"Should I send her flowers, Hairy? Do you think she's the kind who likes flowers?"

Hairy looked up at him.

"Is she the dozen-roses type, or the tulip type, do you think?"

Oh, God-just that single little taste of her and it had taken every bit of willpower he possessed not to fold her in his arms and touch her everywhere-those gorgeous breasts, that perfect, round butt of hers, the satiny throat. He'd wanted to put his mouth on hers and taste her on the inside. He wanted to cup her between her legs. He wanted to tell her she was-

"… such a darling little thing!"

Thomas nearly yelped with surprise. He had company again. Where were all these people coming from? Was Federal Hill overpopulated? And why the hell did everyone suddenly get the urge to take a walk?

Thomas's eyes widened as he did a once-over on the man who now stood beside him. The guy was short and skinny with dyed blond hair and a silver hoop harpooned through his eyebrow. He wore a pair of black leather pants so tight that his lips should have been purple from the lack of circulation.

Then Thomas realized the man had some kind of little dog, too. It looked like a wig on four sticks, wearing what could only be described as a purple halter top and matching, crotchless hot pants. What kind of man would put a dog in such an absurd get-up?

Just then, the man made eye contact and broke out into a glorious smile, and extremely loud sirens began to wail inside Thomas's skull.

"I'm Franco," the man said, holding out a manicured hand. "This is Quiche Lorraine. I don't think we've seen you out before. I'm pretty sure we would have remembered." Franco giggled and gave his head a sassy little shake.

"I'm Thomas." He accepted Franco's hand and shook it. Real hard.

"Ooh! Down boy!" Franco laughed uncomfortably, then rubbed his injured fingers. "So. Are you new to the neighborhood?"

Thomas quickly summed up the situation. Could this nut job possibly think he was gay? And if so, why the hell would he assume something like that? Since when did he look gay? Since when did he sound gay? Was it something he was wearing? No, he was in a real hetero pair of cutoff sweatpants and an old Orioles T-shirt. Then what could it possibly-?

Thomas looked down at the two dogs, their tiny tails wagging as fast as hummingbird wings as they sniffed at each other's ensembles.

Oh, dear God.

"You know, you don't see too many Cresteds in town," Franco was saying. "I knew a guy a few years back with one, but they're few and far between. How long have you had him?" Franco blinked, his mouth pulled into a pert little smile, waiting.

"You've actually seen one of these before?" Suddenly, Thomas's back pain faded in comparison to the headache now eating away at his brain stem.

"Of course."

"Want it?"

Franco giggled. "Uh, not really."

A sharp "yip!" drew the men's attention to the dogs. They looked down to see Hairy humping Lorraine like there was no tomorrow.

"Goddammit, dog!" He pulled at the leash, then looked at Franco in horror. "Uh, sorry about that, man."

Franco laughed as he reached down to retrieve Lorraine. "It's perfectly natural-just the way dogs decide who's going to be the dominant one in the pack." Franco batted his eyelashes at Thomas. "You know, who gets to be on top."

That was it. That was all he could take.

Thomas mumbled goodbye in the most polite way he could muster, then sped down the sidewalk, dragging Hairy behind.

"Hurry up, you horny little neutered-"

Right then, Thomas swore to God above that he would never, ever, take Hairy out in public again. He'd get him a little doggie treadmill if he had to, but he wasn't taking this oversexed, sweater- and maxi pad-wearing, flamer-magnet on a walk again.

Not in this lifetime.

What a great walk this has been-three new friends in one night!

I think I'll lift my leg right here on this nice tree. Ahh, fabulous! Now everyone knows I was here. That I'm male. That I exist.

What a lovely evening! My sweater feels so snuggly. The sound of my nails clicking on the sidewalk makes me happy. I feel proud to have Big Alpha at my side.

Something feels so right about the two of us males out in the world together, leaving our scent on the neighborhood. I believe we could accomplish anything we set our minds to!

I'm reminded of one of Slick's favorite songs.

"Macho macho man… I wanna be a macho man!"

Chapter 6 When Will I See You Again?

When Emma entered the clinic Monday morning, she thought she'd strayed into somebody's funeral by mistake.

There were flowers everywhere.

A huge cut-glass vase of roses-at least two dozen flaming red blooms-sat atop the registration counter. On the small table usually reserved for Lyme disease brochures sat a woven basket overflowing with black-eyed Susans. A blue speckled crock of late summer wildflowers sat near the display for engraved dog tags.

Emma stared in amazement. Then fury.

How dare he do this to her?

"There's more in your office, Em." Velvet's dark head popped up over the registration counter, and she was smiling ear to ear. "I read all the cards so I have a general idea what's going on, but I'm still dying to hear the gory details." Velvet sighed dreamily. "This is just about the sweetest thing I've ever seen a man do."

Emma felt her shoulders sag and her spirits sink. In silence, she trudged through the door that led to her office and exam rooms.

"Hey!" Velvet called after her. "Don't you want to see what he wrote, Em?"

"Absolutely not."

"Emma?"

She threw her backpack onto an office chair and clicked on her computer, the anger swelling and burning inside her chest. It was then she noticed the porcelain teapot smack in the middle of her desk, overflowing with carnations and baby's breath, and a matching china plate piled with teas and chocolates.

How dare he?

"Em?"

"Get this stuff out of here, Velvet. Now. Please. Before I blow a gasket." Emma logged on the computer with loud, pounding strikes on the keyboard. She checked her e-mail with her back toward her assistant.

Velvet stopped and frowned. "Hey. You really are mad." She plopped down in the empty office chair. "I'm sorry. I just assumed you'd be happy about this. Maybe we should just get right to the details."

"There are no details, Velvet!" Emma wheeled around in her chair. "The man is sick. An addict. A manipulator. And you'd think, of all the people in the world, you'd be the last person who needed me to spell this out! God! And why he thinks flowers-freaking flowers!-are going to somehow make up for all the shit he's put me through I'll never know! And to think he had the nerve to ask me for money again when this pointless gesture must have cost a fortune! I just want to go on with my life! Is that too much to ask?"

Emma took a big breath. "Is it?"

She let her face drop into her hands and tried to get a grip on herself. She refused to start off the week like this. He had no right to do this to her-no right! The sound of Velvet's laughter caused her to look up.

"Excuse me? Is there something funny about this?"

"Well, yeah." Velvet kept giggling. "It sounds like you two managed to cover quite a lot of ground on your first date."

At that instant, Emma saw the elaborate gift basket full of dog treats directly in her line of vision-chewies, biscuits, Nylabones, rawhide sticks. It was perched on the bookcase below the display of her diplomas, bundled up in fancy clear plastic wrap and tied with a huge red polka dot bow. Her mind was reeling. Velvet's comments made no sense.