Spencer cast a look of alarm down at the dog. Wheezy was technically qualified to participate in the competition, and Caleb was as good a dog-show trainer as you could get last-minute, but that dog wouldn’t get anywhere near the final trophy unless he sat on it.

“Dying wish?” he echoed. “I don’t think—”

“Oh, don’t worry. She’s not actually dying. She uses that line to force me into doing things I’d rather not.” She laughed again. “She’s also an avid reader of erotica, if that bit about the danger word didn’t tip you off. We have a book club.”

He didn’t want to ask. He wouldn’t say the words out loud.

He did anyway. “You read erotica together?”

She nodded. “And then we discuss it. At length. And girth, if you want to get specific. Why? Would you like to join us?”

No, he decidedly would not. Especially not if Ruby was going to look at him like that while he did it. “If a danger word is what I suspect it is—”

Her smile widened. “It’s basically the opposite of a safe word. It means full steam ahead, all engines are a go, pistons ready. It was in the last book we read—it was kind of cute, actually. The couple would text each other the word porcupine, and then meet up at the nearest seedy motel without asking any questions. Of course, they were also exhibitionists who left the curtains wide open for everyone staying at the motel to see, but it takes all kinds.”

This conversation had taken a dangerous turn, but Spencer didn’t know how to extricate himself without making things worse. What he’d have liked to do was offer an easy reply—be more like Caleb, who could discuss porcupines and voyeurism with a gorgeous woman as if it meant nothing—but he couldn’t.

It didn’t mean nothing. Not to him, at least. It never had. That was the whole problem. His brother could meet a woman like Ruby and enjoy a brief, playful flirtation—the kind of flirtation that a dog-show judge and contestant might be able get away with, assuming they kept things discreet—but not Spencer. Within seconds of meeting this woman, he’d known himself to be way in over his head.

And instead of heading up for air, he just seemed to be diving deeper and deeper.

“The dog’s danger word is ‘mayonnaise,’” he blurted out.

She blinked. “What?”

He didn’t have to explain himself. As soon as the word crossed his lips, Wheezy lifted his head, his eyes wide open and his nose twitching.

“Is that how it works, Wheezy?” he asked, eager to latch on to anything other than the topic at hand. “You like mayonnaise?”

As if on cue, the golden retriever extended both paws out in front of him and executed a bow. It wasn’t an unusual position for a show dog. It was, however, an unusual position for a dog who balked at every command thrown his way.