Page 37 of My Charming Rival (Stars In Their Eyes 1)
After waiting twenty more minutes, I decided the bridesmaid final fitting was clearly a bust. I started to pack up, tucking away my coursework and checking the zippers on my backpack. I walked down the block toward my scooter, when my finely-tuned celebrity radar sensed a shift in the air. There was a sudden hushed energy near me, a low hum as shoppers and other passersby started to turn their heads, to tap their companions, to start the sentence Is that…
It was a question asked all day long all across Los Angeles where anyone at any minute might spot a celebrity.
In this case, they were asking the question I wanted to hear.
“Is that Riley Belle?” a girl in green leggings whispered.
“Is that Riley Belle?” a young mom pushing a stroller asked.
“Is that Riley Belle?” a guy in gym shorts said.
I swiveled around, scanned the sidewalk then the one across the street, then I saw her. She’d just stepped out of a black town car. Her brown hair was windswept and luxurious and she wore huge red sunglasses, an orange fitted tee, and a jean miniskirt. She was tall and thin, and she didn’t look like the rest of us. She looked like a star. Even as she tried to hide behind her glasses, there was just something special about her, as there always was with a silver screen beauty. They didn’t look like civilians. They looked as if they’d descended from planets in the oh-so-far-above-average galaxy. She clutched her brown-and-tan Chihuahua–mini pin dog against her chest, then carefully placed Sparky McDoodle on the sidewalk, his petite paws touching the concrete, his leather leash firmly in her hand. She started to walk in the direction of one of the boutiques I’d pinpointed, a focused look on her face. Her blinders were on—her eyes were only on her dog and her destination down the block.
As I reached for my camera, a lazy but loud meow boomeranged from across the two-lane street. The orange cat had caught sight of a squirrel in a tree and was waggling his furry cat butt, poised to chase. The second the tabby bolted for the squirrel, I heard the sound of nails scrabbling against sidewalk and a loud, high-pitched bark that could only belong to a very small dog. Sparky McDoodle yanked hard on his leash, so hard that Riley Belle tripped, fell on one knee, and lost her grip on the leash. Her darling was off like a shot, racing to cross the street as a blue Prius turned the corner heading straight for the pint-sized pup.
Instinct took over. I stopped analyzing and ran into the street. The skidding sound of tires hit my ears as I stepped hard on Sparky McDoodle’s leash. I lunged for the dog before he met the black rubber of a car’s wheel.
My heart sped up and my focus narrowed as my hands wrapped around his tan and brown belly. I scooped him up as the Prius jolted to a worried stop. Sparky McDoodle’s ears were pinned against his head, and his heart galloped at a rabbit’s pace. Expelling a deep breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, I oriented myself. Still on high alert, I found myself standing in the street, next to a parked car. The driver of the Prius was opening his door, his hand on his heart, relief etched on his face, and several people stood and stared. Then someone clapped, and I walked back to the sidewalk, stepping onto the curb as Riley flung herself at me, wrapping her arms around me and her dog.
“Oh my God. You saved Sparky McDoodle. You saved Sparky McDoodle. You saved Sparky McDoodle.”
She was on repeat, and she couldn’t stop saying those words. I handed Riley her dog, and he snuggled into her neck, as if he could escape into the safety of the familiar.
“He’s so scared. His heart is beating so fast. But he’s okay. He’s okay. He’s okay,” she said, all the words tumbling out of her lipsticked mouth in a rush. Tears streaked down her cheeks. “You saved him. You saved my dog.”
Riley pulled herself out of the hug, but kept a hand on my arm. Her voice started to break. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”
I kind of did by then, but I figured it was best not to point that out. “He’s really a sweet dog. And he loves you so much,” I said, gesturing at Sparky McDoodle as he tried to burrow into Riley’s arms.
“He was going after that cat, wasn’t he?”
“I’m pretty sure he wanted to be on a first name basis with the orange tabby.”
“I have been working so hard to train him to stop chasing cats. But he just can’t resist them,” Riley said.
“Well, it’s kind of fun to chase something that’s running from you,” I said.
