When You Least Expect It Read Online Free PDF

about dogs being chick magnets. I’d laughed it off at the time, but was now quickly gaining appreciation for the theory.
    “Yeah. He’s six months old,” I said, trying to remember if I’d brushed my teeth that morning before leaving for the beach. My mouth tasted of coffee. I hoped it was strong enough to mask any residual morning breath that might be lurking there. I could smell her perfume, or maybe it was just her shampoo, light and faintly floral.
    “Is he a border collie?” she asked.
    “There’s some border collie in there, but he’s not a purebred. Just a mutt,” I said.
    We stood and watched Otis run, barking, at a trio of seagulls who were strutting along the beach. They took off in alarm well before he got anywhere near them.
    “The great hunter,” I said dryly.
    Otis turned back, grinning, and loped toward us. He ignored me and headed straight for the blonde, jumping up on her with large sandy paws.
    “Otis! Get down!” I ordered.
    Otis ignored me. Obedience was not his strong suit. The woman just laughed and petted his damp, sandy head. Her fingernails were short and unpolished. For some reason, I found this incredibly sexy. It was probably because the last girl I’d dated—who’d turned out to be a complete pain in the ass—used to file her long nails into talonlike points and paint them the color of dried blood.
    “It’s okay, really. He’s a sweetheart,” she said.
    Later, I liked to tell India that this was the moment when I decided I was going to marry her. It’s a lie but not terribly far off from the truth, which is that this was the moment when I developed a massive crush on her. Hell, she was a pretty blonde with a goofy grin, and she liked my dog even when he was filthy and badly behaved. Who wouldn’t get a crush on her?
    “This is Otis,” I said, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
    “Yeah, I figured that out when you called him Otis,” she said, smiling at me over Otis’s shaggy head. He fell back and leaned shamelessly against her legs while she bent over to pet him. She looked up at me. “I’m India, by the way.”
    “India? That’s an unusual name. Is that where you were born?”
    India laughed. “Knowing my parents, they’d be more likely to name me after the place I was conceived.”
    I wasn’t sure how to respond to this. Luckily, India continued. “No, my parents were major hippies back in the day. I’m lucky they didn’t name me Moonbeam or Star.” She smiled.
    “I’m Jeremy,” I said. I nodded at her camera. “Are you a photographer?”
    “Actually, no, I direct porn films,” she said, without even pausing. “I’m just out here scouting locations for my next film.”
    I gaped at her, and she laughed at me. “Tell me you’re not that easy,” she said.
    “Sadly, I think I am,” I said sheepishly.
    “It’s okay. You have a great dog. That makes up for a lot,” she said, and grinned up at me again. Her eyes were squinting against the sun, and I again noticed that her smile was slightly lopsided. It was the sort of smile that was impossible not to return.
    The adoption lawyer, Mike Jankowski, had an office in a tall black building in downtown West Palm overlooking the Intra-coastal Waterway. He was in his fifties, with thick silver-streaked hair, a sun-reddened face, and a protruding stomach. He wore a short-sleeved tropical print shirt that made me instinctively wary of him.
    “Call me Mike,” he said jovially when he came out to the reception area to greet us.
    Mike ushered us back to a conference room, where India and Isat side by side at a long table, our backs to the window and its water view.
    “Can I get you anything? Coffee, soda, water?” Mike asked.
    “No, thanks,” I said.
    “Water, please,” India said.
    I was suddenly incredibly thirsty and wished I had asked for a drink, too. I’d always thought you were supposed to refuse in these types of situations, that it was offered more as a courtesy than with any actual intent.