Drop Dead Gorgeous(71)

“Lean protein and veggies. Those steamer bags of broccoli and carrots are good. Canned chicken and tuna too.”

“For me or Chunky? He’d eat anything I put in front of him, but I’d rather have a steak. Or hide the veggies in a smoothie I choke down.” I pull a face, playing up my veggie-hating. “Ya feel me?” I aim for his bro-speak tone.

“Totally.” He holds up a fist, and I bump it, feeling victorious. “I meant for the big dude. You can stick with the steak for sure. As for the vegetables, there’s a smoothie I recommend. Green Extreme Plus—you heard of it?”

“No. It tastes good?”

“Well, no. But it’s good for you.” He shrugs. “And you can put vitamins and shit in it, hold your nose, and chug it like a beer.” He upends an imaginary cold one.

“Sounds disgusting. Where do I get it?” I say with a laugh he echoes. “And what extra shit do I put in it?” I eye him up and down, much the way he did me, but I feign being impressed and add, “Can I put pure lead in it to get pumped?”

That’s as close to the truth as I can tiptoe toward. I can’t exactly ask for heavy metal recommendations.

Sebastian bows up a bit, and I’m afraid he’s gotten suspicious of my questions. There’s a short moment where I’m sure my cover is blown, and I prep for an attack of some sort.

Fuck, let it be verbal and not physical! If this guy punches me, I’m going down like a Charlie Brown Christmas tree under Paul Bunyan’s axe. I’m not that puny, but he’s considerably . . . formidable. Thankfully, it seems to be more of a showoff moment than a beatdown one. “All natural, dude. No ’roids needed.”

Well, shit. That didn’t work.

I carefully try again.

“Come on, you gotta be adding a little something. Mega vitamins? Black market testosterone?” I cajole. “You can tell me. Puh-lease tell me.” I hold up my arm, not flexing at all, and wiggle my triceps like it’s a bingo wing.

“Sorry, dude. No secret sauce, but the protein and veggies will help. So will some exercises. Let’s see if we can get you and the chunky dude on a routine that’ll help you both.”

Oh, yeah, Chunky.

That’s how I got him here.

Chunky’s having the time of his life, sniffing every blade of grass in the park and making friends with the handful of other dogs here. “Sure. Sounds great.”

I guess I might as well get some actual advice for Chunky and me, especially if I’m not getting much more information about the possibly poisonous smoothies. At least now I know that the specific brand we found in Yvette’s trash is one Sebastian recommends, which puts him closer to Richard Horne’s death.

Sebastian has Chunky and me doing laps around the dog park, dropping to the grass for push-ups at every corner. Well, I do push-ups while Chunky sits and catches his breath.

“Make sure to start slow. No more than twenty minutes total so Chunky gets used to the increased activity safely,” Sebastian advises.

“Let’s stop there, and I’ll film some activities you can do in place with the big guy. Less impact for you too,” Sebastian says with a wink as though I’m panting like Chunky is. I’m not tired, considering my near daily runs, but I am playing up a little bit.

So I smile as though I’m grateful. I hand Chunky’s leash over to Sebastian when he holds his hand out and stand back as Sebastian becomes the social media guru I saw on his profile.

He holds his phone at arm’s length, talking to the camera. “Hey guys, this is Sebastian, your favorite dog trainer. Today, I’m here with a special guy that’s got a problem we can all understand. A few extra ell-bees to drop . . .”

He goes on to take Chunky and the viewers on a workout regimen that involves a lot of sitting, begging, and lying down and getting up. Thankfully, Chunky does pretty well, even when Sebastian removes the leash so his feet don’t keep getting tangled up in it. “Usually, when training one of my special friends, I’d use a small treat as a reward, but that won’t work for Chunky. So instead, I use a ball as reward, letting him focus and follow it, and only occasionally, get control of it. Once he finds it to be an exciting treat, you can add playing fetch to his daily regimen.”

Sebastian throws the ball, and Chunky goes running after it as expected. The only problem? Chunky doesn’t play fetch, so when he gets to the ball he desperately wanted, he drops to the grass to play with it. Sebastian growls and lowers his phone. “Seriously?”

Wow, bro-dude has left the building again. Sebastian’s easygoing until something messes up his shots. Then he’s a quick-tempered dick. I wonder if that had anything to do with Richard Horne’s death? I might not have found out the poison, but some personality traits might be telling.

“Uh, he doesn’t know fetch. Sorry.”

Sebastian sighs. “It’s fine. I’ll finish another way.” He blinks twice and lifts the phone again, flipping a mental switch to become friendly and smiling. “Guess we’ll have to add teaching Chunky the return part of fetch.” He laughs and points at Chunky in the frame before rolling his eyes in a charmingly cute ‘whatcha gonna do’ way.

He lowers the phone, and it’s like that never happened, as though that personality didn’t just pop out of him on command. “All right, dude. Think we got it. Anything else?”