one of his toothy grins when I rush over to pet him. But though the nurse says there's no reason for him not to walk he seems disinclined to move by himself, looking up at us with a pathetic expression in his eyes, and with a laugh our black-clad saviour moves forward to gather him up again.

I let him carry Jeff out to the car but once there my guilt at having interrupted his evening comes nagging back and I thank him again, offering to give him a lift home or drop him somewhere. He shakes his head with a smile and I bite back a surge of disappointment which turns to intense pleasure as he says having come this far with us he'd kind of like to make sure we get home safely. My rational side tells me I should refuse, that I've imposed on him enough, but I just don't have the energy - physical or emotional - to do any more than return his smile and accept gratefully. I don't even demur when he opens the passenger door for me, despite the implication that I'm not up to driving my own car - something that would normally leave me seething.

We drive in comfortable silence, broken only by my occasional directions and Jeff's slurps and wuffles from the back seat, and I experience a strange mixture of relief and regret when we pull into the driveway of my temporary home. Jeff again seems unwilling or unable to move himself, gazing expectantly past me at his new friend and craning his neck to slobber enthusiastically over his face when he picks him up one more time and follows me into the house.

Finding himself on home territory Jeff starts to wriggle, and his chauffeur bends to set him on his feet before he can pull himself loose from his arms and fall. I watch anxiously as he totters a little unsteadily but under his own steam towards the kitchen, trailing after to see him climb stiffly into his basket and settle with a sigh, still unable to believe he's really alright.

I stand staring at the dog for an indeterminate length of time until a quiet voice behind me reminds me I'm not alone, and I hear him telling me he'd better be going now he knows we're OK, that he'll call himself a cab, let me have some peace and quiet. I know he's right, but my over-stretched emotions on top of my depleted energy reserves leave me desperately unhappy at the thought of being alone. I take a few deep breaths, fighting back another onslaught from those damn persistent tears, proud of how steady my voice is as I turn and start to express my gratitude again for his assistance.

I'm not sure how it happens but, through some combination of him moving towards me, perhaps sensing my distress, and me towards him, I find myself coming to an abrupt halt against the solid broadness of his chest. I try to find the resolve to pull away, but the physical presence of him is too compelling and I can do nothing more than stand there staring at the white-flecked black cotton millimetres from my nose, barely breathing, praying for him not to move away.

It seems like an eternity later that his arms encircle me, pulling me tightly to him, breath soft in my hair as he runs one hand up to caress my neck, working at the tension there, while his fingers massage my lower back as the other hand holds me close. A small moan of contentment escapes me as I press my face into the hollow of his throat, temptingly framed by the V-neck of his black top, slipping my own hands tentatively under the leather jacket to explore the expanses of muscled flesh hidden by the thin fabric. He smells of soap and just a hint of aftershave, a heady combination which floods my already over-activated senses and sets my pulse racing.

I raise my head, sliding my cheek against the slightly stubbled roughness of his, feeling his breath tickle my ear, unable to resist placing a clandestine kiss against the strong line of his jaw. To my dismay he pulls his head away, though his hands continue their work, and with sinking heart I look up, not wanting to see the censure I'm sure will be there. But his blue eyes are still sparkling, this time with what looks incredibly like passion, and that warm glow inside me turns into a veritable forest fire as he brings those marvelously soft, full lips down to meet mine, tongue flicking out to seek and gain entrance, arms tightening around me, molding me against the contours of his powerful frame.

And just before I close my eyes and give myself up to the sensations surging through me, I catch sight of Jeff, head raised to look at us and a satisfied grin plastered across his white and black face, secure in the knowledge that his status as stud-magnet is assured.

FINIS