The Middleman | ongoing

17 | fetch isn't a one-sided game

17 | fetch isn't a one-sided game

Song: I'm Goin In by Drake ft. Lil Wayne & Jeezy

Depicted Above: Cole Sprouse as Trey Riese

|||

Coming out of the bathroom, I headed for the couch. Quinn wasn't in sight, and I assumed he probably went to his bedroom or something.

Staring at my phone's depleted battery bar, I grabbed Quinn's charger and plugged it in. I opened my text messages to a flood of new texts from everyone.

Most people had sent me ??? to my request of picking me up when Quinn was being an ass and refusing to drive. Of course there were definitely some varied answers, ranging from Trey's what ditch are u in & this better be worth waking me up on sunday to Kevin's motherly are you ok? where are you? call me. I shook my head, laughing, as I individually replied to each text assuring them I didn't need their help, and I was good.

I then opened up the group conversation to Alex, Sabrina, and Jules, explaining to them I had stayed the night at Quinn's, and I was alive, well, and healthy as Sab would want to know.

Kobe came over to me, clearly having lost an interest in Quinn's sweatpants. With a tennis ball slobbered in his mouth, he released the wet sphere on my lap to initiate a game of fetch.

Throwing the ball far and mindlessly, I watched as the canine bounded over to it. He scooped up the ball and then sat there.

Did this dog seriously not know how to play fetch?

Seconds passed by, and Kobe didn't bother to move. What dog doesn't return the ball in fetch?

That was the fundamental concept of the game.

There was no way to continue playing fetch if he didn't return the damn ball.

"Kobe, give me the ball."

Filigree of drool hung around the German Shepherd's curled mouth and the tennis ball as Kobe continued to sit there.

"Are you kidding me?" I groaned.

He continued to sit there, planted on the floor and casually blinking.

"You are so extra." I scooted off the couch and headed to the kitchen counter he was sitting near.

The neon ball was still tightly clamped in his mouth. With a streak of boldness, my hands enter near the canine's mouth, and I grimace with the thought of having to deal with period slobber as I grip the ball bulging from his cheek.

I guess this is it. I'm going in. My hands clutch the tennis ball and further enter into his mouth to get a better hold.

"Kobe. Give. Me. The. Ball," I gritted out as I struggled to pry it out. His grip didn't lax, and if anything I think the mischievous dog sank his jaw deeper into the tennis ball.

I wrestled and tugged, but I swear the dog was probably part crocodile. He had a death grip on the ball.

I sighed. I had hit a new low in my life. I was currently fighting a dog for a dumb ball. That too, in the apartment of some guy that I had never talked to until recently. How did I end up here?

I wiped the excess drool coating my hands on Kobe's fur and continued my tug of war game. This time with a renewed spirit.

Instead of directly pulling it from his jaws, I wriggle the ball left and right, aiming to loosen the grip Kobe had on the ball.