In the parking lot, Liam is leaning against my car with his feet crossed at the ankles.
Falkor barks a greeting and drools the second he sees me. “Can I have my dog back?” I ask, annoyed my dog seems to think he has a new owner. I grab the leash from Liam and kneel down to pet Falkor behind his left ear, his favorite spot. “If you want a ride home, my dog’s riding shotgun.” I open the door and let Falkor in the front seat.
“I don’t think so.” Liam leans into the car. “Falkor, get in the back.”
My usually stubborn dog obediently jumps into the backseat as if Liam is a dog whisperer.
I turn on the radio as I drive home.
“You might be used to bossin’ people around, but it ain’t workin’ for me,” Liam says.
“I can’t hear you,” I lie, then cup a hand over my ear.
He turns the radio off. “
