These Boots Are Made for Stalking (19 page)

“Maybe he went to the Jacuzzi. For his foot.” Alicia took charge, shifting seamlessly into broadcast journalist moment-of-crisis
mode. “We’ll check there, then double back to the massage tables.” With a confident hair toss, she dipped in front of Massie
and led the way toward the fountain. “He can’t be that far. He’s practically crippled.”

Because of me,
Massie reminded herself miserably. She followed, keeping her eyes on the camera feed for any clue as to Bark’s location.
But all she saw was a sea of poorly accessorized ankles, plus the occasional puppy butt.

“Negative.” Alicia shook her head when they reached the Jacuzzi. Puppies on rafts and in water wings were bobbing in the churning
water while their owners chatted and sipped drinks around the fountain’s edge.

Massie’s chest was starting to feel tighter than her cocktail dress. What if she never found Bark? What if Landon had her
arrested for dog-napping? She couldn’t go to jail! Who would take care of Bean? And what would happen to her Glossip Girl
collection?

Suddenly, a fuzzy image of a hummingbird, hovering between a distressed pair of tan round-toe booties and dark-wash skinny
jeans, lit up her screen—and her heart.

“EHMAGAWD!” Massie squealed, wanting to lip-kiss her phone right then and there. “LEESH!”

Alicia whipped around, her glossy black locks soaring over her shoulder like she was shooting a print ad for Frederic Fekkai.
“What?”

“We got her!” A spotlight swung across Ankle-Bird’s leg, giving away her location. “She’s standing next to the stage!”

Her hope-battery recharged, Massie linked arms with Alicia and tromped toward the stage, closing in on Ankle-Bird with every
step. Relief pulsed through her with the thumping beat of the band on stage. Together, the girls bobbed and weaved through
the swaying crowd, pushing past girls taking shots of the band with their cells and guys slinging arms around their crushes.
Massie kept her eyes on the ground, scanning the ankles closest to the stage. In the front row, she spotted her target. Bracing
herself, Massie let her eyes travel from the ankles upward.

Alicia’s jaw dropped. “Ehma—”

“Hawt,” Massie finished. Ankle-Bird was standing right next to the stage, cuddling Bark and swaying effortlessly to the beat.
Over her ripped skinny jeans, she wore a slinky teal tunic and a textured leather jacket. Long, perfectly tousled black waves
tumbled past her boobs, screaming,
Yes, this is natural, frizz-free curl! And no, I don’t even OWN a diffuser!
Her smoky eye makeup made her icy blue eyes pop. She was like the high school version of Sarah Jessica Parker: without the
hair, makeup, and wardrobe, she probably wouldn’t have been a threat. But the total package was a ten. Times ten. With one
exception: She smelled like liver.

Massie’s hand flew to her professionally sculpted bun, which was deflating faster than her ego. She’d give her right heel
for a mirror, some gloss, and a hit of her confidence CD. But there was no time.

“Bark!” She forced herself to giggle-yell over the music, throwing her arms wide. “There you are! We were so worried!” She
leveled her eyes at Ankle-Bird, to prove she wasn’t the least bit concerned. Or threatened.

Alicia finally closed her mouth.

Ankle-Bird looked up, her smudged-to-perfection eyes crinkling in confusion. “Um, who’re you?” she shouted.

Bark took one look at Massie and burrowed his face into Ankle-Bird’s left boob.

Massie swallowed her hurt and slid her arms around Bark’s pudgy middle. “I’m watching Bark for the night,” she said, tugging
at the puppy.

“Sorry.” Ankle-Bird held firm. “I didn’t catch your name,” she said. Her nude-glossed lips looked even poutier close up.

“Does it matter?” Massie snapped. “This is nawt your dog.” She gripped Bark’s midsection and prepared to fight.

“No, it’s MY dog!” shouted a familiar voice as the music on stage subsided and the crowd erupted into cheers.

Massie’s heart seized like she’d just downed a double bacon cheeseburger.

“Crush alert,” Alicia whisper-hissed, thirty seconds too late.

Landon stepped out from behind the stage, looking more adorable—and angrier—than Massie had ever seen him look. His single
cheek dimple disappeared the second his blue eyes landed on Massie, as if it were punishing her by hiding.

“What are you doing here, Massie?” Landon asked as the noise from the crowd started to die down.

“What am I doing here?” Massie repeated, racking her brain for possible excuses. She’d heard music therapy was good for busted
puppy paws? Dylan dragged her here for the free food? Alicia was doing a story on the party for Channel Five, and Massie was
the only one who knew how to hold her cue cards at the right angle? “What are
you
doing here?” she deflected.

“We finished dinner early, and I went to your house to find you.” Landon yanked up the sleeves on his charcoal Armani jeans
sweater. “Isaac said you were here.”

Under any other circumstances, Massie would have lip-kissed Landon right then and there for making such a romantic gesture.
But from the stormy look in Landon’s Caribbean blue eyes, now was not the time.

Before Massie could think of what to say next, a hot pink jewel from Bark’s bootie landed on the toe of Landon’s sneakers.
“And what did you put on his feet?” he asked, tugging lightly at the toes.

Bark howled in pain. Masse crossed her arms over her chest. Bark was obviously exaggerating. He’d run to Ankle-Bird just fine.

“And now we’re gonna take a break from the tunes,” yelled the lead singer on stage. “The first auction item of the night has
been donated by Bark Jacobs boutique.”

The crowd went crazier than a pack of hobo-happy shoppers at a Kooba sample sale.

Ankle-Bird handed Bark over to Landon. “So I’ll see you tomorrow at noon?” she asked, shake-tousling her curls and sending
a fresh wave of liver scent through the air. Massie wrinkled her nose. “Your house?”

“You got a date.” Landon’s wink sliced through Massie’s heart, and she staggered backwards into Alicia, who side-hugged her
protectively. The sweet notes of Alicia’s Angel perfume suddenly made Massie want to bury her face in her friend’s shoulder
and sob.

Ankle-Bird blew Landon a kiss, planted on one Bark’s head, and ducked into the crowd without even giving Massie or Alicia
a second glance.

“I gotta go.” Landon shook his head, gingerly stroking Bark’s foot. “Later.” He turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Massie body felt as numb as Kendra’s face after a marathon round of Botox. All she wanted was to curl up with Bean in her
bed and forget about Landon, Bark, Ankle-Bird, and Layne’s unthinkable taste in canine footwear.

“Wanna call the girls and Isaac?” Alicia asked softly, her eyes softening in pity. That made Massie want to cry even more.
So she just nodded and stared down at her iPhone. Just as she was about to four-way call the rest of the PC, her battery icon
flashed, and the screen went black. Massie blinked back tears as the crowd cheered for the start of the auction.

But unless someone was selling an unbroken heart, she wasn’t interested.

The next morning, Massie’s iPhone was the only thing that had been recharged. She’d tried all the usual confidence-boosting
remedies: an emergency in-home highlighting session with Jakkob, Jacuzzi time with Bean, and falling asleep to her confidence
CD. But she still felt emptier than a used Starbucks cup.

Cuddling her puppy to shield her from the afternoon chill, Massie knelt behind the barricade of holly bushes that separated
Landon’s property from the house next door. Through the prickly leaves, she surveyed the three-story brick house for any signs
of predate movement, cursing Landon’s mom for her landscaping choices. Why couldn’t she have planted bushes in front of the
house, so Massie could have a full-on view?

For a second, she wondered if she should have invited the Pretty Committee along, so one of the girls could have staked out
the other side of the house. But the girls had been so into their new crushes at the party, they hadn’t even taken the time
to ask about Ankle-Bird.

If the PC had been there, they would have rated Massie’s outfit a solid 9.75. Since she was alone, it had been up to Bean
to
yap
-prove the burgundy silk Geren Ford tunic Massie had chosen to help her blend noiselessly into the piles of autumn leaves
outside Landon’s house. The tunic was a perfect match for her soft-as-cashmere DL 1961 boyfriend jeans, which ensured comfort
for endless hours of spying on Landon’s date with Ankle-Bird. And her tan suede boots would keep her feet warm, even if her
heart felt frozen solid.

“What do you think he’s doing in there to get ready?” she whispered to Bean, wondering if one of the side windows led to Landon’s
room. Was he re-spritzing CK Eternity Summer? Deciding between Puma and Prada? Flossing, in case of a lip kiss? The possibilities
were heartbreaking.

Massie’s iPhone lit up on the ground next to her. Slapping the crunchy leaf blanket beneath her, she kept her eyes trained
on the house, then lifted the phone to eye-height.

Kristen:
Where’d u go last nite? Me & D went backstage w/the band. Guess who’s a total groupie now?

Backstage? Before Massie could come up with something ten times more alpha than backstage passes at Pup-A-Palooza, her cell
buzzed again.

Dylan:
Am nawt!
P.S. Luke’s giving me drum lessons 2morrow after skl. Don’t need a ride home.

The comforting thump of Bean’s heart through her matching burgundy cowl-neck made Massie feel a little less alone. Still,
she’d never been on a stakeout without the PC before. It felt sort of like going into a dressing room by herself. Being with
the PC was half the point and most of the fun. But last night she’d gotten the message loud and clear: Her friends were way
more interested in their upgrades than in keeping an eye on Massie’s. So this time, she’d have to spy solo.

Bean wiggled free of Massie’s grip and settled in a tiny bed of leaves next to her knees. Massie closed the text message,
then reevaluated Ankle-Bird’s OWCH (Older Woman Crush Hijacker) potential. Massie had to rate her at least an 8 out of 10.
She had style and the perfect smoky eyes, and Bark was lapping out of her manicured hand.

A shiver ran from Massie’s toes to her tunic, but it wasn’t from the fall breeze that swept through the yard. An 8 out of
10 OWCH rating made Ankle-Bird a definite relationship terrorist. Threat level: orange. The only thing keeping her from being
a full-on red alert was her eau de liver scent.

The muted thump of a drum beat cut through Massie’s reverie and made Bean jolt into position. A low growl leaked from the
puppy’s throat as the smooth sound of a car engine sliced through the chilly air.

“Ehmagawd. It’s time.” Thrusting her hand into her Fendi Spy bag, Massie whipped out her newly upgraded Gucci shades and inspected
them carefully. She’d rush-ordered the glasses from Layne, who had inserted mirrored binocular lenses into the sleek frames.
After last night’s bootie cam disaster, Layne had agreed to provide the service pro bono. And now, Massie was free to Ankle-Bird–watch
at three hundred times the usual magnification.

At the far end of the drive, a silver MINI Cooper convertible appeared, coasting toward the house to the beat of the latest
Killers song. Even though it was cold outside, the top was down. Ankle-Bird’s shiny black locks whipped in the breeze, framing
her face perfectly without getting stuck in her gloss. Mouth slightly parted, Massie plucked a sticky strand of her hair from
her bottom lip.

The MINI Cooper eased around the front circle and came to a stop. There was nothing in the passenger’s seat but a studded
bronze tote, which meant Ankle-Bird’s license wasn’t her learner’s.

A real driver’s license, an ah-dorable car, and hair that practically defied the laws of physics? OWCH upgrade: 9.5. Threat
level: red. Liver and all. A flood of insecurity filled the void in Massie’s heart.

Ankle-Bird slid the keys out of the ignition, silencing the music. The driver’s side door swept open, and she planted a teal
round-toe wedge boot on the cement. A tiered bright yellow sweater dress swung around her knees, proving that she wasn’t one
to shy away from color. Massie rolled her eyes. Ankle-Bird
would
choose canary yellow. A slouchy leather belt accented her slim hips without stealing the focus from her face.

Massie shoved her sunglasses on, leaning forward to get a better view. Through the magnified lenses, all she could see now
was Ankle-Bird’s T-zone. Matte, poreless, and porcelain. The insecurity flood was turning into a tsunami.

Bean lick-assured Massie’s denim-covered thigh. But the glint in her tiny black eyes said she was dying for a ride in the
passenger’s seat of a silver convertible.

Massie tossed the glasses on the ground next to her and watched Ankle-Bird saunter up the brick front walkway to the navy-painted
wooden front door. No last-minute cheek-pinching for color or BFF-texting for courage. It was like the girl didn’t even care
what Landon thought about her.