FSE

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SUNDAY

Bzzt!

Laying on his side in the dark, Baxter blindly slapped a paw at the bedside desk.

Bzzt!

The otter almost knocked a lamp to the floor. Finally, eyes groggily opening, he secured his phone. He'd been dreaming about something but couldn't remember what? It was evaporating like a fog.

Baxter squinted at the screen, brown eyes adjusting in the dark. He turned down the brightness.

He softened when he saw who it was from:

Sis: yo, baby bro, how's things in Circle City?

Laying on his back now, head sinking into the middle of a big, cushy pillow, the otter's webbed paws tap-a-tap-tapped. He replied:

Baxter: square

Sis: can't be all bad!

Baxter: ever been to the Midwest? no mountains, lakes, national parks, not even that much snow in the winter

Sis: come back to Boise

Baxter: I make a lot more here than back at Channel Podunk, and this place actually has good teams

Sis: sports!!!

Baxter: it's my job

Pause.

Baxter: you do realize you're 2 hours earlier than me, right?

Sis: thought it was only 1. you're Central

Baxter: Indiana's Eastern time. I've told you this before

Sis: it's not in the East, though!!! lame. so, I woke you up? what time you gotta be at work?

Baxter: 4:30 'til 12:30

Sis: that's a forty hour work week. rough, man! I didn't have much to say anyway, just felt like bugging you

Baxter: I miss you, too

Sis: night <3

Baxter: <3

Baxter put the phone down and rolled onto his other side.

He closed his eyes but struggled to get back to sleep.

Two thousand miles from home, it was impossible not to think about how lonely he was.

MONDAY

"Are you serious? These all have jelly inside, don't they?" Baxter asked as he fished through a half-empty box. The chocolate-brown otter was standing beside the long, polished table in the news station's 'Board Room.' Who actually eats jelly donuts?

"You snooze, you lose," Opal said. The supple Jersey cow chomped into a glazed yeast with no hint of remorse.

"I was in the editing bay," Baxter defended.

Opal just went 'mmf, mm, umfff.'

"Why don't we get them from Long's anymore?" Baxter continued, reading the new name on the box. "They're the best in the city." So everyone said.

"Jack's is closer," said Roslyn. "Interns don't want to drive to Speedway."

The tabby cat, of the segment 'What's Happening! With Roslyn,' sat between Opal and JR, a dapper coyote. Opal and JR were the main morning news anchors. The rotating substitutes weren't in today. Roslyn, ever prim and proper, ate her donut with a fork. Her tail wavered behind her with the slow fluidity of lava lamp.

The other on-air talents in the room were Fib, the harvest mouse weatherman, and Dotty, a newish chipmunk who did a segment called 'Dotty's Destinations,' where she previewed and covered various 'events' being held in and around Indianapolis on any given day. Baxter didn't spend much time around her because she wasn't in-studio very much.

I notice none of our reporters are here. Out breaking award-winning stories, no doubt.

Everyone assembled was 'alpha shift.' The long 'sunrise' show was done and they had some downtime before the breezier half-hour lunchtime telecast.

Baxter lingered at the donut box. In spite of his grousing, the otter wasn't going to not have one. Or two, even. I mean, they're there. They're free. He put a couple on a paper plate and grabbed a bottle of orange juice and looked for a seat.

When he found one, Baxter carefully stuck his big rudder-tail through the designed gap in the center of the back support. Then he sat down. The chair swiveled. And was cushioned, too. Must be nice to be an executive.

"Why aren't we holding this meeting in the conference room just off the set?" he asked the group. "We're not getting laid off, are we?"

"I have a buyout clause in my contract," Opal insisted. She was a bit of a diva. "So, it's going to cost them if they terminate me early!"

"We're not getting fired," Roslyn insisted. The fastidious feline casually unsheathed her claws, inspecting them. "They want our input." Roslyn always seemed to have inside information.

I bet she's sleeping with one of the higher-ups. But who?

"Input? For what?" Fib asked. He'd been nibbling on a cinnamon twist. Dainty mouse bites rather than big chews. Sugar granules tumbled off his twitching whiskers.

"It's not for me to say," was Roslyn's coy response.

In other words, she wants us to know that she knows stuff but doesn't want to earn a reputation as 'loose-lipped.'

Baxter picked up a donut and chomped into it, using a napkin to catch, or attempt to catch, the gooey red jelly that inevitably oozed out. That's why he hated jellies.

Dotty, sitting beside him, noticed his predicament and smoothly slid him an extra pile of napkins. "One won't be enough."

Baxter chuckled and licked his lips. "Thanks." He cleaned up the mess. "Yeah, they're basically jelly bombs. Bite into one at your own peril!"

The chipmunk nodded, fiddling with her glasses. "If I wanted fruit in my pastry, I'd eat some pie."

"Right?" Baxter echoed with a big smile, locking eyes with the rodent. His browns to her greens. He then looked at her own plate. Just crumbs. "What'd you have, then?"

"A Bismarck."

"Ah, see, now, a cream filling? I can get behind that," the otter said with a grin.

"I'm sure you could," Dotty said warmly, eyes traveling the length of his body.

Baxter was about to respond to the blatant, and entirely welcome, flirtation when the door swung open.

In entered one of the bosses. The second-in-command, a wolf named Arnold. He was middle-aged, fur more grey than black. Or maybe it was like that to begin with?

The staff sat to attention.

"At ease," Arnold said with a pleased nod, glad for the respect. A computer pad in one paw, he took his place at the head of the table. "Now. I'll get right to it. I've had a directive from ... on high," he said, ominously glancing at the ceiling.

"From God?" Opal asked, her jaw dropping.

"From ownership," the wolf stressed.

"Oh."

"They want a new slogan," Arnold said.

"Why?" JR asked. The coyote sipped some hot coffee. "What's wrong with the one we have? 'News You Can Use'!"

Arnold clasped his big, strong paws and placed them on the tabletop. "It's felt that 'changing it up' every so often is good for outreach. Keeps things fresh." The wolf sniffed the air. "Are those ... jellies?" he asked of the remaining donuts, gleefully grabbing the box and ripping into one. "Mmf! Now, the change isn't official yet. Mm." He swallowed. "We need something to replace it with first. That's why I'm here."

"What would we do without you, sir?" JR said dryly.

The wolf ignored the coyote and looked to Fib with a toothy grin. "Did the forecast say anything about 'brainstorms' today?"

"We'll have to break out the umbrellas, sir!" the mouse replied enthusiastically, smiling so big his buckteeth practically sparkled.

Baxter rolled his eyes. Gag! Fib already had gold fur. What did he need with gold stars? Suck-up.

"Why ask us?" Dotty asked. "Isn't this marketing's job?"

"Marketing's a bit ... short-staffed at the moment," the wolf said, not detailing the story that was surely behind that. But the look on his face indicated it was extremely juicy. He cleared his throat. "Besides, you're the ones who interact with viewers on a daily basis."

"Not as much as the reporters," JR said. "Why didn't they have to come?"

"Because," Arnold said, like a parent who didn't have a good answer but wanted to end the discussion.

Opal drummed her hoof-hard fingertips on the desktop. Click-click-clack! "What about ... News. Now! That would let them know we're always up to date. Always 'breaking'."

"But we're not 24/7," Roslyn pointed out.

"I rather fancy 'Indy's Own'," JR said.

"Own what?" Opal asked.

The coyote flashed his co-anchor a dry look. "That's the viewers' problem."

"Perhaps a bit too vague," Arnold said.

As more bad suggestions were thrown out, Baxter, finished with his donuts, leaned back in his chair.

He was supposed to be at the Fieldhouse for Pacer player interviews at 10:30. And then back at the station by 11:30 to get the footage ready for his 12:20 sports segment. It was 9:30 now. How long was this meeting going to last?

The otter took a swig of juice, licking his lips and glancing over at Dotty, giving her a much closer look than before.

The bold 'racing stripes' on her face and head were incredibly fetching. They ran down the back of her neck, disappeared into her clothes, and showed up again on her tail. The pattern gave her a perky, peppy vibe.

Cute. Really cute.

Where is she from?

Wonder if she's seeing anyone? I mean, the way she responded to cream fillings, I'd say no.

On impulse, out of sight of the entire room, Baxter extended a bare, webbed foot-paw outward from his position. It touched some table legs. No. Chair wheels. Come on. He kept trying. _There!_He found Dotty's closest foot-paw. Hers was slender, almost petite compared to his clodhopper.

The otter began to rub his against the chipmunk's, slowly, gently, heel to ankle, toes touching toes.

Dotty blinked, whiskers twitching. Her eyes darted toward him.

Baxter stopped.

Had he gone too far? Had wishful thinking caused him to misread the situation?

A few seconds passed.

Then Dotty, with a strong hint of a smile, rubbed her foot-paw back against the otter's.

Jackpot.

"Baxter?"

Wait, who's saying my name? It isn't her.

"Baxter!"

Fuck!

"Yes, Arnold, yes, sir?" the otter said, trying to play it cool. He pulled his leg back. His pulse quickened. "I was just ... thinking about ideas."

"Everyone else has shared one," the wolf said, raising a brow. He spread his arms imperiously. "Would you care to give us yours?"

"Yes."

There was a pause.

The wolf's eyes widened. "Well?"

"Right. It's, uh ... news," Baxter began, furiously trying to think of something, anything, come on, come on, " ... to me."

"What?" The wolf tilted his head. "To you?"

"No, to me, sir. Yes. News To Me."

"News ... to me," the wolf repeated. "Oh. I get it."

The table lapsed into silence.

Finally, Opal said, "I think it makes the viewer sound out of touch. 'That's news to me!' Yeah, how come? Cause they're so stupid?"

"Aren't they, though?" JR suggested, spreading his paws in a 'what can you do' gesture.

"Yeah, but we can't say that!"

"Mm." Arnold nodded, wagging a finger dismissively. "Yes, way too provocative."

Fib raised a pink, furless paw.

The wolf gestured at the mouse, giving him the go-ahead.

"How about ... News You Can Trust." Fib let that sink in before explaining, "Cause there's so much fake news out there ... "

Looks were exchanged across the table.

Arnold furrowed his brow. "Hmm ... "

Fib's whiskers twitched.

"Yes ... yes, I like it!"

The harvest mouse beamed.

"Good work, Fib ... !"

Baxter was unimpressed. That's way too easy. I bet he ripped that slogan off something else. But at least the meeting was over.

As everyone stood up to leave, he wanted to say something to Dotty, but she'd already scampered off.

Probably has an on-location shoot to prep for.

Fib brushed against Baxter as he passed.

The otter narrowed his eyes, wondering if it was accidental or not.

"Sorry," the mouse said in that shy, stammery way mice used when they wanted to seem innocent.

"Good job on that slogan," Baxter said. "Surprised you aren't on the primetime crew by now. Or, hell, even national."

"My colleagues have tenure," Fib defended, of the station's other meteorologists. "I gotta wait 'til they retire." Stopping to face Baxter, the mouse tugged at his shirt. "I'll be elevated in a few years, minimum."

"Keep telling yourself that."

"Don't you have to go play with some ... balls or something?" Fib wondered.

"If any balls get played with, it's mine."

"Doesn't playing alone get boring?"

"Practice makes perfect," Baxter reasoned, not missing a beat.

"Mm," Fib went, ears getting a blushy shade of pink.

They stared each other down.

Fib, having nothing left to say, turned and left.

Baxter, alone in the conference room, sighed. He looked over at the table. There was one donut left ... _why not? _

TUESDAY

It was 7:20 AM.

"Are we really getting a blizzard this week?" Baxter asked during a commercial break, trailing Fib as the mouse stepped off the set.

Baxter glanced at the clock. Still had two minutes. He was up next. A lot to talk about today. Most if it basketball related. 'Twas the season.

"Why would I give a false forecast?" Fib asked. He'd just done a segment on the 'blizzard watch' in effect for Central Indiana come Thursday and Friday.

"Makes for better ratings? Helps you with your next contract." The otter shrugged, leaning against a wall. He crossed his arms. "Don't you get things wrong all the time, anyway?"

Fib's whiskers twitched, scrunching his face in consternation. The digs were starting to get to him. "Well, I mean ... it's a predictive science, so you make your best guesses based on the information. Sometimes, things change." The mouse paused before saying, with a quick glance at Baxter's face, "It's not like all I have to do is repeat scores."

The otter bristled, standing up straight. Taller and stronger, he widened his stance. His rudder-tail lifted into the air. "It's a lot more than that."

"Oh?"

He counted on his webbed fingers. "You gotta go to events, interview athletes, attend press conferences, choose which highlights to show the audience. Memorize stats, scores. And you have to be able to offer coherent, off-the-cuff opinions. We can't just rely on charts."

Fib, turning away to study a weather map, just said, "Go team."

Baxter blew out a heated breath. Mice were so passive-aggressive! It made arguments with them hard to win. They'd never parry outright, just evade with enough subtle jabs to keep you from walking away satisfied. It was infuriating. At least rats let you have it.

Fib looked at the clock. "You're on in thirty seconds."

"Yeah, I know," the otter said, taking deep breaths. He ran his paws through his head-fur. Calm down. Couldn't look flustered on camera.

"We are getting a blizzard," the mouse insisted.

"Well, an Indiana blizzard isn't an Idaho blizzard. So, I'll be the judge of that."

"Baxter!" yelled a stagehand. "Places!"

The otter jotted off.

WEDNESDAY

Studying last night's basketball scores his phone, Baxter rounded a corner and nearly fumbled it as Dotty barreled into him.

"Oof!" The strapping otter staggered but absorbed enough of the hit to stay on his feet.

"Eek!" The lighter chipmunk bounced back and fell to her rump.

"You okay?" Baxter quickly asked, pocketing the phone. He extended both his webbed paws.

"I've run into worse," the chipmunk assured, holding onto him.

He pulled her up.

"Thanks." Letting go, she immediately rummaged through her shoulder-slung bag. Computer, notebooks. Snacks. Check! Everything intact and accounted for.

"You're always in such a hurry," Baxter noted.

"Us 'munks love to scamper. And, besides, you can't climb the ladder when you're standing still," Dotty said smartly, adjusting her glasses. The thick, stylish frames were neon green. They paired well with her vivid, emerald eyes. "At least these are okay. I'm blind without them!"

The otter nodded, leaning against the wall and saying, in response to her first comment, "My ambitions are normally ... simpler." His eyes drank her in, even more than they had the other day. Otters knew about water, and she was a nice, cold glass of one.

The petite chipmunk wasn't very curvy. Not like a squirrel might be. Slender from head to toe, perky instead of buxom. Her striped tail constantly fluttering, she had energy to spare.

Dotty smirked and said, "Can't get 'simpler' than stick and ball."

"People wanna know who scores most," Baxter said, puffing his chest out. Though he was sturdily built, it was more like an underwater missile than a cannonball. "I'm just giving it to them."

"I'm sure you'll win an award someday for your service."

The otter subtly curved his rudder into her line of sight.

Dotty admired it.

Baxter opened his whiskered maw to say something else when the 'pat-pat-pat' of foot-paws became apparent, growing ever closer. The otter turned his head. "Oh, hey--"

Rosyln walked right between Baxter and Dotty, giving neither a hint of acknowledgment. The tabby cat got right into an elevator and disappeared.

Baxter frowned. "Wow. She's so damn snooty!" But when the camera was on her, it was all smiles. He hated people like that.

"I don't think she even knows my name," Dotty said. "Yesterday, she referred to be as 'you, rodent'."

Baxter's eyes widened. "What'd you say to that?" He wouldn't have put it past Dotty to throw a punch or two. She was spritely enough.

"I ignored her until she started hissing. Claw-marks across my face wouldn't help my on-screen career."

"Speaking of claws ... she's got hers in one of our bosses." Baxter inched closer to Dotty. They were the only ones in the hallway right now, but he lowered his voice anyway. "Just can't figure out which one. It's not Arnold."

"No," Dotty agreed. "Could be Rudy?"

"From personnel? He's a canine. And she's ... well, Roslyn."

"Maybe that's her kink. Interspecies."

"Well, that's commonplace these days," Baxter reasoned. Relatively, anyway. "But cats and dogs?"

"All I know," Dotty said quietly, "is that I saw her come out of his office brushing her clothes with her paws, the way you do when you're trying to get someone else's fur off?" The chipmunk was clearly speaking from experience.

"So, you think they're doing it right under our noses, huh? Maybe that's where she went right now ... "

"Maybe," Dotty said casually, licking her buckteeth and adding, "Some men like it at work."

"Yeah?" Baxter breathed.

Making direct eye contact, the chipmunk nodded slowly.

Baxter would've gladly traded a few weeks off his life to fuck the rodent here and now. No question. He felt himself leaving his sheath. His heart was racing. But someone started calling the chipmunk's name from down the hall.

"Dotty!"

"Huh?" she went.

"We're gonna be late to the scene if we don't leave soon!" It was one of the camera operators. He was waving his arm in a 'come on!' gesture.

"Oh, shit!" the chipmunk cursed. She blushed, getting hot beneath the fur. "Sorry," she told Baxter. "Gotta go!"

"See you around," the otter said hopefully, eyes glued to her as she scampered off, striped brush-tail flailing.

Damn ... she was something! Smart, funny, capable, willing to punch above her weight. She wasn't two-faced like many people around here. She was so genuine.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted anyone this badly ...

Baxter blinked.

Wait, what was I supposed to be doing before I ran into her?

THURSDAY

Baxter's white button-up dress shirt was undone. Every single button, revealing his impossibly soft chest-fur, a mix of white and tan. Still on his shoulders, the garment loosely flowed with his movements.

His pants, around his ankles, obscured his aquatic foot-paws. Underwear had only made it halfway down his thighs. Standing in front of a desk, he moved his erect, throbbing penis in and out of hot, wet pussy. The condom-clad shaft glistened with wetness.

Dotty moaned, speared by his six-inch member with ball-slapping abandon.

The chipmunk was spread out on the desktop beneath him, legs bent, foot-paws in the air. Like him, she was still half-dressed, wearing a top and a colorful skirt. It was unseasonably warm outside today, almost spring-like (another reason Baxter doubted Fib's 'blizzard,' though the mouse kept insisting the temps would plummet overnight).

The skirt was bunched up and moved to her belly so it wouldn't get in the way.

Panties?

Out of the way, on the floor somewhere.

They'd met in the hall again fifteen minutes ago. Hadn't literally bumped into each other this time. But the desire to, over and over, had been tacitly shared. The sexual tension had been building, building.

She'd asked if he had any 'highlights' she could watch, as she'd missed all the 'action' last night.

"I'm sure I can whip out ... I mean whip up," he'd promised, slyly, "something."

So, here they were in the sports department, in an office, the door shut and locked. They probably didn't have much time. Five, ten minutes? Before someone would inevitably need to get in here. But that only added to the thrill, adrenaline mixing with endorphins.

The lights were off but the winter sun glowed, bold and from a sharp angle, through the east-facing windows. Their faces were lit up with pleasure and starlight.

"Ahhhh ... ahhhh," Baxter huffed, pounding her. He'd imagined this scenario multiple times over the past few days, and this more than lived up to the hype. Damn. Fine. Pussy!

Dotty made chipping noises.

Chip-chip-chip!

Her dainty paws roved all over his backside, fingers bunched up his shirt. "Oh ... oh ... " Her tawny-furred body rocked from his force. The otter dove into her like an Olympic medalist, with perfect form.

"We g-gotta try ... to be ... quiet," Baxter half-heartedly reminded, his body tingling with bliss.

"Uh-huhhhh!" was her moaning agreement.

The otter stuck a webbed paw under and up into her top, squeezing her breasts. She wasn't wearing a bra. The other paw planted on the desktop, allowing him to hunch and lean over her, hips rolling like waves crashing upon her feminine shore.

"Oh ... oh, god ... oh, otter!" Dotty whined, paws leaving his back to hold to his bucking ass. She gaped, writhing in orgasm. Her steamy, sopping sex clenched around him.

Baxter's tongue hung out, eyes rolling back. "Ah! Ah! Yes ... oh, yessss," he slurred, penis jumping and jerking.

Brimming with passion, mind sparking with joy, Baxter bent his elbows and leaned in for a big, affectionate kiss.

Dotty, still short of breath, thwarted it with a quick stiff-arm, a paw planting flat on his chest and keeping him raised. "No ... no mushy stuff," she stated seriously. "We had an awesome time ... right? Let's not complicate it ... "

The otter, still inside her, was a bit taken aback. But he forced a smile as he stood back up. "Right ... "

FRIDAY

"Why are you here?" Fib asked Baxter, having just entered the studio. Bundled up like a butterscotch snowman, the harvest mouse looked adorably ridiculous. If you were into that sort of thing.

It was 4:25 in the morning. Just over half-hour 'til the 'sunrise' show. A few members of the tech crew were loitering in the background, but not as many as usual. Most of the on-air talent was still absent. The blizzard the mouse had forecast had, indeed, happened. Six inches of snow so far. Bitter cold, blinding winds.

"Mm?" The otter, fiddling with his phone, looked up from the couch in the 'green room' just off stage. "I live downtown."

"Yeah, but the streets!" Fib shrugged off his coat and hung it up, stuffing his gloves into the pockets.

"I walked."

"In this?!" the mouse squeaked.

"I have the densest fur on planet Earth," Baxter insisted. Wearing an Indy 500 t-shirt, he lifted an arm for show. He then let it drop. "But thanks for your concern."

Fib breathlessly explained, "I left an hour earlier than I normally do. From the northern suburbs? And got here at the same time as always!"

"Mm-hmm," Baxter went, returning to his phone.

"I'm going to be slammed. It's going to be non-stop weather coverage all day! I'll probably have to stay over." The mouse took off his hat. And, lastly, his thermal tail-sock. The skin-tight navy-blue fabric kept his vulnerable appendage from getting frostbite. He hung everything with his coat. "But you know they're not going to give any time to sports right now. You could've stayed home."

"Couldn't sleep. Didn't feel like being holed up, either. They can put me on assignment or something." Why did the mouse have to fret about everything? Why couldn't he leave things alone? "They can send me out in the street and have me go, 'Boy, would you look at this? This sure is some weather!' Isn't that basically what you do?"

Fib frowned. "Are you mad cause my forecast was spot-on?"

"Yeah, sure," Baxter mumbled.

Fib blinked.

Getting uncomfortable at the mouse's twitchy stare, the otter buckled, insisting, "You don't wanna hear about it ... "

"I have big ears," Fib said. He swiveled them for show.

Baxter sighed, seeing that Fib wasn't going to go away unless he was scared off. Maybe telling him the truth would do that. "I hooked up with Dotty. And that's phrasing it politely for your delicate sensibilities."

"I have a girlfriend," Fib defended.

"Meadow, is it?" Baxter nodded. Yeah. He remembered her. Quite the morsel. What did she see in Fib, anyway? "I guess you know about sex, then. You've probably even had it." The otter had a hard time envisioning that. Mice probably just looked at each other and held paws and called it intercourse. That was his head canon.

"Yeah." Fib rolled his eyes, tail wavering about. The otter was trying to change the subject. The mouse steered it back to him. "So, you got with Dotty? I mean, that's not terribly surprising. I noticed you eying her at the meeting earlier this week."

"Yup."

There was an awkward silence.

Fib asked, still standing, "So, what's the problem? You got what you wanted."

"I tried to kiss her. I was feeling so good." Baxter blew out a breath as he remembered. "Just wanted to show my gratitude, you know?" He paused. "She stopped me cold. Said 'no mushy stuff'." The otter rolled his shoulders, as if trying to shake off an invisible weight. "It threw me off ... "

"Ah. Well. Cause you have a crush on her," Fib pointed out. "And she rejected your gesture of intimacy." The mouse shrugged, as if it were an open-and-shut case. "Bruised your ego. You'll get over it."

The otter twitched at Fib's matter-of-fact diagnosis. "I don't 'do' crushes."

"And what do otters 'do'?" Fib wondered, taking a seat beside Baxter on the couch.

Baxter set his phone aside, leaning back into the cushions. "We seek playmates."

"Friends with benefits?"

Baxter shook his head. "In otter culture, everyone's cuddly and physical. Playful." His eyes got distant. "There are a lot of otters out West. Hardly any in these parts ... "

"No water, no otters," Fib quipped.

Baxter ignored that and sat up straighter. "Do I fool around? Yeah. I like feeling good. Who doesn't?" He stared at the floor. "I just hate being alone. I'm an extrovert." A pause. "Maybe that's why I like sports so much? It's communal. Everyone lives and dies together as fans."

"I guess."

Baxter frowned at the mouse.

"I'm not your therapist!" Fib insisted. But he had to ask, "How'd you leave things with Dotty? It's not going to be awkward, is it?" If there's one thing mice hated, it was awkwardness.

"She said 'bump into you later' when she left. Winked, too. She's down for more," Baxter declared, confidence returning. Talking about things out loud had really helped. He flexed a bit. "Can't wait to give it!" He flashed Fib a bragging smile. "She's an insanely good romp."

The mouse blushed, not knowing how to respond to that.

Baxter couldn't help but relish Fib's discomfort. "Don't know how you have a girlfriend," he goaded, "when you're such a pipsqueaked dweeb."

"Probably because I'm not a fish-faced jock," Fib replied, not missing a beat. He stood up and moved away from the couch.

"Mm. Well." The otter, done with niceties, also got up. "I better go talk to the bosses, see what they want me to do today. You may have to toss to me from studio!"

"Just don't drop the ball," the mouse warned, putting on a stern face, paws on hips.

"If your noodle arm doesn't botch the throw, we'll be fine," the otter said as he walked away. With his back to the mouse, Fib couldn't see his grin.

SATURDAY

The downside to waking up early all week long was that your body got used to it. Even on the weekends, when Baxter had time off, he was up before the sun.

As he laid alone in bed, staring at the ceiling, Baxter briefly thought of Dotty. He soon scolded himself.

Don't pine.

He wondered what he should do with himself.

The otter had complimentary press box tickets for several local basketball games today, college and pro. He could go to one of those? Probably would, yeah. It's a perk. Why not? There were some good matchups, too.

But that wasn't 'til afternoon ...

What do to right now?

Maybe I can go out for breakfast?

Beats having cereal.

Baxter got up, got dressed, and left his apartment. He walked down a quiet, lamplit street. Sunrise was in ten minutes. But the cloud cover would probably keep it darker longer. Snow still covered everything. He could see his breath in front of his face, leaving little crystals on his whiskers.

He took a shortcut through a small, urban park. There were a few hip, new cafes on the avenue adjacent. Maybe he'd try one of them?

Baxter scooted aside as he passed a tall, hefty mare going the opposite way. The horse stopped on the sidewalk and looked at him funny.

The otter nodded and waved a webbed paw.

"Wait! You're ... you're from the TV, aren't you?" she called out skittishly, as if afraid she might be wrong. "Channel 13?"

Baxter stopped and smiled. "Heh. Right on. People normally don't recognize me!" He was still too new in town.

"Oh, my gosh!" the heavy horse whinnied. Her tail flicked, and she stomped her rubber-stockings hooves on the sidewalk. The coverings gave her better traction on slick surfaces. "Can ... can I take a selfie with you? Please?"

"Sure!"

As she got out her phone, Baxter saw no ring on her hand. The flattered otter put an arm around her and smiled for the picture, offering, "Hey, if you're not busy ... I was going to have breakfast down the street?" He raised a brow. "Wanna come?"

Nearly hyperventilating, the mare claimed she was, indeed, free. She'd just gotten off an overnight shift at the drugstore. She always watched the morning news when she got home, which is how she'd recognized him.

"Relax," Baxter said warmly. "I'm just a normal guy. What's your name?"

"Raven," she said shyly.

"Nice to meet you, Raven," the otter replied.

She seems sweet.

And she's pretty.

I wonder if she likes cream-filled donuts?