Must Love Dogs…and Hockey is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

A Loveswept Ebook Original

Copyright © 2020 by Kelly Jamieson

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

Loveswept is a registered trademark and the Loveswept colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

Ebook ISBN 9780593160251

Cover design: Derek Walls

Cover image: © Getty Images/filadendron (couple), © Getty Images/tkatsai (dog)

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Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1: Easton

Chapter 2: Lilly

Chapter 3: Easton

Chapter 4: Easton

Chapter 5: Lilly

Chapter 6: Easton

Chapter 7: Lilly

Chapter 8: Lilly

Chapter 9: Easton

Chapter 10: Lilly

Chapter 11: Lilly

Chapter 12: Easton

Chapter 13: Lilly

Chapter 14: Easton

Chapter 15: Lilly

Chapter 16: Lilly

Chapter 17: Easton

Chapter 18: Lilly

Chapter 19: Easton

Chapter 20: Easton

Chapter 21: Lilly

Chapter 22: Lilly

Chapter 23: Lilly

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

By Kelly Jamieson

About the Author

Chapter 1

Easton

Forget the mistake. Remember the lesson.

Too bad Coach Simmons doesn’t live by those words.

I’m sitting in my stall in the dressing room taking off my skates.

“For fuck’s sake, you can’t do shit like that!” Coach yells.

Jammer’s face tightens as he yanks on his skate laces. “I take responsibility for it,” he says in a terse tone. “I know it was a mistake. I didn’t even know that rule existed, and I didn’t think I was going to hit his stick.”

Jammer’s stick snapped when he blocked a shot on our net, but when he tossed it down, he hit a Vancouver player’s stick and got a penalty. Vancouver scored on the power play with only a minute and a half left in the game, and that was that.

My body tenses and my insides cramp up seeing how upset Jammer is, but I keep my face impassive (I hope) as Coach reams him out for what happened in the game we just lost. I have to fight back the urge to tell Coach to lay off. Yeah, that wouldn’t go well.

We just played the second night of a back-to-back, and the third game in four nights. We were all tired, but Jammer was finishing a long shift and was probably even more fatigued.

Coach isn’t having it. “You all fucking hung Gunner out to dry!” he roars, naming our goalie. “Being tired isn’t a goddamn excuse for boneheaded mistakes. You guys are supposed to be professionals.”

The atmosphere in the room is thick and uncomfortable. I feel that familiar heat filling my veins, pressure rising inside me. I don’t look at anyone else as I finish undressing, my jaw rigid.

“Jesus Christ,” Coach says. “I’m done. We’ll fix this shit tomorrow.” He kicks a helmet across the floor—actually kicks it!—and storms out.

Then we all lift our heads and let our eyes meet. I exhale slowly, trying to relax my knotted muscles. I rub the nape of my neck and tilt my head back.

We’re not a bad team. That’s not why Coach is yelling at us. It’s because he’s an asshole.

He takes a lot of his anger out on Jammer. And me.

Okay, he takes his anger out on a lot of us, but there are a few of us who are frequent targets. The only one he never browbeats is Bergie, our captain. And Bergie often defends him.

I mean, there’s no question Coach knows his stuff. He’s been around a long time, since his days as Tim the Tank playing for the Flyers.

I head to the shower and let the hot water pound down on me for a few minutes. Losing sucks. All athletes hate losing. Yeah, we made some mistakes tonight, and maybe there are lessons to learn. Gotta think positive.

The atmosphere in the room after a win is so different—music blasting, lots of laughter and chirping. Not tonight. Quiet. Muttered comments.

I dress in the suit I wore to the Apex Center in Midtown Manhattan, home of the New York Bears hockey club. I give my tie a hard yank to tighten the knot, nearly strangling myself. I meet my buddy Cookie’s eyes and nod.

Earlier, we made plans to go out after the game. I don’t feel much like partying, but I can sure as hell use a beer. Or ten.

Jammer, Wendy, and JBo are also joining us. We leave the arena onto Sixth Avenue. It’s a chilly mid-October night, and I pull on my knit beanie and wrap a scarf around my neck.

There are a few autograph hunters hanging around, so we pause to give our fans some attention, forcing smiles and platitudes about the game. These must be die-hard fans, since we lost, which usually earns us a lot of scorn and bitching.

Don’t get me wrong. I love our fans. They’re the reason we’re here. But I’ve been the target of enough hate that I’ve gotten a little cynical.

Then we zigzag a few streets over to the Amber Horse Brewhouse. None of us feel like hitting a loud club or chill gastropub tonight. This place is a hole-in-the-wall, kind of industrial, with a concrete floor, high, dark ceiling, and big frosted windows. The bar is really long. And packed. It’s Thursday night, a popular bar night, so not surprising. We make our way through the crowd—not hard with six-foot-five-inch, 225-pound Cookie leading the way.

Yeah, nobody makes fun of him for that nickname.

There aren’t any empty tables at the back, so we hang around the bar, people shifting to make room for us.

“Well, that sucked,” Wendy says once we all have beers in hand.

“Sucked like a vacuum cleaner,” JBo agrees. He guzzles back half his beer at once.

I do the same.

“Sucks like an elephant,” Cookie says.

I lift an eyebrow. “Elephant?”

“Yeah. An elephant can suck nearly four gallons of water and blow it straight into its mouth.”

“Four gallons.” I make a face and nod. “Okay. Right now I think I could suck about four gallons of this beer.” I lift it.

“Hell yeah.” We all take a moment to drink.

“Can’t wait for practice tomorrow,” I say, leaning an elbow on the bar. Not.

Cookie sighs. “I know. I guess Coach thinks if he makes us miserable enough after a loss, we’ll win every game.”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“I know that.”

Wendy and Jammer, two of Coach’s other frequent targets, grimace.

“Fuck,” Jammer says. “I can’t believe that happened with my stick.”

“I know.” I clap a hand on his shoulder and squeeze. “Shit happens.”

“And then I get shit on,” he adds bitterly.

I’ve struggled about whether to speak up or not. I’ve tried it, and it only gets me in more trouble. And I get in enough trouble myself.

I know I have issues. I know I get angry way too often. I’m working on it.

“I’ve got ten bucks on another bag skate,” Wendy says bitterly.

“Not taking that bet.” I chug more beer. “We better not drink too much tonight, just in case.”

“I don’t even care if I puke my guts all over the ice,” Wendy says.

“I do.” I grimace. “I’ll blow chunks too if you do that.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Probably half the team will,” Cookie jokes.

“That would be a sight.” I tilt my head. “Actually…”

“No.” Cookie shakes his head. “Don’t go there. I’m frustrated, but not enough to deliberately puke.”

I shrug.

A woman moves up beside Cookie and touches his arm. “Excuse me. Are you Owen Cooke?”

He turns. “Yeah.”

“I thought so!” She holds up her phone with an excited smile. “Could I get a picture with you?”

“Sure.” Cookie smiles too and moves beside her so she can snap the selfie. “How about my friends here?”

Thanks, bro.

“Oh, wow, that would be great.” Her gaze lands on me. “Oh hey, you’re Easton Millar! The new guy.”

I grin. “Yep.” Even though I joined the team last season, I’m still “the new guy.”

“My girlfriends are all crazy about you!” she says breathlessly, then gives a self-conscious laugh.

I catch Cookie’s gagging mime behind the girl’s back.

“I’ll take the picture,” the bartender offers.

She hands her phone over and we all arrange ourselves behind her, since she’s about a foot shorter than us. After a few clicks, the bartender returns her phone.

She peers down at it. “Oh, thank you! These are great! My friends will be so jealous!”

We’re all used to this. Again, the fans are the reason we play. I used to get annoyed and impatient, especially when people asked me stupid questions about my past, which I do not want to talk about. But I’m doing better now, and most people have forgotten or don’t even know about what happened to me.

“Okay, I’ve got a question,” JBo announces once we’re done with the photo shoot.

“What?”

“Have you guys ever used a condom for oral?”

I blink. “Not what I was expecting. I, uh, have not.”

The others are all in agreement.

“Why?” Wendy asks. “You got an infection? Cold sore?”

“No!” JBo frowns. “I was just curious. Okay, this chick I was with last weekend asked me to. I’d never done it before.”

“Well, apparently you can get STIs from oral sex,” I say. “So it’s probably a good idea.”

“Then why don’t we do it?” Jammer asks wryly.

“Because we’re idiots?” I shrug.

“Yeah. Could be.”

“It’s kind of a mood killer, no?” Wendy says.

“I had to cut up a condom and use it like a dental dam,” JBo informs us. “I mean, it was good that I had the right kind. Ones with lube might be kind of nasty tasting.”

“Lots of flavors out there,” I point out.

“Okay, do you use one when women go down on you?” Jammer asks.

Again, we all answer in the negative.

“Risky,” he says, shaking his head.

“True. Something to think about.”

“Women are way more concerned about it,” JBo says. “They always want you to use a condom.”

“Obviously,” I say. “The consequences of getting pregnant are way worse for them.”

“I know, I know. And I do use one.”

“Same. Don’t be a fool, wrap your tool.”

They all laugh.

“They’re only a buck, get one before you fuck,” Wendy adds, to more laughter.

Tension eases out of me now we’ve turned the conversation away from shop talk. Hockey’s our passion, but everyone needs a break from their job sometimes.

Cookie and I take the subway home. We live in the same building, as do a couple of other guys who play for the team. Cookie was the one who recommended the building to me when I moved here. It’s nice, not super expensive, which is hard to find in New York, and it’s a great location—easy subway ride to and from the arena, and quick access to 9A to get to our practice facility.

We walk into the lobby of our building and head to the elevator. There’s a woman already there, waiting, with a pup on a leash. He’s bounding around, clearly a puppy, one of those so-ugly-he’s-cute kinds. Some kind of bulldog mix, maybe? Sad-looking eyes and mouth, black with a white patch on his chest, and big ears sticking up.

The elevator arrives and the woman steps inside, tugging the leash. But the pup doesn’t follow her; he’s more interested in us. We try to move forward so he’ll follow his owner, but he goes up on his back legs, pulling on his leash, tongue hanging out of his mouth. He’s hilarious.

Then the elevator doors slide shut.

The woman is inside. The dog is outside.

For a moment, everyone is stunned into silence. I wait for the doors to open again, and when they don’t, I leap forward and punch the button, hoping to stop the elevator. It doesn’t work. I punch it six more times. Then the woman in the elevator starts screaming. She’s still holding the leash and the dog is still attached to it, and the elevator is going up.

Jesus Christ.

“Fuck!” I dash forward and grab the leash. It’s pulling tight. I need to get it off the dog. “Fuck!”

I’m not even thinking, just reacting. All I know is I have to save this dog.

“Shhh. Calm down,” I order him. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

It’s getting tighter.

Cookie leaps forward to grab the leash too, trying to hold it as it strains.

My fingers close around the clip. I can’t see what I’m doing, only feel, and I use my thumb to flick it open then wrangle it off. The dog is in my arms now, crying, and as he’s freed, I stumble back.

“Holy shit,” Cookie says, looking on in horror, eyes wide. “That was close.”

My legs suddenly feel like rubber bands and I sink down onto the floor on my ass, the dog on my lap. He’s now frantically licking my face and wriggling around. I stroke his back and try to dodge his tongue. “It’s okay, dude. You’re okay. I got you.”

The elevator returns to the ground floor and opens. The woman bursts out and stops short when she sees me.

“He’s okay,” I say. “See?”

She’s crying, her face wet and red. She appears to be in her thirties, with shoulder-length brown hair, wearing jeans and a jacket. “Oh my God!” She presses her hands to her face. “I was so scared. Oh my God.”

Her eyes go glassy and she doesn’t look so good. Cookie moves over to her to take her arm. “Maybe you should sit down.”

He leads her over to the grouping of chairs in the lobby of the building and helps her sit. Now I notice that Javier, the doorman who was sitting at the big sleek counter in the lobby, has joined us, a concerned look on his face.

The woman is shaking and sobbing. “I can’t b-believe that happened.” She bends over. “Oh my God. I can’t do this.”

What?

“It was close,” Cookie agrees, looking over at me. “Lucky my buddy here is good and strong.”

I’m shaking a bit too, the adrenaline still coursing in my veins, so I can’t blame the woman for being upset. Except, Jesus, she should have carried the dog into the elevator in case this happened.

I pull in a long, slow breath, which makes the pup try to lick me even more. You’d think he’d run to his owner, but he doesn’t seem to want to leave my lap. I push up off the marble floor with the dog in my arms.

I meet Javier’s eyes. “We’re all okay.”

“Good, good.”

I carry the dog over to the woman. “Here’s your dog.”

“He’s n-not my dog,” she says, leaning away as if she’s afraid of him.

I pause. “Oh.” I set him down on the floor, holding his collar.

Shaking her head and wringing her hands, she sobs, “I can’t do this. Oh my God, I nearly killed him! I can’t do this.”

I bite my lip and meet Cookie’s eyes.

She’s practically having a breakdown. The poor dog doesn’t know what to do. He keeps looking at me with that funny old-man expression.

I’m not sure what to do. I don’t want to leave them when she’s melting down. “Can we help you get up to your apartment?”

She stares at me blankly. Then she shakes her head. “I don’t live here.”

What the fuck? What is she doing here, then? “Whose dog is he? Does his owner live here?”

“Yes.” She’s bouncing around as if she wants to bolt. “I have to go. I’ll give you his number.” She digs frantically in her purse.

I frown. What? I don’t want the owner’s number. What are we supposed to do with that?

“I got this,” Cookie says. “What’s his number?”

She rattles it off and Cookie enters it into his phone

“What’s his name?” Cookie asks.

“Percy.”

As Cookie’s entering that into his phone, she takes off running and bolts out of the building.

Cookie and I stare after her.

What just happened?

I look down at the dog. “I don’t even know your name, little dude.”

“He likes you,” Cookie says. “I guess he knows you saved his life.”

I turn to Javier, who is still watching us. “Hey, Javier, do you know who that was?”

He shakes his head. “Never seen her before.”

“Do you know someone named Percy who lives here?”

“No.” He frowns.

“We’ve got his number,” Cookie says. “Let’s call him.”

We sit on the chairs, one of two furniture groupings in the lobby on either side of the security desk. Cookie calls the number. After a moment, he says, “Voice mail.” He listens, then ends the call. “I think she gave us the wrong number. That was someone named Dennis.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Why is this happening?” I look down at the dog and sigh. “Well, let’s go up to my place and figure out what to do.”

I grab the leash lying on the lobby floor, but I carry the dog into the elevator and we ride it up to the seventh floor. Cookie comes with us.

“What are you going to do?”

I sigh. “Nothing, tonight. It’s after midnight. Guess I’m stuck with him.” I cock an eyebrow. “You want him?”

He shakes his head. “I mean, I could take him, but look. He’s not leaving you.”

The dog is attached to my ankles. When I sit on my couch, he jumps onto my lap before my ass even hits the cushion. “Fine. I’ll keep him. Tomorrow I’ll…I don’t know what. How am I supposed to find his owner?”

Cookie rubs his mouth. “Shit. I have no idea. Let’s sleep on it.”

“Yeah.”

Cookie leaves to go to his own place.

Dog and I look at each other. “Well,” I say. “That was an exciting evening.”

He tilts his head, regarding me with dark eyes.

One corner of my mouth lifts. “Look at you. All jowly and sad.”

His head tips the other way.

“Okay. I’ll get you some water.” He follows me into my kitchen, while I fill a bowl and set it on the floor. He slurps some water, then sits on my feet.

“Well. It’s bedtime.” I’m at a loss here. “Let’s go.”

He stays close as I walk down the hall to my bedroom. The bed is high and he’s not that big, but somehow he manages to leap up onto it.

“Make yourself at home.”

I wash up and strip out of my suit. I hang it in the closet and toss my shirt into the laundry bag for the cleaners.

Dog presses himself against my legs when I’m settled under the covers. This is weird.

I have a hard time falling asleep. Must be the adrenaline rush from the rescue. Doesn’t seem to affect Dog, though. Eventually I too fall asleep.

Chapter 2

Lilly

“His wife thinks he’s having an affair with me.”

My best friend Carlin stares at me. “What the fuck?”

“I know.” I cut off another piece of pancake. “He’s actually having an affair with Parvati.”

“Oh my God! But you got fired.”

“Yep.” I swallow. “Again.”

It took me months to finally find a job, after the clusterfuck at my last place of employment. Working the front desk at the No Tell Motel was a far cry from the career in hospitality management I imagined when working my ass off for my degree in Hospitality Industry Studies at NYU, but at least it was a job.

I shove more pancake liberally drenched with butter and syrup into my mouth.

Carlin sits at the small table in the apartment we share. “Oh, Lilly. I’m so sorry.”

“I know.” I attempt a smile. “At least I paid my share of this month’s rent.”

Things got pretty tight over my months of unemployment. I racked up an impressive credit card debt. I ended up taking out a loan at the bank to pay it off, and I still owe money on that. Carlin was generous enough to pay my half of the rent many months so I didn’t go homeless.

“Don’t worry about the rent,” she says. “We’ll find something else for you. Fuck ’em.”

I nod, trying to appear optimistic. “Of course I’ll find something else.”

I rise from the table and move into the tiny kitchen where more pancakes await me. I fork up a couple onto my plate. “Want any?”

“Wow, you’re really carb loading. Oh, what the hell, sure.”

She joins me and pulls a plate out of the cupboard. I slather butter all over the tasty circles then pour syrup and hand it to Carlin.

“I think I put on ten pounds just now,” I tell her. “But I love pancakes.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Right?”

“You got this, Lilly. You know that, right?”

“Of course!”

I don’t know that. There were a lot of days when I was unemployed where I could barely get out of bed. Why bother? I had no purpose, no meaning to my life, and the constant rejection destroyed any self-esteem I may have had. I used to be a confident, ambitious young professional with my whole life in front of me. Now?

I swallow a sigh.

I’m not going there again. Yes, I was using some unhealthy coping mechanisms—pancakes being one of them—but I’ve learned. This time I won’t spend days in bed, drink a bottle of wine every night, and not shower for days.

I hope.

“Let’s make a plan,” Carlin suggests. “You love making plans.”

“No, you love making plans.”

“Come on.”

“I need a day or two to wallow, okay?”

She eyes me worriedly. “I guess.” She pauses. “It’s Friday night. Let’s go out.”

“That’s not wallowing.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll get the squad to come over here. We’ll wallow with you.”

I shrug. “I’m okay with that.”

She starts sending messages.

I’m still dressed in the black skirt and white shirt I wore to work this morning, although I’ve pulled the shirttails out. I came home after being canned and started making pancakes. “I’m going to change.” I slide my plate into the dishwasher and drop the cutlery in.

“Sounds good.”

I climb the curving staircase to my tiny loft bedroom while unzipping my skirt. First I toss it onto the chair in the corner, but with a sigh I pick it up and hang it in my closet. Likewise with the shirt. Since I’m not leaving this apartment tonight, I dress in leggings and a long, loose sweatshirt that says Time to wine down. Very appropriate.

Then I lie down on my bed.

I can’t believe this happened. I didn’t do anything wrong. I was good at my job. Even though it wasn’t what I wanted to do, I didn’t look at it as beneath me. I did my best. And my dickbag boss who screws around with his employees fired me, the one not screwing him.

I’m so tired of getting fucked in ways that don’t end in an orgasm.

I close my eyes against the tears that sting the corners. Nope. Not gonna cry.

Last time I lost my job, I was trying to do the right thing. I knew it could cost me my job. I didn’t know it would cost me my whole life. I’ve second-guessed my decisions back then about a million times. I’m still pretty sure I’d do it again. I have to live with myself for a lot of years. Hopefully.

But this? This wasn’t fair. I mean, I know life’s not fair; but this is fucking ridiculous.

I’m not going to be a victim. I’m not going to quit. I know I have much to be thankful for, including the friends who are coming over to help me mourn.

I just need a few minutes to…remind myself of all this.

I might have fallen asleep, because the sounds of the door opening and closing and voices jerk me to wakefulness. Okay. Time to be brave.

I rub the inner corners of my eyes with my ring fingers, run my hands through my hair, and straighten my shoulders before joining my girls.

“Hey.” Adriana spots me and heads right to me to wrap me in a hug. “What the fuck, Lilly?”

“I know.” I submit to her warm embrace. “ ‘What the fuck’ is right.”

“I can’t believe this,” Maya adds. “Don’t they know who you are?”

“I’m afraid they do, and that’s why they fired me.”

“You said it was because the boss’s wife thought you were having an affair with him,” Carlin says.

“Maybe that was just an excuse.” I shrug and move to the dining table where Carlin has set up a bar. I grab a wineglass and fill it with pinot grigio. “Maybe they just wanted to get rid of me.”

I feel the collective sigh of my friends, because this is a definite possibility.

“Well, fuck them,” Maya says.

“Yeah.” Adriana holds up her glass. “Let’s get drunk and set shit on fire.”

I have to laugh. “Sounds good to me.”

I love my friends. We met in college and formed a bond that has lasted all these years. Okay, it’s not that many years. We’re all twenty-six. But we’ve stood by each other through all kinds of shit—breakups, family deaths and divorce and midlife crises, and my epic career flameout. They’re what’s most important. I’ll get things back on track. Right now I’m going to drink wine and eat Cheetos and let my friends prop me up.

—

I’ve given myself the weekend. I cleaned and organized my bedroom and the kitchen cupboards. I threw out a bunch of crap I don’t need anymore. Now it’s Sunday afternoon and I’m taking Lola for a walk in the park.

Lola is my neighbor Kent’s Jack Russell terrier. While I was out of work, I started walking Lola pretty much every day. Kent works long hours, and Jack Russells need lots of exercise. He was already paying someone to walk her and thought it might as well be me, since I needed the money and had the time, and I love him for that. I also love Lola. I love dogs in general. I also volunteer at an animal shelter once a week.

A couple of neighbors saw me walking Lola and asked me to walk their dogs too, which I was happy to do and it makes me a few extra dollars.

There’s a park at the end of my street and I head that way. It’s a nice fall day—in fact it’s gorgeous. The sky is a brilliant blue, the trees are turning, and the sun is illuminating the leaves into glowing gold, fiery red, and rust brown. A few leaves layer the path in the park and it’s so pretty.

Lola and I are strolling along the path when out of nowhere a dog appears, bounding up to us and jumping Lola.

I let out a scream. “Lola!” I pull on the leash and dash toward them to rescue her from being demolished by the other dog. Okay, okay, it’s a smallish dog, just a pup, but still, he’s aggressive. And Lola’s not happy either, growling and snarling. Oh my God, it’s a dog fight! What do I do?

I hear a man yelling, “Otis! Come back! Jesus, Otis, stop.”

Lola is snapping and barking, but the other dog doesn’t get the message, still jumping her and pawing at her. His tail is wagging wildly, although it’s not much of a tail, just a furry little quivery stub. His tongue lolls out of his jowly mouth. Lola is freaked out, and so am I.

But I have to save her.

I try to pick her up, prepared to feel the other dog’s teeth sink into my arm. She’s squirming and jumping so much I can’t get hold of her and I’m grabbing air and stumbling around, and then I fall on my ass.

Then Lola jumps the other dog, trying to pin him. Now I’m worried she’s going to kill him.

The yelling man sprints up and grabs the leash dragging behind the dog. “Shit, shit, shit,” he growls. He seizes the dog’s collar and pulls him away from Lola. He glares at Lola. “What the hell?”

“What the hell is right!” Anger flares inside me. “What is your dog doing off the leash?” I demand. I grab Lola’s leash and tug her toward me, pulling her into my lap where I’m sitting on the grass.

“He’s on a leash! He yanked it out of my hands when he saw your dog.”

“She’s not my dog.”

He frowns. “Whatever.”

“You should have better control of him!”

“He’s not dangerous! He’s just a puppy. Your dog attacked him!”

“He attacked her!” I run my hands over her and bend my head to hers. “Are you okay?”

I know she can’t answer, but I talk to her like this all the time. Please, please be okay. Not only do I kind of love her, but Kent will kill me if I let something happen to his precious pup.

The man crouches down and lays his hands on his dog. “You okay, Otis?”

I scowl at him. “I’m sure he’s fine. Lola’s not an attack dog. She was defending herself.”

I watch him check out his dog and I’m even more annoyed. He’s very attractive. Very attractive. Dressed in worn jeans and an old hoodie, his dark hair falls over his forehead in a defiant tumble but is neatly trimmed around his ears and neck. Stubble darkens his square jaw, and his eyes make me think of the syrup I pour over my pancakes—warm, liquid brown but with a cheeky glint in them. He’s also got amazing shoulders and long legs, and I’m fascinated by his hands, which are a bit rough but with neat nails. Everything about him screams danger. Hot, sexy danger.

Too bad he’s a jerk.

I drag my attention away from him, which is definitely not easy, and push myself to stand. He rises too and holds out a hand to help me, but I ignore it. I take a few steps to a nearby bench and sit there. Lola jumps up onto my lap and licks my chin.

The man and his dog follow us. The dog looks more worried than the man, with his furrowed forehead. Goddammit, even the dog is cute.

“I’m Easton,” the man says. “This is Otis.”

“I don’t care who you are,” I snap. I’m shaking a bit now, the adrenaline rush in my veins dissipating. God, I was so scared there for a few minutes.

Otis plants his butt in front of me and Lola, staring at us with sad but hopeful eyes. Shit.

Easton sighs. “I’m sorry. He caught me off guard and pulled the leash out of my hand.”

I purse my lips, looking at Otis, not Easton. “He does look apologetic.”

“He always looks like that. But I’m sure he is. He gets in trouble a lot.”

“Maybe you need to take him for some obedience training.”

“I would, if he was my dog.”

“He’s not yours?”

“It’s a long story.” He sits on the bench too and rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know how I ended up with him and I can’t get hold of his owner so I’m kind of stuck with him.”

“Oh.”

“And I have to go out of town tomorrow.” He shakes his head. “He’ll destroy my apartment while I’m gone.”

“You can’t leave him alone while you go out of town!” I turn alarmed eyes on Easton.

“I know, I know,” he says hastily. “What am I gonna do, though?”

I don’t know. Not my problem. I slump back onto the bench and rub my hip where I landed on the ground.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“I might have a bruise. But that’s okay.” I sigh. “It’ll just match my bruised spirit.”

His lips twitch and his eyebrow lifts into a slightly wicked arch. “Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good.”

“I haven’t been having the best luck lately. You could say my life is like the love child of a train wreck and a dumpster fire.”

Easton chokes on a laugh.

I focus on Otis again. He’s gazing longingly at Lola. Clearly he just wants to be friends. I cautiously set Lola on the ground and watch as Otis sniffs around her.

“He is hard to resist,” Easton says, watching them too. “He seems to like women. What else is going wrong in your life?”

I’m not about to share all my woes with a douche stranger. “Nothing.”

He shrugs. “You’re too pretty to have a dumpster fire of a life.”

I roll my eyes, even though my heart quivers at the compliment. Because, yeah…he’s gorgeous. “This isn’t the time for flirting. Read the room, dude.”

He laughs, and it’s a fantastic laugh—low and deep and rumbly. “I’m not flirting. I’m just being extra friendly to someone who’s extra attractive.”

“Oh my God.”

Lola is now checking out Otis, sniffing his butt. Otis responds by checking hers out, and they do the canine version of shaking hands and introducing themselves.

“I admire how you jumped in to save your dog—er, your friend’s dog—when she was being attacked. That takes guts.”

I study him with narrowed eyes. Is he for real?

He gives off an air of bold confidence and a reckless charm, but his smile is genuine and his expression sincere. That annoys me even more.

I reach out and rub Otis’s head. I’m not mad at him. “He’s not vicious. And it wasn’t his fault. He’s a baby. He just needs to be controlled better.” I give Easton a pointed look.

“I get it.” Easton holds up a hand. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

“How old is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“What? You don’t know how old he is?”

“Like I said, I got stuck with him.” After a beat he adds, “Although I admit he’s fun.”

“Of course you are. Aren’t you? You just need to grow up and learn how to behave.” I lean forward and kiss Otis between his big brown eyes. “You’re a good boy.”

“I don’t suppose you’d want a job dog sitting?”

I snort and flash Easton a sideways glance.

“Really. I don’t want to just get rid of him to a shelter.”

I give him a look with my chin down. “You don’t even know me.”

“Babe. You’re gorgeous, smart, and gutsy. And you like dogs. You rescued a dog that’s not even yours. You have to be a decent person.”

Heat washes down through me at the compliments from this hunk of hotness, but I laugh. “Wow, you do know me.”

He smiles too, a sexy bad boy smile that heats me up and makes my belly flutter.

“Seriously, you don’t even know me.”

He nods at Lola. “Someone else trusts you with their dog.”

“True.”

“I’d pay well.”

This piques my interest. Little does he know, but I’m in debt up to my formerly well-groomed eyebrows. But still…“What if I took off with your dog and your money and you never saw me again?”

“I wouldn’t be much worse off,” he says dryly.

“Ha.” I play with Otis’s funny ears. “How much?”

“How much what? Pay?”

“Yes.”

“Hell, I don’t know. Would you come to my place and look after him? Or take him home with you?”

“Well, since you’re obviously extremely trusting and naïve, I’ll point out that letting a total stranger have access to your home is probably not wise.”

He rolls his eyes at the “trusting and naïve” comment.

“So I would look after him at my place.”

“Okay. Five hundred dollars?”

I gasp. “You’re kidding me.”

He lifts his hands.

“For one night?”

“Sure. Except I won’t be back until late Wednesday, like really late, so it would be three nights. Five hundred a night.”

Holy shit. That would be fifteen hundred dollars. Is this guy for real?

I study him through narrowed eyes. He’s holding my gaze and seems honest. “Cash.”

“Sure. I can drop him off tomorrow morning.”

This is all weird. The guy can’t keep his dog under control. Except it’s not even his dog. And he’s kind of a flirty, cocky ass.

But watching him with the dog…he’s gentle, if a little awkward. And he’s willing to pay big bucks to have the dog looked after.

I’m trying to see the downside to this. Looking after a pup isn’t that much work. It’s not like I have much else going on. If I get the money up front, the worst thing that would happen is Easton doesn’t come back for the dog and I’d have to deal with it. “Okay. Deal.”

He lifts his arms in the air. “Yes!”

I grin.

“It doesn’t put me in a good bargaining position,” he says. “But I was desperate.”

So am I. “Well, worry no more. I’ll take good care of Otis.”

“Give me your address.” He pulls out his phone.

I hesitate. Giving my address to a stranger doesn’t seem very smart. Would it be wiser for me to go to his place? I gnaw briefly on my bottom lip. “Maybe I should pick him up.”

“Okay.”

I remove my phone from the pocket in my leggings and he gives me his address. His place is only a few blocks away, on Riverside Boulevard. Given the address, I’m pretty sure his apartment is a lot nicer than mine. Maybe he really does have fifteen hundred bucks to spare.

“And your name,” he adds, waiting.

“Right.” I shake my head. “It’s Lilly. Lilly Evans.”

I give him my phone number in case anything changes, which wouldn’t surprise me, because the way my luck is going that could easily happen. Let’s just say I won’t be going out and buying new shoes before I have that cash in my broke little hands.

“Can you pick him up around eight-thirty?” Easton pockets his phone.

“Yes. That’s fine. You can give me all the instructions.”

“Ha. Like I have any instructions for you. I had to google how often to feed him.”

I bite my lip on a smile. “Oh.” I stand. “Okay, Lola, let’s finish our walk.”

“Okay.” He stands too, still gripping the handle of Otis’s leash. “See you in the morning, Lilly.”

Otis strains at the leash, trying to follow us, apparently enamored of Lola, or maybe both of us, as we walk away from them. I guess that’s good if I’m going to look after him. Easton’s a bit of a jackass and Otis is not well behaved, but…fifteen hundred bucks. Okay!

Chapter 3

Easton

Lilly arrives promptly at eight-thirty. That’s a good sign.

I may be crazy turning the dog over to a stranger. I could have paid for him to go to a kennel while I was gone and it would have been cheaper, but poor Otis. He’s kind of neurotic. I don’t know what happened in his past life, but obviously whoever owned him didn’t care much about him. He loves me and he went crazy for Lilly, but he’s not so good around other dogs and even other people, so I just couldn’t imagine locking him up in a cage for three days.

“Hi,” Lilly says cheerfully as I open my door.

Today she’s wearing jeans and a loose navy sweater. Her hair is down instead of in a ponytail and I can see the rich red highlights in the wavy dark brown strands falling around her face and shoulders. Long eyelashes frame dark indigo blue eyes. Her cheekbones are high and sharp and her chin a little pointy, and damn, she’s really, really pretty.

I noticed that yesterday, hell yeah. But that wasn’t why I asked her to look after Otis. I asked because she clearly loves dogs and has a kind, engaging way about her. And Otis liked her.

She bends down to greet Otis, and his stubby tail shakes. He remembers her. He immediately lies down at her feet and rolls onto his back.

“Aren’t you a good boy,” she croons, rubbing his white chest. “Such a good boy.”

“I gotta be honest, he’s not very good.” I roll my eyes. “Yesterday I spent half an hour chasing him up and down the hall when he escaped from my apartment. So make sure he doesn’t get out, because he doesn’t know his new name yet, and he sure as hell doesn’t respond to ‘come.’ ”

“His new name?”

“I don’t know his real name,” I confess. “So I named him Otis.”

“Okay, noted.”

“Also, he, uh, has a lot of accidents.”

“Great.” She straightens and her warm smile disappears as she faces me. Damn. Clearly she likes Otis better than she likes me. “What else do I need to know?”

I hand over the envelope full of cash I made a fast trip to the bank for yesterday, and go through his food, treats, and bathroom routines, such as I know them. “I bought him a kennel,” I tell her. “But I have to warn you, he doesn’t like it. I tried to get him to sleep in there and it didn’t go well, so he’s been sleeping on my bed.”

“Yikes. He seems pretty attached to you.”

“Here’s his stuff.” I nudge the bag on the floor with the toe of my shoe. “Food and water bowls.” I tell her how much I’ve been feeding him and when. “Also some treats and toys and a bunch of poop bags.” I had to go out to a pet store and buy a shit ton of stuff for this dog.

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” she says gravely, but her eyes twinkle.

I scrunch up my face. “Yeah. I don’t really like picking up dog poop, but I guess you’re supposed to do that.”

“Yes.” She nods seriously. “I hate it when people don’t pick up after their dogs.”

“Okay,” I say, rubbing my hands. “Thanks for doing this.”

I’m actually nervous about leaving the damn pooch.

As if sensing that, Lilly says, “He’ll be fine.”

“I’ll walk out with you.”

Lilly attaches the leash to Otis’s collar and we head out.

When Otis balks at the elevator, I pick him up. “He doesn’t like elevators.”

“Oh. Okay, good to know.”

Outside, Otis heads straight to a fire hydrant to sniff around and lift his leg. Lilly starts down the sidewalk in the direction of the park where we “met” yesterday. Otis plants his paws on the sidewalk, not wanting to leave.

“You should go back in,” Lilly says with a sympathetic rub of Otis’s ears. “It’s okay, Otis. I’ll take good care of you.”

“He barely knows me,” I mutter. How can he be so attached in a matter of days? This is nuts. I crouch down to rub his head. “I’ll be back soon, buddy. Lilly will take good care of you.”

What has my life become? I smother an eye roll as I straighten, ignoring Otis’s sad whining.

Lilly flashes a breezy smile. “Don’t worry about him! We’ll be fine. You go do your business, or whatever.” She waves me off.

Business. Right. “Okay, thanks. I may text you to check in.”

“Any time!”

I turn and walk back into my building just as Otis throws back his head to howl.

I stop and close my eyes. I can’t handle this. Don’t go back out.

I head to the elevators, the door closing out the sounds of Otis’s displeasure. Jesus.

Our road trip is a short one, first Tampa Bay then Miami. We get there in time for a nap for those of us who still do that. I’m one of them, so I head to my room to crash.

I spot a woman walking a poodle in the hotel lobby. Huh.

“I could’ve brought Otis,” I say in the elevator. Luckily, there’s no one else there. I’m talking to Bryce.

He was my big brother, the one I talked to all the time, about everything. We were barely two years apart in age and we’d done everything together our whole lives, including playing hockey. After he died, I found myself talking to him in my head, and then sometimes out loud, when I was alone in a hotel room on a road trip or when I’d pissed off one of my teammates or when I’d screwed up a play.

I walk down the hall to my room and let myself in, tossing my bag on the bed.

He’s dead. I know it. But for some reason, believing he hears what I’m saying helps. It’s helped from the day I sat there holding him in my arms, praying someone would get there to help us before he died, telling him everything was going to be okay when I was fucking terrified out of my mind that it wasn’t. That it would never be okay again. I kept talking to him when they finally got him into an ambulance, but I couldn’t go with him because too many other guys were hurt. So I talked to him in my head until I got to the hospital myself and found out I’d never talk to him again. And I keep talking to him.

Now, I laugh thinking about bringing Otis on the plane. “Coach hates me enough already, I can only imagine what a meltdown he’d have if I tried to bring a dog on a road trip.”

Yeah, I’m kind of nuts, but the idea of giving Coach a heart attack over a dog strangely appeals to me.

“We’ve had dad trips,” I say, still talking aloud as I pull some clothes out of my bag. “Guys got to bring their dads, and later this year we’re having a mom trip for the first time ever. I don’t have a dad and can’t bring my mom. I should be able to bring my dog. Why not? It’d be cool.”

I discover that the hotel actually has a gourmet room service menu for pets, which cracks me up, as well as special treats like rawhide bones, beds, doggie pick up bags and a pet-walking service. Jeez. Maybe I should move into a hotel in New York.

What am I thinking? I’m not keeping Otis. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with him if I can’t find his owner, but I definitely can’t keep him. I don’t know anything about dogs.

I hope he’s okay.

I resist the urge to text Lilly already, and I crawl into the king-size bed with silky-soft sheets and close my eyes for my game day nap.

Now I’m thinking about Lilly. Hell yeah, I noticed how attractive she is when we met in the park yesterday, but I was more concerned about whether she or her dog were hurt. As she walked away, sure I watched her long, lean legs and tight little ass, her ponytail swinging briskly. But after seeing her this morning, now I’m thinking about her full, soft mouth and big dark blue eyes with that amazing fringe of lashes. I’m thinking about the smile she gave Otis—sweet, warm, and so goddamn appealing.

I know this whole thing is crazy, but for some reason I trust her. I might be a little concerned about Otis while I’m away, but honestly, I’m more worried about how Lilly’s going to cope with him. He’s got a lot of puppy energy and no manners whatsoever.

Lilly

This dog is going to kill me.

He’s only peed on the floor once, thankfully. But when he wants to play, there’s no stopping him. He’s put a hole in my favorite leggings with his teeth, chewed up one of my socks, and snagged a good sweater. I’ve taken him for three walks today and it’s not even dinnertime.

Finally, he’s asleep on the floor in the living room and I collapse onto the couch. Maybe he’ll let me watch a TV show. Or make dinner. Carlin will be home soon. I guess it’s not fair to ask her to watch him while I take a break, since I’m the one who signed up for this.

“I’m stuck with you, Otis,” I murmur.

I felt so bad when I brought him home yesterday, when he started howling because I was taking him away from Easton. He’s definitely attached.

Aw. Damn, he’s cute. Look at him sleeping, all sweet and relaxed and quiet, his nose between his paws, his scrunchy face all adorable. I sigh.

As I watch him, he stretches, paws around to find his stuffy and pull it closer, then rolls onto his side.

Oh my God, that is the cutest thing ever.

The stuffy is a little Frenchie dog that looks just like him. It appears brand new, but he loves it.

My heart!

I turn on the TV and flick through the channels, landing on The Ellen DeGeneres Show. I love Ellen. I settle myself into the couch and watch, hoping that Otis stays sleeping a little longer.

No such luck.

As soon as Carlin turns her key in the lock, Otis leaps up and barks.

“Shhh!” I jump up too. “You don’t want to get us evicted, do you?”

Pets are allowed in our building, but I know Mrs. Fernsby next door won’t hesitate to complain if he’s too loud. She complained about my sneezing last time I had a cold. She complained we left our clothes in the dryer too long. She’s complained about our “overnight guests.” She complained because she thought we were smoking marijuana. We weren’t, though, and I think she was disappointed.

Carlin hasn’t met Otis yet, although I gave her a heads-up that he was coming to stay for a couple of days. She likes dogs, luckily.

Otis is afraid of her, though, and he won’t stop barking at her, all four little paws lifting off the floor with each yap as he backs away from her.

Oh my God, this dog has issues.

Carlin gets down on the floor. “Hey, cutie. Don’t bark, okay? I’m Carlin. I live here.”

Yes, yes, we know he doesn’t understand us, but come on, everyone talks to their dog.

Eventually he calms down, and inches closer to her on his belly. She stretches her hand out palm down so he can sniff her. He seems somewhat reassured.

“Wow, sorry,” I tell her. “He’s a little neurotic. Easton says he’s not very well trained.”

“Easton, the handsome and rich dog owner.”

“Handsome, rich, and cocky-ass dog owner.”

She gives me an amused look. “You said he apologized.”

“Yes,” I grudgingly admit.

“And look how things turned out. He’s paying you big bucks to look after him.”

“True. I have fifteen hundred dollars in my purse. And some of that is for you.”

“Aw. You don’t have to pay me back yet. Just don’t go buy a pair of Jimmy Choos or I’ll be pissed.”

“What if they were on sale?”

“Lilly!”

“I’m kidding!” My life with Jimmy Choos and designer clothes is over.

“I’m gonna change.” Carlin stands. She’s wearing the scrubs she always wears to her job as a dental hygienist. “Are you home for dinner?”

“Of course. As if I’d go out and leave you with Otis.”

“Right. Okay, I’m making tacos.”

“Excellent.”

Otis is awake now and demanding to play again. I throw his ball for him to fetch. Luckily our living room is long, so he gets a bit of a run, but he’d probably rather play in the park. Welp, I’ll take him for a fourth walk after dinner.

—

The next day, I take Otis to see my grandma. We’re pretty close. When I moved to New York for college, she was my only family member here, so we saw each other fairly often. I think she was supposed to be looking out for me, but in the end, I’m the one looking out for her.

Only, not as well as I should.

Grammy’s in her late seventies. She’s still pretty sharp, but arthritis has really impaired her mobility in the last year or so, and she’s in a wheelchair now. She lives in a care home not far from where I live, and I think she’ll enjoy a visit from Otis. He’s not exactly into meeting new people, but hopefully he’ll be okay with Grammy.

It’s a nice day for a walk and Otis enjoys all the sniffs along the way. Finally we arrive at the home.

“Hi, Julie,” I greet the receptionist when I enter.

“Hi!” She peers over the counter. “Who’s this?”

“This is Otis. I thought Grammy would enjoy a visit from him.”

“We need to see proof he’s had all his shots,” Julie says.

Shit. “What? I don’t have that with me. I’m just looking after him for a friend.”

She studies Otis, bites her lip, and looks around. “Okay,” she whispers. “I’ll let it go this time. But next time make sure you bring the papers.”

“Thank you!”

Grammy’s room is on the third floor so I head to the elevators and push the up button. Otis is making funny noises in his throat and trying to back away. I grip the leash tighter. “It’s okay, little buddy.”

The doors open and I step forward and tug the leash. Otis won’t budge.

Oh right. He doesn’t like elevators.

People get off, and others get on, and I scramble to grab Otis and get inside before the doors close.

“What floor?” asks a man with an amused look.

“Three, please. Thank you.”

The doors slide closed and Otis wraps his front legs around my neck in a vise, his nose tucked down under my chin. He’s shaking.

Oh my God. This dog has even more problems than I realized.

I get off the elevator and as I walk down the hall I greet the various workers. I’m here often so I know Shanice and Valeria and Katy. I also say hi to Mr. Bernstein, sitting in his wheelchair outside his room.

I carry Otis into Grammy’s room, where she’s sitting in her wheelchair by the window. The sun streams in and it’s nice and bright. I helped decorate her room with some of her favorite things when she moved here a couple of years ago.

I set down Otis, and he presses against my legs as I walk across the room to bend and kiss Grammy’s cheek.

“Whose dog is this?” Grammy asks. She loves dogs. She used to have a little fluff-ball dog. It was years ago but I know Grammy still misses her.

I explain to her how I came to have Otis and she nods, holding her hand out for Otis to sniff. My heart pangs at seeing her hands, the knuckles swollen with arthritis, the skin speckled with age spots.

Finally, Otis settles down. I sit too in a nearby armchair, and Otis lies at my feet.

“Have you heard from your dad?” Grammy asks.

“No.” I sigh.

“Asshole,” Grammy mutters. Grammy is my mom’s mom.

I grimace. She’s not wrong.

I love my dad, but he’s going through a “weird phase,” as my mother puts it. A few months ago, he quit his job, and when my mom refused to go with him, he left alone to go backpacking in Asia. In fairness, he does stay in touch regularly. He once sent a selfie of himself standing in front of a Buddhist temple in Bangkok, and I almost didn’t recognize him with his tan, scruffy beard, and prayer bracelets.

“I feel so bad for your mom,” Grammy says.

“I know. Me too.” And yet I hate to criticize Dad to others, even though I think he’s being selfish and irresponsible. Mom is living all alone in the house in Syracuse, paying all the bills herself because Dad left his job and cleaned out their savings account. I know she’s embarrassed when people ask about him. Grammy can’t help her out because of her own financial issues, which I can’t even think about without becoming incandescent with rage, and I’m sure as hell not in a spot to be able to help out either.

“I assume he’s okay,” I say. “I hope he’s getting everything he wants from this trip.”

“I don’t,” Grammy says darkly. “Especially if what he wants is another woman.”

I’ve had the same thought. If that’s the case, I too hope he’s not getting it. Jerk.

I swallow a sigh. He’s my dad, and I love him. He was a great dad. Until now. I’ve heard of men buying a motorcycle or a convertible sports car, or even getting a girlfriend and a divorce, as part of a midlife crisis, but this is crazy.

“Do you have any idea when he’ll come home?” Grammy asks.

“No.” I make a face. “Last I heard from him he said he’ll know when the time is right. Mom says it’s important to him.”

She makes excuses for him and it drives me crazy. She should be having her own adventures, but she’s not.

“I have some bad news of my own,” I say reluctantly. I don’t even want to tell Grammy this.

“Oh no.”

“Yep. I got fired on Friday.”

“Oh my God, Lilly!”

“I know, I know. I didn’t do anything, I swear. I was working hard.” I tell Grammy about the boss’s wife and the painful scene where she accused me of screwing her husband and me getting fired.

Grammy reaches over to pat my hand. “You’ll be okay, honey.”

“Thanks.” I pluck lint off my jeans. “But I’m making a bit of money with Otis here, and I’ve gone back to walking Lola. I’m going to go online this afternoon and start looking at jobs.”

“What’s happening with the court case?”

I shrug. “Not much. The wheels of justice turn slowly.”

I’m suing my last employer. I mean second last. Which is partly why I have a hard time finding jobs. I totally get it. They all think I’m a litigious nut who’s going to launch a lawsuit the first time they look at me wrong. And I can’t really say much about it, per my lawyer.

“They sure do,” Grammy agrees. “Are you still convinced you’re doing the right thing?”

I set my jaw. “Yes.”

I glance at Grammy. I’m not responsible for what happened to her, but I feel like I am. It’s because of people like her that I’m determined to go through with this. Sometimes I question my decisions, but I’m not backing down. And I do have a stubborn streak.

“Are you okay for money?”

Her question almost makes me cry. I know Grammy doesn’t have much. “At the moment.” I don’t tell her how much I’m getting paid to look after Otis because it’s crazy. Also, I haven’t let on to her or my mom how much debt I’ve had to go into. I may have let my family think my savings were substantially more than they were. I feel guilty that I can’t help them out more, and I don’t want them thinking that I need help.

If Dad was still here…ugh. Whatever. Men suck.

Another lie. I really like men. But there’ve been a few in my life lately who’ve made me a little bitter.

“You’re a good man, Otis,” I tell him where he lies on the floor. He hasn’t slept; he’s alert and watchful. He’s probably worried I’m going to leave him here with yet another stranger, poor guy.

“Maybe I could get more jobs dog walking,” I muse. “I’d rather work with dogs right now than people.”

Grammy laughs. “I don’t blame you. Maybe you should have become a veterinarian.”

“I don’t think I could have handled that much school.”

This has sparked an idea in my mind and I’m eager to give it more thought. Grammy and I spend another hour or so catching up, and then Otis and I head home.

Chapter 4

Easton

We got home from Florida around one in the morning. The drive from the airport was quick, with minimal traffic, and I crashed as soon as I hit my bed.

Now I’m waking up, stretching, thinking about coffee and a big breakfast and a welcome day off.

I’ve been messaging with the building superintendent, trying to find Percy, but we’re not having any luck. Nobody has contacted them about a missing dog either. I’m going to have to make a decision about what to do with Otis.

Ugh.

Lilly’s bringing him back today. I’ve messaged back and forth with her too, a few times, to check in. They’re both still alive, so that’s a good thing.

Thinking about that gives me a burst of energy, and I fling the covers back and jump out of bed. I need a shower. Then food and caffeine.

Dressed in a pair of gray sweats and a navy Bears T-shirt, I set about making my favorite meal of the day. I don’t cook breakfast very often because the team feeds us with a generous buffet at the practice facility, but I’m whipping up my favorite hash browns—the shredded kind of potatoes, with chopped bacon and cheese mixed in. I drink my coffee as I cook eggs alongside the hash browns.

My phone rings and it’s the doorman calling up. “Ms. Evans is here with Otis, sir,” Javier says.

“Thanks, send them up.”

I turn off the stove and head to the door, drying my hands on a towel. A fizzy feeling brews in my gut, weirdly, excitement or anticipation. Jesus. Did I actually miss that crazy mutt?

He apparently missed me, if the greeting is anything to go by. I open the door. My attention is immediately on Lilly and her wide, gorgeous smile. Then Otis nearly takes me down, rushing at me, jumping, spinning, barking.

I have to laugh.

“Hey, hey, doofus, calm down. Calm down.” I try to lay my hands on him, but he’s wriggling and dancing around. Then he rolls onto his back on the floor.

I look up and meet Lilly’s eyes. She shakes her head. “He’s crazy about you.” She says it as if she can’t understand why.

“Of course he is. I’m a great guy.”

She huffs a laugh and hauls in Otis’s stuff, bringing with her a scent of something fresh and green, and yet warm and sexy.

“Come on, dude, let’s find you a treat.” I lead him to the kitchen. He’s still bouncing like he has springs in his legs. I dig out a dog biscuit from a box and feed it to him. He crunches it down. I give him another since it’s keeping him quiet. “See, I told you I’d be back. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

I look up as I say this and catch the flash of something…tender in Lilly’s eyes. Heat flushes through me. I’m talking to a goddamn dog as if he’s a person.

But then, I talk to dead people, so really this isn’t so crazy.

“How did it go?” I ask.

“Well, let’s just say he has a lot of energy.”

“Yeah, that he does.” I glance over at my stove. “I was just making breakfast. Would you like to join me?” I issue the impulsive invitation without thinking.

After a beat, she says, “No, thanks.”

“Oh, come on, I have lots of food. And coffee, if you drink coffee.”

She bites her lip. “Oh God, I’d love a cup of coffee.”

“There you go.”

I make her a cup in the Keurig while I resume cooking. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Seriously. Very seriously.”

I bark out a surprised laugh. “Same. I approve of a fellow caffeine addict.”

“I definitely am that. And I drink it black.” Lilly takes a seat on a stool at the counter in my kitchen, perching on the edge as if ready to bolt. “I, er, have a favor to ask you.”

I cock my head and flip some hash browns. “Yeah?”

“I was wondering if you would give me a reference.”

“A…reference?”

“For the dog sitting. I’m thinking of trying to get more dog-walking jobs. It would be great to have references. My friend Kent, who owns Lola, says he’ll give me one too, and a couple of other people I know.”

I eye her, bemused. “Okay, sure. I can do that.”

“By the way, I took both Otis and Lola for a walk yesterday. Lola’s gotten over her annoyance with him, and I think they’re friends now.”

“That’s good. He hasn’t been very friendly to other dogs we’ve met in the park.”

“I know.” She nods. “Poor guy.” She pauses. “I think he really wants friends, though—he just doesn’t know how to do it.” She pauses. “But you know, Lola gave him a little snap to tell him to back off and he learned. So he just needs more socializing.”

“Well, I’ll let his owner worry about that. If we can ever find him.”

“He was also super nervous in the elevator at my grandma’s home.”

“Yeah, he kind of had a traumatic elevator experience.”

“That explains it. He was okay, though. I carried him in the elevator, but he was shaking.”

“He hates elevators.”

“Is that why his name is Otis?”

“Yeah.”

She laughs. “I like it.”

“I didn’t know what his name was. It seemed fitting.” I shrug. “I guess he’ll go back to his other name when he’s home.”

“You’re still trying to get rid of him?”

I frown. “You don’t have to put it like that.”

“Sorry.” She bites her lip.

Ah hell. That incites a stirring in my southern region. Her bottom lip is very sexy. So is the way she looks up at me through her long eyelashes.

“I mean, I didn’t want a dog,” I add. “I don’t know anything about dogs. And like I said, I travel a lot and have weird hours, so it’s really not convenient.”

She nods. “I understand. What is it you do for a living?”

I didn’t think she recognized me. “I’m a hockey player.”

Those long eyelashes flutter up and down a few times. “Oh. Like a professional hockey player?”

“Yeah. For the Bears.”

“Well, that explains it.”

Still smiling, I say, “Explains what?”

“The big-dick cocky attitude.”

My smile disappears. “What?”

She shrugs. “You seem full of yourself.”

Now my forehead tightens as my eyebrows pull down. “Full of myself? What?”

“Just my impression.” Then she bites her plump bottom lip. “Er…will you still give me that reference?”

I stare at her. I shake my head. “Yeah, sure. Uh, people are usually more impressed when I tell them what I do for a living.”

She snorts. “I’ll clap when I’m impressed.”

The laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. Jesus. She’s…amazing. “How do you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled?”

“You bet.”

Lilly eyes Otis, slides off the stool, and steps over to the bag with his belongings. I watch her unpack things, her silky hair sliding over her shoulders. She’s wearing black leggings and a long white T-shirt with a loose gray sweater over it, her sunglasses tucked into the V-neck of the sweater. Nothing sexy or revealing, but goddammit, she’s incredibly fuckalicious.

Eventually she brings the food and water dishes to the kitchen and makes herself at home filling Otis’s dish from the tap, then setting the bowl on the floor. Otis immediately slurps it up.

Yeah, he was in good hands with her.

I’d like to be in her good hands.

Jesus, that’s inappropriate. I gotta shut that down. Sadly, my dick has roused again.

“Orange juice?” I ask her roughly, keeping my back to her as I open the fridge.

“Yes, please.”

I take my time carrying the jug of juice and a couple of glasses to the counter since these sweatpants don’t hide much. She’s sitting again, holding her coffee mug in both hands. She sets the cup down and reaches for the jug to pour juice for us while I load up two plates and set them on the counter.

“Wow, this is amazing.” She gazes down at the plate.

I grin and take a seat on another stool, sliding it away from her so I’m not close enough to smell her, because damn, she smells good. “You haven’t tasted it yet.” I pass her the container of sour cream. “For the hash browns.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “You clearly don’t count calories.”

“Sure I do.” I pat my flat abs, and her eyes linger there. “Takes work to stay in this kind of shape.”

She rolls her eyes.

“But I have cheat days.”

“Oh. Okay, a cheat day. Let’s go with that.” She drops a spoonful of sour cream on her potatoes, then forks some up while I do the same. “Oh. My. God. This is fantastic.”

I imagine her saying those words in that throaty voice in bed. I clear my throat. “Are you ready to clap now?”

She chokes on a laugh and drops her head forward. “Almost.” She digs in again. “I feel my arteries clogging. But that’s okay, it’s worth it.”

“I doubt your arteries are clogging. How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Hey, me too.”

“Really?” She tips her head. “You look older.”

I feign insult. “Gee thanks.”

“No, no! I don’t mean that in a bad way. Maybe it’s because you’re so big.”

“I am a big boy.” I give her a knowing look.

She rolls her eyes, unfazed. “Riiiiight.”

This amuses me. Our eyes meet and we share another smile, and damn, it’s hot in here. Her eyes widen fractionally and I think she feels it too. I want to make a dirty comment, but she’s alone in an apartment with a man she barely knows and I don’t want to creep her out.

Instead, I say, “So. Dog walking.”

She grins. “Yeah. Why not?”

“No, why?” I remember that day in the park when she mentioned her messed up life.

“Working with people hasn’t gone so well for me. I think working with dogs will be better.”

She has me curious. “Is that what you meant when you said your life is a dumpster fire?”

She sighs. “Yeah. I lost my job last week. And it took me a year to find it.” One corner of her mouth deepens in a glum smile.

“Huh. You don’t look like someone who’d have a hard time finding a job.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “What does that mean?”

“You’re hot.”

“So you’re saying I could work as a stripper?”

I choke. “No! Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

Her lips thin. “Believe me, I considered it.”

Holy shit.

She shakes her head. “It’s a long story. Anyway, I think this will work out better for me than trying to find another job.”

She sounds a little defensive. “Hey, sounds reasonable to me.” Actually, it sounds kind of crazy. Does she really think she can make a living walking dogs? “Do you want me to give you the reference before you go?”

“That would be great. Since I won’t see you again.”

Okay. Way to be blunt. “I’ll do it after we eat.”

“So when you were away…I thought it was business.”

My lips quirk. “It was.”

“But you were playing hockey.”

“Yeah. That’s my business.” She’s still not clapping. Dammit. Why do I want to impress her? “We were on a road trip. Two games, Miami and Tampa Bay.”

“Did you win?”

“Of course.” There’s no of course about it; things haven’t been going that great lately.

“How long have you played for the Bears?”

“This is only my second season, and last year I got traded here in February, so I haven’t actually played here that long.”

“Where did you get traded from?”

“Vancouver. We sucked last year and had no hope of making the playoffs, so they sold off a bunch of players at the trade deadline, me included.” I don’t mention that they were happy to get rid of me.

“Sold off!” Her eyes widen. “You make it sound like you’re a…an object.”

“We kind of are.” I shrug. “It’s a business.”

Her lips purse. “That sounds so cynical.”

“That’s me.” I lift my hands.

Yeah, I’m cynical. Life is hard and then you die. Unless you die before you’ve even had a life.

When I first got traded, I thought it was a good thing. A chance to start over, new teammates, new coach, a chance to rehab my somewhat tarnished reputation.

I should have known better than to let my guard down and be happy about something.

She nods slowly. For once, my determined cynicism feels…out of place. She has such a cheerful optimism about her. She just lost her job, but she’s going to try to make money dog walking. That’s really…messed up. And yet, it affects me in a weird way, giving me a soft feeling in my chest.

She’s too happy. Too enthusiastic. Too…likeable. Dammit.

“I have a day off today. I’m going to try to find Otis’s owner. If I can’t, I’ll maybe call a shelter.”

Lilly’s bottom lip pushes out a bit, giving her a sad look.

“I can’t keep him,” I remind her, reading her thoughts.

“I know. I just feel bad for him.”

Hell. I do too. But I need to be practical here.

“I’d take him,” she says. “But since I’m not sure I’ll have enough money to buy myself food, I probably shouldn’t take on another mouth to feed.”

Shit. She says it in a joking, lighthearted way. I’m sure she’s exaggerating her predicament. I hope she is.

“I volunteer at a shelter,” she says reluctantly. “Amsterdam Dog Rescue. You could call them. They could probably take him.”

I nod. “Thanks.”

“I’m going to spend the rest of my day setting up a website and putting some ads on Craigslist and Facebook.”

“You’re really into this.”

“Yep.” She flashes a high beam smile.

“I’ll write up something for you.”

We’ve finished our meals, and I slide off the stool and head to the bedroom that serves as an office. My laptop is still packed in my bag from our trip, so I get it out and boot it up.

My fingers hover over the keyboard. I have no idea what to say. Finally I make up some bullshit about how she was able to accommodate me at the last moment and saved my butt and how Otis loves her and what good care of him she took. I add in some stuff about how she understands Otis’s special needs, which is a euphemism for how he’s messed up, and that she genuinely cares about animals.

I think she does anyway.

I send it to my printer and then snatch it up, sign it, and carry it out to her.

I find her wiping off the counter, having loaded the dishes into the dishwasher and put away the food.

“Wow, you didn’t have to clean up,” I say. “But thank you.”

She shrugs. “I was just sitting here. Otis is sleeping.”

“That’s great. I wish he slept more.”

“I know.” She grins. “But at least he sleeps all night.”

“True.” I hand her the paper.

She doesn’t even read it, just folds it into thirds, then tucks it into her purse. “Thank you. I really appreciate that.”

“Not a problem.” I hesitate. I don’t want her to walk out that door and never see her again. The tug of attraction I feel toward her is puzzling. “Hey. Would you maybe like to have dinner later?”

She freezes. Blinks. “Dinner?”

“Yeah.” I flash what I hope is a persuasive smile.

“Oh. Um. No, thanks.”

My stomach dips.

“I’m not really dating right now,” she adds.

“Good. Me either. That means no reason we can’t date each other.”

The corners of her mouth twitch. For a few seconds, hope flickers inside me.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t think we’re, uh, compatible.”

I can clearly hear “you’re an asshole” in her tone of voice. Great.

I nod. “I understand. Thanks again for looking after Otis. If I hear of anyone who needs a dog walker, I’ll give them your name.”

“Oh, thank you! That would be awesome. And I appreciate the reference.”

She walks over to Otis, crouches down, and kisses his head. “Bye, Otis. It was fun. Have a good life.”

Jesus.

Then she straightens. “Good luck finding his owner.”

She’s judging me for not keeping him. Or maybe that’s my guilty conscience making me mentally squirm.

“Thanks.” I walk her to the door, reluctant to see her leave. “Good luck to you too.”

She nods and lifts a hand in a wave as she walks down the hall toward the elevators. I watch her, then call, “I hope your day is as nice as your butt!”

She stops. Turns. Shakes her head. I’m pretty sure she’s smiling when she twirls back toward the elevator.

I slowly close the door.

Otis lifts his head and gives me a pathetic look.

“I know, I know,” I say. “I like her too. I should have warned you not to get attached. It’s never a good idea. It’s only a matter of time before things you love are taken away from you.”

—

My efforts to find Otis’s owner continue to be unsuccessful.

Midafternoon, Cookie comes down to my place to see how we’re doing. “Why don’t you just give him to a shelter? They’ll find a home for him.”

“How can I do that? What about his owner?”

“You can’t find him. And he doesn’t seem too upset, otherwise he’d be trying to find his dog.”

“True.” I tip my head back. “I guess I could do that. I’ve been so focused on finding where he came from.”

“You don’t want to give him up,” Cookie says with a smirk.

I scowl. “I can’t keep him.”

“Why not?” Cookie leans back on my couch and stretches his arms out. “You can afford it.”

“You know our schedule’s crazy.”

“Lots of guys have dogs.”

“They also have wives who look after them.”

“Not true. Brando’s single and he has a German Shepherd.”

I make a face and shrug.

“You can pay someone to look after him when you’re gone. You just did,” Cookie points out.

I could pay Lilly.

Wait! That’s a fantastic idea!

Or is it? She shot me down when I asked her out. Would it be weird? Stalkerish? I kind of thought she felt that attraction too. But we’re just talking about a business relationship here. “I like my freedom,” I say slowly.

“I get that. But a dog doesn’t tie you down as much as a kid.”

“Well, I’m sure as hell not having kids!”

Cookie laughs. “Yeah, yeah, we all know you’re happily single. But it might be good for you to have something you’re responsible for, besides yourself.”

I frown. “Are you saying I’m selfish?”

He shrugs, unoffended. “Naw, man. Just…closed off.”

I stare at Cookie. I haven’t known him that long, but we’ve gotten to be friends. “I’m not closed off.”

“Yeah, you are. You never care about any of the chicks you go out with. You bang women all the time and then dump them.”

“I don’t dump them! I’m clear about what we’re doing. No attachment.”

“Whatever. Also, you hang out with us, but you don’t share much.”

“There’s nothing to share,” I mutter. The guys all know my past but know better than to try to talk about it. “I hate dogs.”

Cookie laughs. Asshole. “You don’t hate dogs. You fucking love that mutt.” He nods at Otis.

“I do not! Jesus.”

“Whatever.” Cookie’s a laid-back dude. “Maybe if you had a pet, you wouldn’t get so pissed off all the time.”

My jaw slackens. “What the fuck?”

“Don’t get mad at me. You know it’s true.”

After a tense beat, I blow out a breath and let my shoulders sag. Everyone knows it’s true. “I don’t think a pet is going to help with that.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“I can’t just keep him, though. It’s like…stealing him.”

“You saved him. Someone abandoned him. You’ve tried to find where he belongs.” He shrugs. “Just keep him.”

Otis is asleep on the floor with the stuffed dog I bought him. He’s on his side, forehead furrowed, tongue hanging out of his mouth, a puddle of drool on the hardwood floor.

Charming.

Chapter 5

Lilly

I sit in my living room with my laptop on the table in front of me.

I got used to Otis’s presence over the last few days, and now this place feels empty. Quiet.

Normal.

This is how it should be.

Naw, dammit, I miss him. I miss his slobbery, sad face and his toenails clicking on the hardwood floor and his whines when he needs to go outside.

I focus on my computer.

I’ve set up a free website for my business. I paid a designer on Fiverr to come up with a logo for Walk ’n Wag. I’ve done research into scheduling and invoicing software. I’ve checked out other businesses in the area and what they charge. I may need insurance, especially if I go into people’s homes, and I’ll need a business license, but I don’t want to spend too much money up front until I know I’ll have some clients.

I tacked up a notice on the bulletin board in the lobby of Kent’s building, which is a big complex. I already walk Lola, but there are other dogs in the building, and I’ve put notices online as well. My phone’s not ringing off the hook. Wait, that’s a stupid expression. I don’t even know what a phone hook is. Anyway, no one’s calling me.

Yet. They will.

I keep thinking about Easton.

I shouldn’t have stayed for breakfast with him yesterday. He’s definitely hot. I can’t deny how attractive he is and the heated flutters I felt in my belly. But he’s also cocky and cynical. Not my type. I like guys who are…nice. Guys who won’t let me down. Easton is the epitome of the kind of guy I should stay away from.

My boyfriend, who I’d been with for two years, dumped me after I lost my job. For a long time after that, I wasn’t in any shape to date, and then when I tried, guys got scared away by my pathetic situation. Easton is clearly way out of my league.

When he asked me out, I damn near fell on the floor. He’s been flirty with me since we first met, but I figured that’s just who he is. That bad boy who loves women but doesn’t commit to one. I never expected him to actually ask me on a date.

So I turned him down and kept it professional, which is just as well. Men have been letting me down a lot lately, so I have no intention of getting involved with anyone. Especially a big, muscular, gorgeous man who probably makes millions of dollars. I’m definitely not interested in a relationship…although…some hot, athletic sex would be really nice.

And him calling after me to have a day “as nice as my butt” definitely isn’t cooling off the thoughts about a hot hookup.

—

A week has gone by and the only dog-walking jobs I’ve had are from Kent. I’m trying not to be discouraged by it. Another guy who lives in Kent’s building told me he’d use my services sometime, but that hasn’t turned into an actual job yet.

So when Easton’s number shows on the call display on my phone on Thursday afternoon, my head jerks back and my eyes widen. What?

I fumble my phone in my haste to answer the call. “Hello.”

“Lilly?”

“Yes.”

“Hi, it’s Easton. How are you?”

“I’m great, thanks. How about you?” I keep it cool. Chitchat. Gotta do it.

“I’m okay. How’s your new business coming along?”

“Good, good!” I say cheerfully, although…it’s not. Not good. Not coming along.

“That’s great to hear. I’m calling to see if you would be able to look after Otis again.”

“You still have him?”

“Yeah.” He sighs. “I’m stuck with him a while longer.”

I tilt my head. How hard is he trying to find somewhere else for him, really? He could easily have gotten a shelter to take him by now.

“If you can fit him in,” he adds politely.

I roll my eyes. Fit him in? Ha! “Hmm. When, exactly?”

“Saturday. We go to Nashville for a game, so it would be overnight again.”

I pretend to give this some thought, then say, “I think can do that.”

“Oh, thank God!” His voice is full of relief and that makes me feel like I’m doing something good. “Thank you.”

“No worries. But listen, I can’t in good conscience take the same pay. That’s nowhere near my going rate, even for overnight stays.”

Silence. “Okay. We can discuss that. Can I drop him off Saturday morning?”

“Yes, that would be fine.”

We finalize the arrangement and end the call.

I sink back into the couch cushions. Huh.

Well, it’s better than nothing. And truthfully I’m a little excited about it. Not just the money. I’m excited to see Otis again.

Not Easton, though. We had to end things with me turning him down. How awkward is that?

I shake my head. Never mind Easton. He’s a client. I need to be professional.

I bounce up off the couch and clap my hands. This is great!

—

I open the door on Saturday to see Easton and Otis. My heart gives a funny little bump in my chest and awareness sizzles over my skin as I lay eyes on Easton. Holeeeeey shit.

Oh my gawd, he’s so frickin’ attractive my bones are melting. For a moment I lose my words, taking in his big, lean body dressed in…a suit. A gorgeous, expensive-looking, navy blue suit with a blue-and-white-checked shirt beneath it and a patterned blue tie. I follow the line of the narrow pants down, over muscular thighs, then lower to polished brown shoes.

Seeing me taking in his attire, he says, “I’m headed straight to the airport from here.” He holds out his arms. “Game day.”

“Ah.” I clear my throat and drop my gaze to Otis. “Otis!”

Laughing, I sit on the floor, holding Otis back and trying to calm him as he wriggles and squirms.

Easton enters the apartment and sets down Otis’s belongings, then closes the door.

I look up at him. “He remembers me.”

“Of course he does.”

“He’s grown!” I run my hands over his fur.

“It’s only been a week,” Easton protests.

I shrug, rubbing Otis’s head. “I’m sure he’s grown a little.”

“I wonder how much bigger he’ll get.”

I lift my gaze from Otis to Easton again. “Why do you still have him?” I keep my hands on Otis, gently petting him. He’s calmer now.

Easton grimaces and rubs the back of his neck, looking away. “I’m not sure, actually.”

A slow smile tugs at my lips. “I think you want to keep him.”

Easton doesn’t reply right away. “I was going to talk to you about that.”

I tilt my head and regard him quizzically from where I sit on the floor. I decide “a talk” should be done at eye level, or as close to eye level as I can get with him without a stool, given he’s about eight inches taller than me. I go to my knees, then push up to stand so I can face him. “About what?”

“If I keep him…would you look after him? It’s more than just dog walking, I know; I need someone to look after him overnights, and sometimes it would be for a few nights.”

My heart picks up speed and my mouth goes dry. “Really?”

He gives me a sheepish look. “I don’t really know what I’m doing with a dog, but…” He lifts one shoulder. “He’s kind of fun to have around.”

My heart turns to warm pudding. “Yeah, he is.”

Otis is padding around the apartment, and he jumps onto the couch and curls into the shape of a giant shrimp, quite at home.

“And I kind of feel I should keep him in case his owner comes looking for him. If I take him to a shelter, they’ll never see him again.”

“True.”

“We can talk more when I pick him up. Would you think about it?”

“Okay. I’ll think about it.”

I don’t tell him that I’m getting a little desperate. It’s only been a week, but I don’t have any other clients yet, so—oh my God!—a steady gig looking after Otis is a stroke of luck! But rather than jump up and down and squeal, which is what I want to do, I keep my cool. Because…Easton.

He asked me out. I turned him down. I don’t want to date him. But I really, really want to bone him.

“We need to talk about your fees,” he says.

I hand him the flyer I’ve printed out that has my rates for various services, which I’ve researched from similar businesses in the area. He peruses it and nods. “That’s fine.” He looks up. “We fly home right after the game. With the time change, we’ll be home around one in the morning. I can pick him up first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Whatever’s convenient for you,” I say in my best customer-service tone.

“How about nine? Or is that too early?’

“That’s fine.”

Easton walks over to Otis on the couch and rubs his head. “Bye, buddy. Be good for Lilly.”

Otis’s face changes. He always looks sad, but now he looks panicked.

“Oh no. He’s upset,” I say.

“Shit. I better get out of here.” Easton scrunches up his face and strides to the door. “Sorry.”

“No worries, he’ll be fine. We’ll go for a nice, long walk in the park.” I follow him to the door. “Good luck with your game tonight!”

“Thanks.” His eyes dart toward Otis, now standing and whining faintly. “Crap. I hope this gets better.”

“It will,” I assure him.

Half out the door, he pauses. “Thank you for this. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course!” I beam a smile. Jeez, I should be thanking him. “I’m glad I can help.”

“It’s a big relief.” A faint smile curves his lips, and then with a wave of a big hand, he heads out.

Okaaaaay.

I’m still having a bit of difficulty breathing and my knees are unsteady, so I stagger over to the couch and collapse beside Otis. I set my hand on his solid little body. “Otis, my man. Your dad is hot.”

Ignoring me, Otis jumps down from the couch, runs to the door, and whines.

“Aw. Poor baby. C’mere. We’re going to have fun together!”

Part of our fun is watching the hockey game on TV that night. I keep pointing Easton out to Otis, but he’s indifferent to the television screen, interested only in the bowl of popcorn sitting on the couch between Carlin and me. Beer and popcorn—perfect for a hockey game, right?

It’s a rare Saturday night that Carlin is home. She and her boyfriend William spend a lot of time at his place lately.

“This is so cool!” Carlin says. “I can’t believe you know him.”

“I know, right?”

The game is exciting. Hockey’s a fast-paced sport and very physical. Watching Easton fly up and down the ice, keeping that little puck on his stick, expertly passing it to other players and then receiving it back is like…porn. It’s turning me on.

Clearly, it’s been way too long since I had sex.

I watch Easton slam another player into the boards, then skate off with the puck toward the opposing team’s net. I sit upright and watch raptly as he takes a shot.

“What a save by Paige!” crows the TV announcer as the goalie throws a leg out in front of the puck.

I sag back onto the couch. “Damn.”

Carlin casts me an amused glance. “You’re a Bears fan now?”

I push out my lips. “I’ve always been a Bears fan.”

She makes a disbelieving noise. “Since when?”

“I used to go to games! With James.”

“Oh yeah. Douche nozzle.” She sniffs. “That’s true.”

My lips twitch at her description of my former boyfriend. “I like hockey. I just can’t afford to go to games now. Holy shit!” I pump my fists in the air as the Bears just scored. Not Easton. He wasn’t even on the ice for this one, but that’s okay, we’re now leading by one goal. “Woo-hoo!”

I turn and Carlin and I high-five each other.

Yes, I used to enjoy going to hockey games, but tonight watching this game on TV I feel especially invested. I want the Bears to win! And I get pissed when a dude on the Nashville team pokes his stick between Easton’s legs and takes him down. “Did you see that?” I shout.

“It’s okay, he’s getting a penalty,” Carlin says.

“But is Easton okay?” I watch him get up slowly and skate to the bench. “Jeezus, he could be hurt.”

“Hockey players are tough. I’m sure he’s fine.”

I watch anxiously for him to come back onto the ice, and I miss it when he does, as they change lines on the fly. When I realize he’s out there again, he seems fine. Not that it really matters to me. Okay, it does. He’s a customer.

I pick up my beer glass and take a big gulp.

Then Nashville scores. I wasn’t paying close enough attention to see what happened, but the TV guys are replaying it and criticizing one of the Bears for turning the puck over in front of their net.

“You can’t make mistakes like that with Caron right there,” one dude says. “You know he’s a threat.”

I watch the replay and yikes, that was a bad move.

The TV camera goes to the bench and the Bears player—Wendel Chan—drops dejectedly onto the bench. The coach is behind him, clearly yelling, his face red, his lips drawn back. He shakes his head and stomps away. Chan drops his head forward.

“I don’t think I like that coach,” I comment. “He looks mean.”

Carlin laughs. “Of course he’s mean. They’re hockey players. Like I said, they’re tough. You think he just told that guy, ‘Don’t worry, my man, mistakes are just proof that you’re trying?’ ”

I laugh too. “No, pretty sure that’s not what he was saying. I can’t read lips, but it’s not hard to make out the F-word.”

My night is made when Easton scores a goal in the second period that ends up being the winning goal, although the Bears score an empty net goal when Nashville pulls their goalie in the last minute. I can’t explain why this win makes me so happy. I give Otis a big hug. “We need to teach you to high-five,” I tell him. “I am so going to do that.”

I fetch the bag of small treats Easton packed and sit on the floor with Otis. I had him sitting on command last time he was here. “Do you remember?” I ask. “Sit.”

Carlin joins us to help.

It takes a few pushes on Otis’s butt followed by reward treats, but I get him doing that again. Then I start touching his paw. “High-five.” I keep doing it and he sort of gets it. I sigh and drop a kiss to his forehead. “You’ll get it eventually, bud. Let’s go for a walk before bed.”

Carlin comes with me. We stroll the quiet, dark street toward the park, the leaves of the trees rustling, casting dappled shadows on the sidewalk from the streetlights.

“Are you going to take the job?” she asks me.

“I’m not sure.”

“What? Are you crazy? You’re just starting your business and you need customers. Especially ones with lots of money.”

“I know, but…”

“What?”

“I still think Easton is kind of a cocky jerk. But he’s hot as hell. He asked me out and I turned him down. Doesn’t that make things awkward?”

“Hmm. Yeah. But you two could have a frank conversation about it being just a business relationship.”

“I suppose that would be the mature way to handle it.”

“Right.”

“Except he’s hot as hell.”

“You already said that,” Carlin says dryly. “Are you worried you’ll jump him?”

“Ha ha.” I pause. “Yes.”

She laughs. “Look, I think if you want to start your own business, you should take clients wherever you can. Starting your own business is risky.”

I stop walking and face Carlin. “Are you worried about me being able to pay you back? Or pay the rent?”

“No! I told you, don’t even worry about that.”

I tilt my head. For the first time, I’m not sure I believe her.

I’ve had a feeling for a while now that Carlin would like to move in with William. Like I said, they spend a lot of time at his place and I wonder if she’s tired of paying rent on a place she’s hardly ever at. And I wonder if the reason she doesn’t move in with him is because she knows I can’t afford our apartment on my own. Guilt churns in my stomach.

“I’m just being realistic,” she says. “Owning your own business is great, but it’s not like a steady paycheck and benefits.”

I resume walking, Otis yanking on the leash. “Been there, done that. Look how it worked out.”

“True.”

After a short pause, I say quietly, “I don’t want to be a victim again. I don’t want other people to be in charge of my life. I want to be in charge of my own life.”

“I know, Lill. I know.” She squeezes my arm.

I sigh. I get it. I’d be an idiot to turn down this job when I’m trying to start a business. “Okay, yeah, I’m going to take the job. But only because I need the money. And because it’s Otis.”

Chapter 6

Easton

I wake up Sunday morning after a decent sleep, but I’m still irritable. I should be feeling great. I scored the winning goal last night! And even though we won the game, that wasn’t good enough for Coach. After the way he chewed out Wendy on the bench when he turned over the puck right in front of our net and cost us a goal, I was so pissed I was shaking. Nobody was happy about it, but shit happens, right? Coach then proceeded to lecture us in the dressing room about everything we did wrong and the flight home was quiet and tense. We should have been celebrating the win. What the fuck?

The one thing making me happy is going to pick up Otis.

Yeah, I guess I’m keeping the little guy.

After Cookie bugging me about it, I resigned myself to the fact that I don’t want to give him away. Much as he demands my attention, it’s kind of cool to be needed, and talking to him is better than talking to my dead brother. Although I do still talk to Bryce sometimes. Hell, I’ve talked to him about Otis. I know it’s just temporary, though. His owner’s going to come looking for him at some point.

But I definitely need help to look after him. Which means I definitely need Lilly.

I hope she’s going to take my job offer. If she doesn’t, I guess I can find other options, but I like her and she loves Otis even though he’s not hers, and I like that. I know she takes good care of him.

I’ve also thought about her smile. Her curves. Her long legs and sweet ass. I guess that’s not appropriate if she’s going to be an employee. Damn.

After eating a couple of pieces of toast and peanut butter, I fill a travel mug with coffee and set off on a brisk walk to Lilly’s place. It’s a frosty morning, but sunny, and as I pass the park there are already lots of people walking and running. The river glints in the distance as I walk by the statue of Eleanor Roosevelt.

I relive moments from last night, replaying Coach’s words and his tone of voice and how fucking angry he made me. I have to figure out a way to deal with this. This is what got me in trouble in Vancouver. The day I lost my shit and squirted an opponent with a water bottle from the bench and ended up with a game misconduct and a big fine was when I knew my days there were numbered. I’ve always had a short fuse, but I thought coming here would give me a chance to start over and work on it. Little did I know my self-control would be tested even more. It’s getting harder and harder to deal with it. I need to figure it out, though, because hockey’s all I have left. I’ve lost so much in my life; no way can I let this be taken away from me too.

I take a few deep breaths of crisp air and let them out slowly as I walk so I don’t step into Lilly’s apartment a seething disaster. I have to get a grip. Think about Otis. Think about Lilly.

No, don’t think about Lilly.

Jesus, I’m a hot mess.

Lilly’s building on West 73rd isn’t far, an old, four-story greystone. I ring her buzzer and she lets me into the building right away. Suddenly I’m smiling as I lift my hand to knock on her apartment door, but it opens before I do. She’s holding Otis, who immediately starts wriggling when he sees me, letting out a few sharp yips.

“Yes, he’s here,” Lilly says, stepping aside so I can enter. She keeps hold of Otis until I shut the door behind me, then bends down to release him. He hurtles at me in his usual excited greeting and I crouch, rubbing him and trying to settle him down. Now I’m grinning, and the irritation that was buzzing under my skin dissipates.

“Hey, little dude, how are you?”

We spend a minute full of whines and barks, rubs and licks. I glance up at Lilly, standing with her arms folded, one hip cocked, and the sweetest smile on her face. Something inside my chest goes soft.

“He missed you,” she says. “His stuff is all packed.”

“I guess I missed him too,” I grudgingly admit. “A little.”

She chuckles. “Uh-huh.”

I stand, picking up Otis. I give a quick scan of the apartment. It’s cute, with shiny hardwood floors, pale walls, and dark woodwork. The living room is long and narrow, with two windows overlooking the street, one long wall of exposed brick holding a fireplace. “How did things go? Did he behave?” I sound like a dad at daycare.

“Weeelll…he was pretty good. He did steal some popcorn last night while we were watching the game, which probably isn’t good for him, but he seems okay.”

“You watched the game?” That’s the first thing I get from that.

“Yeah. All three of us.”

“Three.” I blink.

“Yeah, my roommate, Carlin, and me and Otis.”

“Carlin.”

Lilly jerks her head toward a closed door. “She’s still sleeping.”

“Ah.” She already told me she’s not dating so I don’t know why I was afraid she had a guy here.

“Congratulations on the win. And the winning goal!”

“Thanks.” I shove a hand through my hair, pushing it off my forehead.

A crease forms between her eyebrows. “You don’t seem very happy about it.”

“I’m happy. It’s great.” Even I know I don’t sound happy. I sigh. “It’s complicated.”

She pushes out her bottom lip and nods thoughtfully. “Oh.” She blinks. “I guess I don’t know much about professional sports. A win seems like a good thing.”

“It is. It should be. Our coach is…demanding.”

She tilts her head. “Oh. Yeah. You know, I said to Carlin last night he looks mean.”

I choke out a laugh. “Mean. Well. You know, you’re…ah hell, I shouldn’t talk about it.”

“What happens in the dressing room stays in the dressing room.”

I laugh again, relaxing. “Yeah. That’s it.”

Our eyes meet and heat slides up from my chest into my face. The tug of attraction is really hard to resist. “Here’s your pay.” I hand her the envelope I folded up and shoved into my pocket. “Cash.”

“Thanks.” She takes it and unfolds it. I watch her slender fingers move on the paper. Her nails are not short, but not long, no polish on them.

“Have you had breakfast?” I blurt out.

“Um. No.”

“Want to get something?”

She blinks a few times. Her eyelashes are crazy long, and I don’t think they’re fake. It would be okay if they were; lots of girls wear false eyelashes these days.

Shit. She’s going to brush me off again.

“You don’t have to suck up to me. I’ll take the job offer of looking after Otis, if it’s still open.”

I want to punch a fist into the air. Yes! I grin. “That’s not what I was doing. But yeah, it’s still open. That’s great. We can talk about the details,” I offer in an effort to convince her.

“Look, maybe we should get this out in the open.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Get what out in the open?”

“You asked me out for dinner. I didn’t think that was a good idea. I still don’t think it’s a good idea for us to get personally involved if we’re going to have a business relationship.”

Dammit. She’s probably right. “I get it.” I hold my hands up. “Just business. A business breakfast.”

She still hesitates, then says coolly, “Okay. Let’s go get breakfast.”

She opens a closet door and pulls out a black puffy jacket. When she’s zipped it up, she wraps a big plaid scarf around her neck and tugs a knit cap down over her shiny hair. “I’ll just grab my purse.”

She hustles to the far end of the living room and a spiral staircase there. She jogs lightly up, disappearing. I hear footsteps above—I guess there’s a loft up there that’s her bedroom—then she returns, adjusting the strap of the bag across her chest. “Okay!”

We set off along 73rd toward Central Park, Otis trotting along, stopping here and there to sniff interesting spots.

This isn’t a date. It’s a business meeting. We have things to discuss. Important dog details.

We chat about weather and Nashville and how this trip was just a quick in and out. “It’s a fun place to visit when we have time to hang out,” I say.

“Is that your favorite city to visit?”

“You mean, to play in?”

“Yeah.”

“I’d say so. It’s also nice to go to Florida and California in the winter. Playing in some of the classic places is pretty cool, though.”

“Like…”

“Boston. Philly. Toronto and Montreal. And when I play in Calgary or Winnipeg, there are usually lots of friends and family there watching.”

“Is that where you’re from? I mean, Canada.”

“Yeah. I grew up in Regina. There’s no NHL team there, it’s kind of in between Winnipeg and Calgary.”

“Your family is still there?”

My throat tightens. “Just my mom.” I never mention Bryce and my dad to people who don’t know about them. It just makes things super awkward and uncomfortable and leads to other topics I don’t want to discuss.

“How’d you end up here in New York? Oh wait, you said you were traded here. It must be a culture shock compared to Regina, I assume. Not that I know anything about Regina.”

“It’s definitely a culture shock,” I assure her, smiling.

We pause at the lights at Columbus and wait. A woman walking a dog approaches, and her pooch wants to make friends with Otis. Otis, the little weirdo, growls and backs away.

“Sorry,” I say to the woman. “He’s got issues.”

Lilly bends to pat the small dog, a ridiculous fluff ball with a pink tongue. “Hi there. Aren’t you cute?”

Seeing Lilly let the dog sniff her hand, Otis gets braver and edges closer. I keep an eye on him.

“What’s his name? Or her name?” Lilly asks the woman.

“Daisy.”

“Hi, Daisy. You’re so pretty.”

Otis is right in there now.

“I walk dogs for a living,” Lilly says, handing the woman a card. “If you ever need help.”

With a smile, the woman and Daisy continue on. The light changes and we start across the street. “I think you made Otis jealous,” I comment.

Lilly laughs. “Maybe. You should take him to the dog run sometime so he can be off the leash and make friends.”

“Uh. Okay.”

We continue chatting until we enter the park. It’s Sunday morning and people are walking and running on the paths. Lilly knows the way to the little restaurant I was thinking of. We watch some kids climbing rocks and playing hide-and-seek, and many dogs, and then we arrive at our destination. We’re lucky enough to snag a table right away, and Lilly sits there with Otis while I go in to get coffees and breakfast sandwiches—egg, avocado, and cheddar cheese on a brioche bun.

The smell of fresh-baked bread has my stomach growling. Guess that toast wasn’t enough.

I carry our food back outside. The walk has tuckered Otis out, thankfully, and he’s sprawled at Lilly’s feet. She has her face turned to the sun, her dark hair blazing with fiery highlights, her eyes closed. When I set down the tray, she opens her eyes and smiles. “This is so nice.”

“Yeah. Great to have this kind of weather.”

She takes her coffee and we arrange our food in front of us to eat. “Is it colder than this in Regina?”

“Oh hell yeah.” I laugh. “And lots more snow.”

“You came here from Vancouver, though, you said, right?”

She remembers. “Yeah. Nice weather there too, although it rains a lot.”

“I’ve always wanted to go there. I’ve never been to Canada.”

“That’s shocking. Okay, no it’s not. I hang out with hockey people, so when I meet people who haven’t been to Canada I’m always surprised. I shouldn’t be.”

“I think it must be a nice place.”

I smile slowly. “It’s okay.”

She picks up her coffee cup and takes a sip.

“How long have you lived in New York?” I ask. “Did you grow up here?”

“I grew up in Syracuse. I came here to go to college. So…eight years.”

“After college you wanted to stay?”

“Yeah. I met my girlfriends—Carlin, my roommate, and a couple of other friends—and we all wanted to stay here and stay together. I got a good job right out of college, and then I got another, better job, and Carlin and I found our fantastic apartment, which isn’t easy to do here.”

“That’s true. I found that out.” I shake my head. “I make pretty good money, but it’s expensive living here.”

“Right?”

“So what do you do? I mean, what did you do?”

“I worked in the hotel business.” Her lips thin and she drops her gaze. “I have a degree in Hospitality Industry Studies.”

“Hospitality. I didn’t know there was such a thing.”

“It’s a business degree, but specifically focused on hotel management.”

Huh. Maybe she does know something about starting her own business. Dog walking isn’t hotel management, but it’s dealing with customers. “I’m sure you’ll find something else.”

She tosses her hair behind her shoulder. “Nope. I’m done with that. I want to work for myself and I’m going to have dogs as clients. It’ll be easier, and I’m in charge.”

I nod. “That sounds great, if that’s what you want.” It still sounds a little nutty, but hell, I’m not going to judge. I need her.

“So let’s talk business,” she says crisply, as if proving that she’s taking this seriously.

“Right. I printed out my schedule for the next month.” I pull the folded-up paper out of my jacket pocket and hand it to her.

She digs into her small bag and comes up with a pen. After unfolding the paper, she purses her lips and studies it. “These are away games, the shaded ones?”

“Yes.”

She nods. I’ve already written there what time we leave on days we’re traveling. “Okay, this is good. And are there days you want me to walk him even when you’re not traveling?”

“Yeah.” I lean over to peer at the page, close enough to get a whiff of her scent. I already recognize it, that fresh scent that makes me think of white flowers and greenery. “It would be great if you could walk him these mornings.” I point. “I’ll walk him the other mornings. And on home game days it would be great if you could take him out around dinnertime.”

We spend a few minutes figuring it out, Lilly making notes on the paper.

“I’ll tell the concierge at the apartment building that you’ll be coming by, and I’ll give you a code to get into my apartment.”

“Perfect.”

We then talk money. I have no problem with her fees. I know I paid her a ridiculous amount at first and I can’t keep doing that, but what she’s charging seems reasonable to me.

“Can you start tomorrow? We have a game tomorrow night. We don’t do game day skates anymore, so I can walk him in the morning, but I leave for the arena around three-thirty. Can you take him around six or seven?”

“Of course.”

I slouch back in my chair. “This is a relief, knowing he’ll be looked after.”

She slowly folds the paper and tilts her head. “What made you decide to keep him?”

I don’t answer right away. Cookie riding my ass about being a big grouch got to me. I don’t know if a dog is going to help; Otis sure as hell isn’t going to make Coach any easier to get along with. But…being alone sucks, even though I know it’s for the best. It’s nice having someone to come home to. What was stopping me from keeping him was…fear. If I let myself care about this mutt, what happens when he’s gone? Because bad things happen and things you love get taken away from you. So I’m keeping him, but I’m not going to get all emotionally invested in a dog. I know he’s not really mine.

“He needs a home,” I say to Lilly with a breezy grin. “Look at that ugly face. Who else would want him?”

Her eyebrows raise and her lips pucker, making me think of kissing her. My body almost leans forward with the urge to do that. I force myself to stay lounging in my chair, a smirk on my face.

“You’re such a jerk,” she says mildly. She looks down. “You’re not ugly,” she comforts Otis. “You’re adorable.” She lifts her gaze to meet mine again. “Well, whatever the reason, I’m glad you are.”

“I’m probably going to regret it.” I roll my eyes. “He’s already destroyed one shoe, several socks, and a leather glove.”

She grimaces. “Ouch. But that’s your fault.”

“What? How is that my fault?”

Her lips twitch. “If you’re a responsible dog owner, you keep those things out of his reach.”

“Little bastard,” I mutter, knowing she’s right.

“Does he have lots of toys to chew on?”

“I bought a few things. He could probably use more.”

“We can stop at the dollar store on our way back and pick up some things. There’s one a couple blocks down Columbus.”

My eyebrows fly up.

“Just looking out for Otis,” she says with an eye roll.

She’s making sure I don’t get any wrong ideas about this. Little does she know, it’s too late. My ideas about her are very, very wrong.

Chapter 7

Lilly

After I greet Otis, I snoop around Easton’s apartment a little. I was here before, but now that Easton’s not here I take my time studying the place. I knew it would be way nicer than mine. Dark hardwood floors stretch from the entrance to the big window in the living room and down the hall. Light taupe walls keep it airy, and although the furniture is minimal, it’s stylish and new. Two dark brown leather couches flank a big-screen television, anchored by a thick rug patterned in shades of gray and taupe. The living room is mostly neat, other than the dog bed in the corner, the chew toys and squeaky toys, and a couple of dog biscuits strewn over the floor. I have to smile at that.

His kitchen is all white and stainless steel, and spotless, with a healthy bowl of fruit on the quartz counter.

Easton hasn’t done a lot of decorating in the time he’s been here; there aren’t any family pictures and only a couple of pieces hanging on the wall—a jersey in a big frame for a team I don’t recognize—the Warriors—and a few pucks. Presumably these mean something to him. I stand in front of a shelf on the wall and study the books there—sports and performance ones, but also some fiction. He apparently likes Harlan Coben. And graphic novels. Interesting.

I walk over to the big windows in the living room to gaze down on the Hudson River and New Jersey beyond that. Nice view.

I turn to see Otis sitting on the carpet, watching me. I grin. “Hey. Don’t tell your dad I was snooping around.”

He cocks his head.

“Attaboy. Ready for your walk?”

He knows that word and starts jumping. I find his leash and a couple of bags and we head out to the park.

We take our time and don’t rush back. When we do get back to Easton’s place, I feed Otis his supper. But I feel bad leaving Otis when Easton won’t be home for hours, so I take a picture of Otis and text it to Easton. Then I sink into one of the big couches and grab the remote on the coffee table to try to figure out how to operate the TV. I make a note of what channel he has it on so I can change it back when I’m done. Then I find the game.

I’m sure Easton wouldn’t mind me hanging out here with Otis. I don’t know why I think I need to hide it. But since we didn’t discuss it, I feel a little guilty. Well, to make myself feel better, I’ll do some training with Otis.

I retrieve a bag of small treats from the kitchen and sit on the living room floor with him. It would help to have another person to push his butt down when I say “sit,” but he remembers it after a few tries. Then I work on getting him to give me a paw. That one’s easier. I feel I’ve made progress; he just needs more practice.

“Good boy!” I give him lots of praise along with the treats.

On the TV, the crowd at the game roars and the goal horn blares.

“Damn, I missed the goal!” I turn to see the Bears celebrating their goal. Easton is one of the guys on the ice, and he skates past his bench to bump his glove against his teammates’. I wait for the replay and watch him feed the puck to Bobak for the goal. Nice!

I wait until the first period is over, then walk home during the intermission. I feel sad leaving Otis, but it’ll only be a few hours until Easton gets home after his game.

As I walk, I check my phone. And hey! There’s a response to one of my ads, asking about dog walking. Whoop! I pick up my pace so I can answer when I’m home.

And an hour later, the Bears are up three–two and I have a new client. His name is Apollo and I can’t wait to meet him.

Easton

“Look, Nancy, I know you’re not the biggest guy, but maybe if you worked out a little harder, put on a bit more muscle, you’d do better in the corners.”

My entire body stiffens. I’m afraid to look around the dressing room after the game we just lost. I risk a glance at Wendy, who Coach has just singled out.

Nancy.

Jesus fucking Christ.

My blood simmers in my veins.

We all have nicknames. Wendy is short for Wendell. Cookie is Owen’s nickname because his last name is Cooke. We call Igor Barbashev “Barbie.” None of us take offense at those handles. But calling someone Nancy is deliberately insulting.

And our coach just did that.

The atmosphere in the room has gone thick. I bend to pull off my skates. Not only am I angry, I feel fucking helpless. I’ve spoken up before and attracted Coach’s wrath. I can’t keep doing that. Hockey’s all I have left. I can’t risk losing that too.

“That was a display of weakness out there,” Coach continues, pacing. “I never want to see that kind of pansy-ass forechecking again. Come on!” He points at JBo. “You! You wouldn’t even drop the gloves!”

“Bolton got a penalty,” JBo says quietly. “Taking a fighting penalty would have taken me out of the PP.”

“Fuck that!” Coach stands still. “You think you’re the only center who can play the power play?”

JBo’s jaw tightens and he drops his chin.

He is our best center on the power play. For fuck’s sake.

Coach rants on then storms out. We all exchange fuming glances as we finish undressing and head to the showers.

I don’t feel like going out. All I want to do is go home. Otis is waiting there for me.

I know I shouldn’t get used to that. I know I shouldn’t get attached. It’s just another thing that’ll be taken away from me. But right now, it gives me something to look forward to.

Cookie, Russ, and I take the subway home together since we live in the same building. We’re all quiet, looking at our phones during the short ride. I have a text message from Lilly with a picture of Otis sitting on my couch.

Just leaving now! We had a good walk. See you Wednesday!

One corner of my mouth lifts in a reluctant smile. Wednesday we’re off to Detroit so I’m taking Otis to her place for a sleepover.

We emerge from the station onto 72nd Street to walk the few blocks to our building. Once we’re across Broadway and alone on the dark street I blow out a breath. “That was bullshit,” I say quietly.

“Yeah.” Cookie shakes his head. “What the fuck.”

Russ says, “I know.”

“It’s getting to me, guys. I’m afraid I’m going to punch him.”

They chuckle, but I’m not really joking.

“I know, it’s getting to me too,” Russ says. “It’s getting to all of us. Nobody wants to screw up because you’re going to get humiliated.”

“Or worse,” Cookie adds. “Remember last year when Coach scratched Red? It was the game he could’ve scored his two hundredth goal, and he scratched him because Red talked back to him. I don’t even remember about what.”

“That was before I came,” I say. “That’s fucked up.”

“Right?”

“Everyone screws up at some point,” I mutter. “We’re not perfect.”

“I know.”

“You guys wanna come up to my place for a beer?” I ask as we approach the entrance to the apartment building.

“Sure.”

We ride the elevator to the seventh floor. As I enter my code at the door, I hear Otis whining and yipping, and I grin. “Coming, my man.”

I open the door and he’s right there, bouncing in his usual frenzy of excitement to see me. I grab him so we can all get inside and shut the door. I head to the kitchen while Cookie and Russ wander into my living room where Lilly left a light on for Otis. They shed their jackets, tossing them onto a chair, and sprawl onto my big sofas.

I carry beers into the living room and set them on the table. “Make yourself at home, gentlemen. I have to take this dude outside, but I’ll be right back.”

I haven’t noticed any puddles on the floor, so hopefully I can get him outside before that happens.

After a quick trip to the grassy boulevard, we head back in. “Good boy, Otis.” I hold him in the elevator. He’s getting better about riding the elevator but is still anxious. “You’re really learning, aren’t you?”

I’m proud of him.

Jesus.

Whatever.

Back in my apartment, I grab the beer waiting for me and sit in an armchair. Otis jumps up on the sofa to annoy Russ. He’s pretty good about it, actually, rubbing his head. When Otis brings his rope toy to Cookie, he takes it and has a little game of tug o’ war.

“Where’s Hannah tonight?” Cookie asks Russ about his girlfriend.

“We, uh, had a fight.” Russ’s face scrunches up.

“Uh-oh.” I grimace too.

Russ leans forward. “Can I ask you guys something?”

Cookie and I glance at each other and nod.

“Sure.” I hitch one shoulder and lean back in my chair.

“Hannah told me the other day that she’s going off the pill.”

My eyes widen. “Ohhhh.”

“She wants to get pregnant?” Cookie asks.

“No.” Russ shakes his head. “She wants me to use condoms now. I was totally blindsided.” He rubs his face. “We, uh, kind of got into an argument over it.”

I blink. “Huh.”

“Ugh,” Cookie says sympathetically. “Ah well.”

“No,” Russ says. “I hate condoms. I can’t stay hard wearing a condom.”

My eyebrows fly up. “Oh,” I say again. My vocabulary has deserted me.

“This is gonna ruin our sex life,” Russ adds. “Fuck. I’m so pissed about it.”

I purse my lips, still lost for words.

“She should have talked to me about it before she made that decision,” Russ continues. “I mean, that’s a big decision, right?”

“I guess.” Cookie nods, frowning.

“Then she was furious at me for telling her that. We had a big fight. I don’t know what to do.”

“Are you, uh…saying she should have asked your permission before going off the pill?” I ask carefully.

“Well, yeah! That’s what couples do, right?”

“Wrong.” I shake my head.

“What?” He stares at me.

I grimace. “Not that I know much about relationships.” I hold one hand up. “But come on, man, it’s her body. She can do what she wants. Birth control pills can mess women up.”

He scowls. “Are you kidding me?”

“Not kidding, no. I mean, yeah, she could have talked to you about it. Maybe that’s what she was trying to do when she mentioned it?”

“She said it like it was a done deal. It pissed me off.”

“I see that.”

Cookie makes a face at me, like he doesn’t know what to say. I’m floundering myself here, but this is how I feel about it. “You should talk to her more,” I say. “But if you think she needed to get your permission to go off the pill, be prepared for her to flip the fuck out on you.”

“I gotta agree with that,” Cookie says.

“You two love each other, right?” I ask.

Still frowning, Russ nods.

“So talk. Maybe there are other birth control methods she could try. Or maybe she’s already ruled them out for some reason.”

“You could get a vasectomy,” Cookie puts in helpfully.

“Jesus Christ!” Russ bolts to sit straight. “I’m not getting the snip!”

“All juice, no seeds,” Cookie says. “No problem.”

I choke on a laugh.

“Why not?” Cookie continues. “It’s usually reversible. If condoms are that big a problem for you, it’s one solution.”

Russ’s mouth drops open.

“Can’t argue with that,” I say mildly, taking a big swig of my beer. “How much do you want to keep having sex with her?”

Russ slouches back into the couch. He lifts the beer bottle to his mouth and drains it. “Shit.”

Great. Now Russ is pissed at me. I don’t want bad feelings between me and another teammate, but I’m not going to take his side on this. Why do guys ask for advice if they don’t even want to listen to it? I sigh inwardly. “Need another beer?”

“Nah. I’m good.” He stands. “I’m gonna head up to my place.” He carries his empty over to the counter separating my kitchen from the living and dining area. “See you guys tomorrow.”

“Be prepared for another bag skate,” I say dryly, following him to the door. “We good, man?”

He rolls his eyes, his mouth in a frustrated line. “Yeah, yeah. We’re good. G’night.”

I hope he’s being honest.

When I return to the living room, I meet Cookie’s eyes. “A vasectomy?”

Cookie cracks up. “Hey, why not?”

I grin too as I sit. “And there’s another reason I don’t do relationships.”

—

I don’t expect to see Lilly until Wednesday, but Tuesday afternoon I’m in the park with Otis when he starts straining at his leash. I look up and recognize Lilly and Lola approaching us on the path. Otis recognizes them before I do. I can’t help but smile at his excitement at seeing Lilly, and my steps quicken as Otis tugs me toward her.

“Otis!” She stops and drops into a crouch to greet him. As he licks her chin, she smiles up at me. “Hi.” She pets him with mittened hands.

Otis transfers his attention to Lola now, who thankfully accepts it. They’re so eager to sniff each other, they end up getting our leashes tangled up. Laughing, Lilly and I dance awkwardly around each other to untangle them.

“We should take them to the dog run.” She gestures toward the nearby enclosed space. “We could let them off the leash.”

I eye Otis doubtfully. “Do you think he’d behave?”

“No better way to find out. You’re right there to step in if he doesn’t.”

“True.”

She faces me. She’s wearing the same jacket, hat, and scarf she wore on Sunday, the same sheepskin-lined boots on her feet. It’s a chilly day, overcast, and a pink flush tints her cheeks.

We set off together toward the enclosure.

“How was practice this morning?” she asks.

“Brutal.” I grimace. “Coach wasn’t very happy about the loss last night.”

She rolls her lips inward briefly. “So he punishes you for losing?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“I don’t think that’s a good way to motivate people,” she says matter-of-factly.

“He’s kind of old-school.”

“He needs to get with the times.”

“I agree.”

“Well, tell him that.”

“Sure. I’ll tell him that. Then my ass will be riding the pine for the next month.”

She flicks a glance sideways at me. “Riding the pine?”

“Benched. As in, not playing.”

“Ah.” She wrinkles her nose. “Yeah, that would suck.”

“It’s happened.”

“That’s stupid, though. You’re a good player. Doesn’t it just hurt the team if you’re not playing?”

I grin. “Hell, yeah.”

We arrive at the gate and I open it for Lilly and Lola. Otis and I follow them in and I cautiously unclip Otis’s leash. Lola zooms off and he chases her. There are only a couple of other dogs here right now, which is good for Otis’s first time. I don’t want him to get kicked out of the dog run and banned for life.

“What kind of coach would hurt the team to punish one player?” Lilly asks.

I squeeze my eyes shut briefly. “That wouldn’t be my coaching style. But I’m not the one who hired him. I just have to play for him.”

She eyes me, her lips soft and pouty. “That’s not easy.”

“Sometimes, yeah.” I shrug. “It is what it is.”

She nods thoughtfully. I turn to look at Otis, chasing Lola and another dog. He looks happy. I feel the heaviness weighing on my shoulders lighten. Watching the dogs without a care in the world just running and playing definitely puts a smile on my face.

And Lilly’s. I watch her watch the dogs, the breeze teasing strands of hair around her face, her lips curved into a sweet smile.

“How’s business?” I ask. “Dog walking.”

“Oh! I have a new client!”

“Great! Congratulations.” My happiness is genuine. “Hey, my teammate Gunner mentioned the other day he could use someone to walk his dog. I gave him your name.”

“Oh, thank you!” She beams a smile at me.

“He lives a few blocks away from me, also on Riverside.”

She nods. “That’s good. And his schedule is probably the same as yours.”

“Yeah, except he has a girlfriend who helps, but she’s busy too. She’s a model.”

“Of course she is,” she mutters under her breath.

“So that’s great you’re getting more business.”

“Well, one client isn’t a lot.” She makes a face. “I need more.”

“What if…you used my name?” I ask. “I’m not super famous, but if you put my recommendation in your ads, maybe that would get some attention.”

She turns to me, her indigo eyes wide. “Really?”

“Yeah, sure. I gave you a recommendation.”

She blinks rapidly and sucks on her bottom lip. “Um.”

I tip my head. “Why not?”

She looks away. “I feel I need to do this on my own.”

I frown. “That’s crazy.”

She frowns back at me. “Why is that crazy?”

“Nobody starts a business on their own. You need other people. Like, businesses have employees. Contractors.”

Her pretty lips compress. “I guess that’s true.”

“I’m not even doing anything.” I hitch one shoulder. “Just letting you use my name.”

She nods slowly.

“It’s kind of like Coach benching the best player. It doesn’t make sense to hurt your business just because you don’t want a little help.”

Her mouth softens and goddamn, I really want to kiss that plump pout. “When you put it that way…”

“Go for it.”

“Okay.” She lifts her chin. “I will. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

We’re silent for a moment, watching the dogs play. We laugh when Otis gets going so fast he blows a tire and rolls in the dirt. “He’s going to need a bath when I get home,” I say. “I haven’t attempted that yet.”

“That should be fun.” She pulls out her phone and checks the time. “I better get going. After I drop off Lola, I have to pick up Apollo. Lola! Lola, come!”

Lola, well-trained girl that she is, trots over immediately. Luckily, Otis follows, because I doubt he’d come if I called him.

“I need to watch some YouTube videos about obedience training,” I say, as we each clip the leashes back on the dogs’ collars.

“I’ve been working with him a bit,” Lilly says. “I, uh, stayed a little while after I dropped him off yesterday and we tried some basic things. He’s smart.”

“You need to show me what you’re doing.”

“Well, I’m no expert.”

“Still. Maybe you could bring him home on Thursday and show me then?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. I give her what I hope is a harmless, friendly smile.

“Okay,” she finally says with as much enthusiasm as if she were agreeing to clean up dog barf. “Sure.”

Chapter 8

Lilly

I’m actually busy the next couple of days. Easton drops off Otis early Wednesday morning on his way to the airport to fly to Detroit. I have my new client, Apollo, who is a hilarious-looking Dachshund. His owner, who lives in the same building as Kent, seems like a very nice lady. I get a text message from Easton’s teammate and arrange to meet with him, his girlfriend, and their dog, a boxer named Loki. And I have a meeting with my lawyer, which is never fun, but we have a court date now, in January. This has taken so long, and it makes my stomach knot up with anxiety thinking about the end of it. At first, it consumed me, but after all these months, I’ve been able to shove it into the back of my mind and let the lawyers do their thing while I try to live my life. I’d probably walk away from it if it wasn’t just about me.

I do my weekly video chat with my mom. I tell her about my new business venture. To say she’s not impressed is a definite understatement.

“I hope you’re not spending money on this,” she says, her doubt clear in her voice.

“I had to spend a little,” I say. “But it’s not like I have big expenses for this kind of business.”

“Do you really think you can make money?”

“Yes! I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t. There are so many people in the city who need help. I’ve got a few new clients already.” And maybe more, now that I’ve added Easton’s endorsement into my ad materials.

“That’s good.” She sounds unconvinced.

Much like Carlin.

I’m annoyed and hurt. Why don’t they think I can do this? I’m not stupid. I have a business degree. I love dogs. All through high school, I volunteered at an animal shelter, and even now I still do, at Amsterdam Dog Rescue. It was a great way for me to feel useful when I couldn’t find a job.

This just makes me more determined, though. Also grateful for Easton’s support. I was reluctant to take him up on his offer, but he was right, it’s stupid not to. I just don’t want to rely on any one person too much, because I don’t want to risk being let down again.

Speaking of being let down…later that evening, I get a video call from Dad. Right in the middle of the hockey game, which the Bears are currently losing, dammit. But I haven’t talked to him for a while, so I mute the TV to take the call.

Oh my God. I barely recognize him. I have to say I’m envious of where he is, though—the background is turquoise water, pale sand, and palm trees against a clear blue sky. He’s at Paradise Beach on Bantayan Island, which I will have to google to determine the exact location.

“You should come join me!” Dad says when I tell him how beautiful it looks.

“Sure, Dad. If you’ll pay for my plane ticket, I’ll be there in a jiff.”

He laughs as if I’m joking. I don’t think he remembers I’ve been unemployed for nearly two years.

“I’ve started a new business,” I tell him. “But you’ll probably be home before I make enough money for a plane ticket to the Philippines.”

“What kind of business?”

“Walking dogs. And dog sitting.”

“That’s great, honey! Follow your heart. Do what you want.”

Well, at least Dad’s supportive, which isn’t surprising since he’s the master of following his heart and doing what he wants. Never mind thinking about anyone else. Ugh. Is that what I’m doing? I owe Carlin money. I think she wants to move out. I owe Mom a little money too. I owe my bank a lot of money. Am I being foolish by doing this instead of getting a job?

“If you don’t follow your heart, you risk spending the rest of your life wishing you did,” Dad adds.

I pause. “Is that what happened to you, Dad? Are you doing this because you always wanted to?”

“Yeah.” He seems surprised I’m asking. “Of course. I always wanted to travel and learn new things. But real life got in the way. And then one day you realize…” He pauses, looks away from the camera, then back. “If you don’t do it now, you never will. And in the end, we only regret the chances we didn’t take, the relationships we were afraid to have, and the decisions we waited too long to make.”

I go very still. “Dad. Are you dying? Is that why you’re doing this?”

A laugh burst out of him. “No! Good God, why would you think that?”

“You just sounded like you’re at the end of your life.”

“No, no, of course not. I mean, I hope not.” He chuckles. “But I am a lot older than you and I know what it’s like to look back with regrets.”

I nod slowly. “Okay.” I get it. I just wished he’d done it differently. “Tell me what you’ve been doing.”

He talks about how peaceful the island is, how it feels almost therapeutic to be there, about kayaking through a mangrove forest and strolling the white sand beaches. “Tomorrow I’m going cliff diving.”

“Jesus!” I straighten. “Dad!”

“What? It’ll be fine.”

I squeeze my eyes closed briefly and breathe. “I guess I can’t convince you not to.”

He laughs. “Nope. Don’t worry, chickpea, I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. I…do you know when you’re coming home?”

He rubs his nose. “I’m not feeling it yet.”

“Mom needs you.”

“She’s fine! I just talked to her.”

I don’t know what to say. Is it possible Mom is doing better than I think? “What about me?” I swallow. “I’d like to have my dad here. Things have been…tough.”

“You’re a strong young woman,” he says. “And I may not be physically there, but I’m always here for you.”

I swallow my sigh. He was there for me when I lost my job, and when I had to make a decision about what to do. And he does check in with me. “Right,” I say. “Thanks, Dad.”

Our call ends. I turn up the volume on the TV and see that the Bears have tied it up. Yay.

Otis is asleep at the far end of the couch, and I pick him up and hold him. I might regret waking him because now he’ll want to play, but puppy cuddles feel really good right now.

I just want to feel like I’m a success at something. Being unemployed made me feel like a huge loser. Job hunting and all the rejections that came with that are killer on the self-esteem. Being in debt only makes it all worse. Some days it feels like I’m in a huge hole and I’ll never be able to dig myself out of it. Why even try?

I blow out a long exhalation. Those are the kinds of catastrophic thoughts that dragged me into depression. I have to stop that right now. I’m not a loser. I was wrongfully terminated. I’m fighting back. Soon, I’ll be vindicated.

I hope.

I give Otis a squeeze, and he wriggles in my arms and jumps free of me just as the Bears score a goal. With a laugh, I pump a fist into the air. “Yeah!”

Otis gives a sharp bark and spins.

“Attaboy! That’s how you cheer for your dad!”

Somehow, I don’t think Easton considers himself Otis’s dad. The thought makes me smile.

I tried to snoop a little at his apartment to learn more about him, but that didn’t give me much to go on. I stayed out of his bedroom. But when I ran into him at the park yesterday and we were hanging out with the dogs, I felt like I saw a different side of him. A softer, more relaxed side. He pretends he doesn’t care, but I think he likes Otis. His smile watching his pup run around and have fun made my heart bump against my sternum.

He was so tense and short when he talked about his coach and the game. And then Otis made him laugh and loosen up. I never thought about the kind of pressure that professional athletes are under. They may play a sport for a living, but apparently it’s not all fun and games. I want to know more about what’s going on with Easton that makes him so edgy and cynical at times.

But that’s none of my business. He’s a client. A hot, enigmatic client, but not someone whose hopes and dreams and baggage I need to know all about. And he doesn’t need to know mine.

I’m reminding myself of that when I get to his place the next morning, having walked over there with Otis. The weather’s ugly, with a steely sky and biting wind. It’s a relief to stumble through the brass revolving door into the elegant lobby of Easton’s building. I recognize Javier at the security desk, and he smiles. “Good morning, Ms. Evans. And Otis.”

“Good morning.” I tug my scarf looser around my neck and cross the marble floor toward Javier and the elevators behind him.

“Chilly day, isn’t it?”

“It sure is!”

As usual, Otis starts to freak out as we near the elevators and I have to pick him up. He trembles in my arms all the way to Easton’s floor. What a baby.

Once off the elevator, he prances down the hall directly to Easton’s door.

“You know your home, don’t you?” He stops at the door, tongue hanging out of his mouth, and I give a knock.

Easton opens it right away. Otis predictably goes nuts, jumping Easton. I don’t blame him for that. Easton is absolutely jumpable. His tousled hair makes me want to slide my fingers into it and see if it’s as thick and silky as it looks. His beard stubble darkens his jaw in a way that makes me imagine morning sex and what those whiskers would feel like against my skin. As usual, he flashes a cocky smile. “Hey!”

He tries to calm Otis, picking him up, letting him slobber his tongue all over his chin. There are two kinds of people in the world—those who let dogs lick their faces and those who don’t. I don’t judge anyone for their preferences, but I’m glad Easton lets Otis kiss him.

I set Otis’s bag on the hardwood floor and close the apartment door.

Best not to think about kissing Easton. Even though his lips are sexy as hell.

Ahem.

He rubs the back of his hand across said sexy mouth as he sets Otis down. “How was he?”

“Good. Only one pee accident.”

Easton grimaces. “Sorry.”

“He’s getting better! Still freaks out over the elevator, though.”

“Yeah. Hopefully that will get better too. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

He knows my soft spot. “Sure. Thanks.” I follow him to his kitchen while Otis sniffs around. “Nice win last night.”

“Thanks. It felt like things were clicking for us.”

“I missed your assist. My dad called right in the middle of the game.” I make a face. “I watched the replay, though.”

A slow smile stretches his beautiful mouth as he leans against the counter waiting for my coffee to brew. He crosses his arms, and I’m immediately distracted by the bulge of his biceps at the sleeves of his T-shirt. “You watched the game again.”

Ohhhh. Maybe I shouldn’t have admitted to that. I toss my hair back. “Sure. I’m a Bears fan.”

He smirks. “I think you’re a fan of me.”

“Apparently your biggest appendage is your ego.”

He laughs. “Oh, babe, you don’t want to challenge me on that.”

Heat washes down through me but I maintain my unimpressed expression. “You’re right, I don’t.”

The coffee’s ready and he hands me the cup. I meet his eyes and a quiver of awareness vibrates through me. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The heat in his eyes makes my nipples tingle. I push away from the counter and turn to watch Otis. “Hey, Otis! Should we show Easton your tricks?”

“Tricks?” Easton moves out of the kitchen, also holding a mug. “Wow.”

“Okay, not really. I might have taught him to sit. That’s about it so far.”

I pull the bag of treats from Otis’s bag and he gambols right over. With one in my hand, I hold it out and say, “Sit.”

He doesn’t sit. His stubby tail is quivering.

“Sit,” I repeat. “Remember? Bum down. Sit.”

Miracle! He sits!

I feed him the treat. “Good boy!”

“Otis! You the man!” Easton grins.

His pleasure makes warmth bloom in my chest.

He helps me work on a few other simple commands with Otis and we give him lots of praise and treats. Easton is surprisingly patient. Why is that surprising? Maybe because he’s always bursting with energy, so alive with a masculine vitality and strength, always moving.

Sitting on his living room floor, I lean back against the couch and lift my coffee cup to my mouth to finish it. “He’s getting it. He’s smart.”

“He is. With his, er, issues, I was wondering.”

“Many of us have ‘issues,’ ” I say dryly. “Doesn’t mean we’re not intelligent.”

“What are your issues, Lilly Evans?” He too leans back against a chair, his knees bent, bare feet on the carpet. His feet are big. Long and lean, dusted with dark hair.

I drag my attention away from them.

“I’m not going to tell you all my issues,” I drawl, with a casual smile. “You’re a client.”

He smiles. “Oh, come on. We can be friends.”

“Hmmm.”

“Is it business problems?” he asks.

“No. And thank you for the referral. I met with your friend and I’ll be walking Loki.”

“Great.”

“My friends and family think I’m crazy to be doing this.” Oh hell. Why did I blurt that out?

“Doing this? Starting a business?” He lifts one thick eyebrow.

“Yes.” I peer into my coffee mug. “They think I should be trying to find a job with a steady paycheck.”

“Well, there’s something to be said for that, I suppose.”

I roll my eyes. “As if you have to worry about money.”

He shrugs. “I know I’m lucky that way. There’s also something to be said for doing what you want. Following your dream. That, I do know something about.”

He sounds serious. I eye him. “Was it hard? Following your dream?”

“Yeah. Not in the ways you might think, though.”

I tilt my head. “I guess you have to be really dedicated to get to play in the NHL.”

“Oh yeah. It consumed my life since I was about twelve years old. Then…” He stops. “Then it was all I had left, so it was even more important.”

My forehead tightens. “All you had left?”

He waves a hand dismissively and I get the feeling he said more than he intended to also. “If walking dogs is your dream, go for it.”

Back to me. Hmmm. “Well, I can’t say it’s been my lifelong dream, but right now it feels good. It’s what I want to do.”

“Then do it. Don’t let anyone discourage you.”

“It’s just that…” I drop my gaze again. “I have…obligations…and I feel like I might be letting people down.”

He’s silent. Then he says, “I don’t know what that means, so I can’t really comment.”

“That’s okay.” I finish off my coffee and scramble to stand. “I should get going. Thanks for the java.” I hold up my empty mug.

“No problem. Thanks for the training help.” He too stands, towering over me in a way that’s…exciting.

God, I have to get out of here.

He takes my mug and strolls to the kitchen counter. “Do you have another job right away?”

“No. Not until two. Apollo.”

“Let’s go grab lunch.”

I blink. My eyes flick to a huge clock on one of his walls. It’s nearly noon. “I thought we went over this.” I hit him with a level stare and an arched eyebrow.

“I’m a slow learner. What did we go over?”

“Going out with each other.”

“Oh right.”

He knew exactly what I was talking about. My lips try to smile and I shake my head. Dammit, he’s so attractive, and as I get to know him, he’s not as annoying as I thought he was. But I still don’t think it’s a good idea for us to get personally involved if we’re going to have a business relationship.

“It’s just lunch, Lilly,” he says with a guileless expression.

“If I say no, will you fire me?”

He frowns. “No! Of course not. Why would you ask that?”

“Because when it’s a business relationship, that could happen, and that’s why it’s not a good idea.”

He stares at me, then sighs. “You’re right.”

Damn. I kind of did want to have lunch with him. But this is for the best.

“You’re right to be cautious about that,” he continues. “But I assure you that our business arrangement has nothing to do with whether you go out for lunch with me.” He sets his hand on his chest. “I can be a cynical asshole, but I’m not petty or vindictive.” His smile makes my panties dampen. “You can find that out over lunch.”

I laugh. “Oh my God. Okay, fine. Let’s go have lunch.”

Chapter 9

Easton

“Yes!” I give a small fist pump and enjoy the pleasure that passes over Lilly’s face. “This time Otis stays home. Sorry, boy.”

Otis lifts his head from where he’s now lying on the rug, then lowers it again.

“I’ll be right back.” I head down the hall to my bedroom to put on socks and shoes and a sweater. I return to the front foyer carrying my phone and wallet. Now Otis pays attention, jumping up and trotting over to us near the door. When I pull a jacket out of the closet, he starts whining.

I wince. “Won’t be long, my man.”

We make a quick exit so as not to prolong the suffering. Out on the street, we pause.

“How about the Cheerful Rhino?” I name a bistro a few blocks away.

“That’s fine. I like that place.” We start walking. “No practice today?”

“Optional. I decided to skip it.” I grimace. “Which will probably piss off Coach. Ah well.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I get the feeling you and your coach don’t get along.”

I don’t answer right away. I know better than to criticize the coach or team management in public. Players have gotten themselves in deep shit by doing that and being overheard by their Uber driver or someone sitting at the next table in a bar. But it’s just me and Lilly, and somehow I know she’s not someone who’s going to run to the media, and also I really need to talk about this to someone who’s not involved. I can vent to my teammates, but they’re not objective about this either.

“You’re right,” I finally admit. “We’re…very different.”

“That’s diplomatic.”

I sigh. “Fuck it. I don’t like him. I don’t like how he coaches, I don’t like how he leads. He’s not a leader. He’s a fucking dictator. We’re grown men, we’re dedicated, we’re talented, and he treats us like shit.”

“Don’t hold back.”

I catch her dry smile, and one corner of my mouth lifts. “Feels good to let it out.”

“I guess there’s not much you can do about it.”

“Nope.” I fill my lungs with icy air. “And it doesn’t help that I’m kind of…grumpy.”

After a beat, she says quietly, “Why are you grumpy?”

“Because I have a bad coach.”

She laughs softly. “Hmm.”

“I get so pissed off,” I continue. “Sometimes it’s hard to keep my mouth shut.”

“Is it just him that gets to you? Or are there other things?”

I think about that. “I get annoyed in traffic sometimes.”

She nods. “I guess we all do.”

“And I hate littering.”

She bites her bottom lip as if trying not to laugh. Which makes me smile. “I hate that too,” she says solemnly.

“I also hate racism. Homophobia. And slut shaming.”

She blinks. Her bottom lip pushes out. We walk about half a block in silence. Then she says, “I hate to tell you this, but you’re not grumpy. You’re a good guy.”

I feel her words hit me in the chest. But because I’m not a good guy, I say, “Phhhht. I’m a jerk. Just ask Coach.”

“Why doesn’t he like you?”

“Because I hate assholes.”

We arrive at the bistro. It’s a tiny place, but popular in the neighborhood. We enter to a gust of warm air scented with yeasty bread and garlic. I’m starving.

The place is nearly full, but the hostess seats us at a small table for two in the back corner. We settle in, removing outerwear, adjusting our seats.

Lilly picks up her menu. “Hmm. What should I have? I love their salmon and spinach salad, but I always have that.”

“Have what you love.”

“I should try something different.”

“We’ll order different things and share.”

She tilts her head. “Okay.”

“I’m going for the roast chicken, avocado, blue cheese, and bacon on ciabatta. With fries.”

She moans. “Their fries are so good.”

He grins. “We can get extra if you want.”

“That would be perfect.”

“Easy.” I set down my menu just as our server approaches. We both request coffee and place our orders.

“Okay,” she says, fiddling with a fork. “Why doesn’t your coach like you?”

Now I’m facing her, I’m having those doubts about sharing this stuff. But hell, I’m already into it. “I don’t take his shit. He gets pissed at stupid things, and I’ve tried to tell him they’re stupid, and that just makes it worse.” I shrug and drop my gaze to the table. “I’ve been trying to keep my mouth shut, but it feels like it builds up inside me and I’m going to explode.”

Jesus. I can’t believe I just told her that. I glance up at her.

She nods slowly. “That’s what happens when you don’t deal with your anger.”

“I try to deal with it other ways. Working out. Punching things. Fucking.”

She coughs. “Well. Those are all excellent. I was thinking more along the lines of communicating how you feel.”

“Yeah, that’s what gets me in trouble.”

“I mean, in an assertive, nonconfrontational way.”

“I’ve tried that.” I lean forward, capturing her gaze with mine. “I’m not a dick. I tried meeting with Coach and telling him when he yells at us and kicks things across the room it de-motivates us.” Okay, yes, there have been times I didn’t communicate in a calm way. Like when he called one of the guys a little bitch. I blew up at that in front of everyone. Big mistake.

“Oh.” She nibbles that sexy bottom lip. “That’s good, then.”

“Yeah, and then he makes me watch four hours of video.”

“Okay, he’s just a bad man, then.”

I laugh and lean back. “You just hit the nail on the head.”

“But that’s not right! He’s in an important position. How can he still have a job? Who’s his boss?”

“The GM. Mr. Julian.”

“Doesn’t he know what goes on? Or is he terrible too?”

“He’s not terrible. I don’t know how much he knows.”

“Well, someone should tell him.”

“I don’t think going over Coach’s head is a good idea.”

She slumps back in her chair, looking as defeated as I feel some days. “That sucks.” Then she straightens. “Don’t you have some kind of whistleblower protocol?”

I look at her. “Whistleblower?”

“Yes.” She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip and her eyes shift away. “Like when a business is doing something wrong, someone can ‘blow the whistle’ and tell someone higher up. And not be punished.” The words come out edged with bitterness.

I frown. “I don’t think so.”

The server sets our coffees in front of us.

“I’ve had bad coaches,” I continue. “I’ve been playing sports my whole life, you’re bound to run into some. But usually it was just incompetence. Or someone too focused on winning.” I pick up my cup. “Oh well. It is what it is.”

Lilly picks her coffee up too. “But if it’s making you miserable, that’s not right.”

“Maybe I need more fucking.” I lift an eyebrow at her as I sip my dark brew.

“Ha ha. Maybe so.”

I like that she’s not freaked out by my crudeness. Our eyes meet across the table in what feels like a sizzle. Good. She’s thinking about fucking too.

She’s turned down my dates—well, at first—but I’m pretty sure she’s as attracted to me as I am to her.

“Why do you feel like you’re letting people down by starting your own business?”

The change of subject makes her eyes flicker. “Oh.” She drops her gaze. “It’s a long story.”

“The story of why your life is a dumpster fire married to a train wreck?”

Her head snaps up, her eyes wide. “You remember that.”

I chuckle. “Yeah.”

“Well, yes.”

“So tell me. I confessed my anger management issues.”

She tips her head. “I think you’re managing your anger okay.”

“Until the day it builds up to the point where I punch my coach in the face.”

She grimaces. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m not making any promises. So…”

“Well. When I lost my job about eighteen months ago, it was a retaliatory firing.”

I lower my chin. “Retaliatory?”

For a moment she says nothing. Then, “I blew the whistle on a bunch of unethical practices. They were pissed off, so they fired me.”

“Holy shit. Really?” My jaw slackens. That’s why she was talking about whistleblower protocol.

“Yes.” She lifts her chin and straightens her shoulders. “But I was pissed too, so I sued them.”

“Did you win?”

“Not yet. The case is still ongoing. It takes forever.” She rolls her eyes.

“Well, good for you.”

“Eh, not so much. They spread a lot of rumors about me in the industry. Even some of my co-workers were angry about what I was doing. It was impossible to find another job in the hospitality industry. Finally I got a job as a front desk clerk at a small motel, but that didn’t last long.”

“Damn.” I’m startled by all this. I knew she felt down on her luck, but this is big.

“Anyway, to make a long story short, I got into some debt. My roommate covered my half of the rent when I couldn’t, and my mom loaned me some money, which she couldn’t afford because my dad is off having a midlife crisis on the other side of the world.”

“Whoa.”

“And I think my roommate wants to move in with her boyfriend but feels like she has to stay because I can’t afford to live alone.” She sighs. “So when they tell me I should get a real job, I feel like maybe I should, because I need to pay them back. My dad’s the only one who’s encouraged me to go for it, but then, I don’t owe him money. Also, he’s not exactly a model of responsibility right now.”

I give my head a shake. “Uh, you weren’t kidding. That’s a lot.”

“Right?” Her smile is crooked.

I study her face. The shadows in her eyes tell me how much she hates the situation she’s in, but I also see a determined set to her jaw and pride in the way she holds her head up. “You need to do what’s right for you,” I say slowly. “I’m sure your friend and your family understand.”

“I hope so. I just want…to be successful at something. So I’m doing it.”

“Good.” A small ache develops behind my breastbone at her words. Her desire to be successful and prove herself. Don’t we all want that? But for her it’s even more poignant, given what she’s been through.

“It’ll all work out,” she says with a lift of her chin. “The lawsuit. My new business. It’s going to be fine.”

Our lunches arrive and we spend a few minutes in silence as the server refills water glasses and we pick up our cutlery to dig in.

I think about the conversation we just had. Not just her sharing what she did, but me as well. I feel like something shifted. Like we’re both seeing each other a little differently. Not that I looked down on her, but it seemed to me like she was someone who breezes through life without a care. Show me someone who’s always cheerful and smiling, always expecting things to work out, and I’ll show you someone who doesn’t have a clue what’s going on.

But now I can see she does have a clue. She’s smart and fierce and she’s been through some heavy shit. And at first, she was clearly unimpressed with me, but now I think she’s looking at me with a little more respect. Maybe.

“Thanks for telling me,” I say. “It must have been hard going through that.”

She nods. “Not to be all depressing, but yeah. I struggled. My boyfriend broke up with me because of it, which didn’t help.”

My mouth falls open. “What the fuck?”

She grins. “Right? Way to kick someone when she’s down. But honestly, I don’t blame him. I was staying in bed all day, drinking too much, watching every episode of I Am a Killer on Netflix.”

My eyebrows fly up. “I Am a Killer?”

“It’s really good! Those people are so messed up.”

“I can see why your boyfriend was worried.”

She laughs, and it’s a genuine, mirthful laugh. “I know. He probably thought I was going to murder him. I just got fascinated with it. It kind of made me realize my life isn’t so bad. Anyway, if he couldn’t stick with me through bad times, he wasn’t worth it.”

“Absolutely. Prick.”

She nods and reaches for some fries. “Want some salmon?”

“Yep.” We exchange food.

I’m impressed that she stood up for her beliefs with her employer. It sucks that she got fired for it. I’m not exactly someone who believes in suing over every little thing, and it sounds like her life was pretty fucked up because of what happened, but I admire her courage. I also reluctantly admire her belief that it’s all going to work out. It’s foreign to me. Scary. Which makes her…brave?

The rest of our lunch conversation is lighter, more impersonal—things we like to do in New York. We both love theater and restaurants and music. We both love the energy and the diversity of the city and the different neighborhoods. I’m not much into museums or galleries, but I’m open to checking them out. And we both have a weird fondness for the subway, dirty and crowded as it can be.

“You see the strangest things,” Lilly says, holding another French fry. “The most interesting people. And it’s so strange, thinking that you’re riding through all these tunnels and the whole city is above you. I love the old-fashioned, European feel of Grand Central Terminal.”

“Yeah! That’s what I thought too—it reminded me of Europe. I played in hockey tournaments there, in Germany and Italy.”

“Cool.”

Our server offers dessert and when we decline brings the check. We keep talking about travel—places we’ve been, places we want to go. Then Lilly reaches for her phone and checks the time. “Oops! I better go. I have to pick up Apollo soon.”

I reach for the check at the same time she does, but I wave her off. I wouldn’t let her pay anyway, but knowing more about her financial situation I’m definitely buying lunch. Happily, she doesn’t argue, instead smiling and saying. “Thank you. Lunch was great.”

It was.

Out on the sidewalk, she pulls her mitts on. One end of her scarf is loose, so I take it and loop it around her neck. “Which way are you going?”

She points down Broadway, the opposite direction of my place.

“Okay. You’ll take Otis out on Saturday?” That’s our next game, here at home.

“Yes.” She nods firmly.

“Great.” I don’t move. I don’t know when I’ll see her again.

“Thanks again for lunch.” She doesn’t move either. For a moment we watch each other, and I feel like I’m resisting a physical pull as I take a step backward. She takes a step back too.

“Bye.”

“Bye, Easton.”

We each take another step. Finally I give my head a mental shake, grin, and lift my hand in a wave. Jesus, man, get a grip.

I stride along the sidewalk. Fuck, what is wrong with me? Not only am I getting attached to a dog, I’m getting all sappy over a woman. I know better than that.

What I need is some good fucking.

Problem is, I keep thinking about fucking Lilly.

Chapter 10

Lilly

It’s girls’ night out at the Hungry Dog Lounge in the East Village. We’re going to play Skee-Ball and drink cocktails and eat pizza.

Carlin and I take the subway and meet up with Maya and Adriana at the bar. It’s Thursday night and the place is jumping. We make our way through the noisy crowd and find a high-top table with only three stools.

I glance around and spy a table with a couple of guys and an empty stool. I slide over there. “Hey,” I say with a smile. “Are you guys using this stool?”

They smile back at me.

“You can have it, but you have to sit here with us,” one guy says.

I laugh. They’re teasing me. “I can’t ditch my friends, though.” I gesture at the others nearby with a mock sad face.

“Not even for us?” He gives me a flirty smile.

He’s cute.

But I’m not interested.

Dammit, why not?

“You can take it,” the other guy says kindly.

“Thanks.” I lift the stool and carry it over to our table.

“What was that about?” Maya asks.

“I almost had to sit with them.” I slide onto the stool.

“You should have.” Carlin eyes them. “They’re both hot.”

“I know.” I sigh. “But it’s girls’ night. Right?”

“Chicks before dicks,” Maya says.

“I’m not interested in dick anyway.” I wave a hand.

“Except that of a certain hockey player,” Carlin says.

All eyes turn to me.

“What?” I stare back at them.

“You seem to be developing a little crush on Easton Millar,” Carlin says.

“I am not!”

“You talk about him all the time.”

“I talk about his dog. He’s a client.”

“Suuuure.”

“We need to meet this guy,” Maya says. She pulls out her phone. With a few swipes, she has Easton’s team headshot on her screen. She nods approvingly. “Okay, I get it.” She shows the phone to Adriana, then Carlin.

“You two had lunch together yesterday,” Carlin points out.

Again, Maya and Adriana give me wide eyes.

“It was just lunch.” I raise my hands.

A waitress arrives at our table. I order a draft beer and the others order cocktails. Drinks come with a free pizza, making this a great place for someone broke like me to hang out.

“And I have another New York Bears client,” I tell them. “I’ll be walking Loki for Colton Gunnerson. He’s their goalie.”

“That’s great!” Maya nods. “Is he single?”

“He lives with his girlfriend. She’s a Victoria’s Secret model.”

“Ah.”

“And I got two more emails today from potential clients.” It seems like my addition of “Easton Millar, forward for the New York Bears, says Lilly at Walk ’n Wag genuinely loves her clients and provides convenient and responsive care” has helped get me some attention. I have to make sure and thank him for that.

“Congratulations!” Adriana gives me her sweet smile. “You’re killing this.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that. But I’m glad I’m getting more jobs.”

Our drinks arrive. Adriana picks hers up. “To Walk ’n Wag.”

We all toast. I’m feeling pretty good today. Things are looking up. Also, I keep remembering how Easton looked at me yesterday, during our lunch when his eyes were warm and his smile flirty, and after when our eyes locked and neither of us wanted to move away. I got all heated and tingly and practically floated all the way to Apollo’s home.

It’s been a while since I felt like that. I felt…desired. Appreciated. Like I was the focus of all Easton’s attention. And that attention was…exciting.

“I couldn’t date Easton,” I say. “He’s a client.”

The girls all grin. “So you have thought about it,” Maya says.

“Okay, maybe I have. I keep telling him we can’t date.”

“He’s asked you?” Maya nearly shouts.

“Well, yeah—for lunch yesterday.”

“But it wasn’t a date.”

“No. Or the time you went for brunch,” Carlin points out.

I roll my eyes. “That definitely wasn’t a date.”

Maya grins. “You’re in denial, girl.”

“Why can’t you date him?” Adriana asks.

“Because he’s a client.”

“Phhhht.”

“Think how awkward it would be if things didn’t work out. I’d probably lose him as a client, which means, I’d probably lose Otis. And then I wouldn’t have a famous hockey player endorsement, and what little business I’ve built would go down the sewer.”

They all nod.

“I suppose that’s true,” Carlin says.

“Also, I’m not interested in dating. Guys who find out my situation assume I’m a big loser who makes trouble with my employers, sues them when I don’t get what I want, and then lazes around waiting for the big payoff.”

Carlin winces. “Those guys you went out with were dirtbags.”

“Yeah,” Maya agrees with an emphatic nod. “You don’t know that Easton would think that.”

“He doesn’t.”

I realize what I just spilled.

“You told him?” Adriana gasps.

I rub the condensation on the glass of my beer. “Er, yeah. Not all the details.”

They all fall silent. “I don’t know, Lilly. Maybe you should see where things go with him.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want a relationship.” I pause. “I wouldn’t mind a bonefest.”

“That’s what I said!” Carlin slaps a hand on the table. “You are interested in his dick!”

“Go for it,” Maya says, lifting her margarita. “Just make sure you’re clear with him what it is.”

I shake my head. “Still a bad idea.”

Except I can’t stop thinking about it, while we change the subject to the toxic co-worker Maya’s dealing with at work; while we play Skee-Ball; while the two guys at the nearby table flirt with us again; and while Carlin and I ride the subway home. What if I give in to the temptation? Maybe…is it worth the risk?

Easton

“It was a fucking stupid play! You had eight seconds left! To try and force that through when you haven’t been scoring all game? Give me a fucking break!” Coach’s face is as red as my jersey.

Tonight, it’s my turn for his wrath. I deserve it. I screwed up. But I know I did, and I don’t need him going on and on about it. Jesus.

“Get that puck to the net, get a rebound, maybe you get it in,” he yells.

“I know,” I say. “I realize that now.” That was how the whole night went for me, trying to force things and make plays that weren’t there. “You’ve made your point. You don’t need to go on and on.”

Coach’s face tightens and his eyes bulge in their sockets at my back talk. For a moment, I think he’s going to snap the clipboard in his hands. “We’ll talk more about this Monday.” Then he turns to Jammer. “And you! You jumped into the rush and got caught deep in their end when Millar here is trying to make fancy-ass passes.”

Jammer winces. Yeah, that was another screwup. When the Florida D-man picked up my attempt at a seam pass to JBo, he slid it to their talented center Sandberg, who was off flying up the ice with his winger. Jammer’s partner on defense, Nate, was on his own chasing them. And they scored. With four seconds on the clock.

We’d been trading goals the whole game, and with four minutes left in the game, Bergie gave us the lead. That got us all amped up and we weren’t focused enough on defending that lead, especially me.

Then we lost in overtime.

There’s a rock in my gut as I strip off my jersey and my shoulder pads. I’m on the list for the media to talk to, so I’ve got to wipe the sweat off my face, grab a baseball cap to hide my soaked hair, and put on a game face in front of the cameras.

Of course they’re asking questions about the same thing Coach just gave me hell for. But I have to own it. “Yeah, sure, I want to make nice passes, but that was obviously a dumb move,” I tell the reporters. “I should have kept it simple and just chipped the puck in, got the puck to the net, and hopefully create something off that. I didn’t do that.”

I don’t bother cooling down on the bike like I usually do. I hit the shower and dress in my suit, not wanting to stick around. I don’t see Cookie, so I leave the arena and trudge to the subway station on 28th Street. I have a knit cap pulled down low over my forehead and a scarf around my chin. I don’t feel like dealing with any fans right now. Right now, I feel like kicking the tiled wall behind me.

I pull out my phone when I’m on the train and check my messages. There’s the usual text from Lilly with a picture of Otis, which she sends before she leaves. It was sent two hours ago.

I wish she was still there.

No, I don’t. I don’t need to inflict this black mood on anyone. Poor Otis will have to deal with me.

About twenty-five minutes later I’m hooking up Otis’s leash to his collar and heading back out into the night. Saturday night traffic still streams along 9A in ribbons of light and hissing tires, but Riverside is quieter. I walk toward the park, Otis happily romping and sniffing the base of the trees on the boulevard. I take a few deep breaths of chilled air, trying to loosen the tension that’s accumulated in my shoulders and neck. I’ll need a massage tomorrow for sure.

I’m trying not to beat myself up over one bad night. We all have them. In this business, we have them in front of millions of people. And one livid coach. I’ve made mistakes before and I’ll make them again. We have to learn to deal with it and put it behind us. Coach’s diatribe doesn’t make it easier to let it go, though. It makes it harder. And the last thing I want is to be afraid the next time I step onto the ice, afraid of screwing up and being in his line of fire again. Fear doesn’t make you play better. It’s not a good motivator. It’s a mental game killer.

I can’t let that happen to me. I can’t be afraid and lose my edge. I can’t let this affect my game.

I round the corner onto 72nd and cross over to the little round park around the Eleanor Roosevelt statue. The trees are bare now in mid-November, the branches black against the pale overcast sky. I keep walking until I’m at the corner of 73rd. Lilly’s street. She’s only a few buildings away.

Don’t be stupid. It’s nearly midnight.

I pull my phone out and tap in a text, replying to Lilly’s last one. Thanks for the pic. You still awake?

It only takes a few seconds for the jumping dots to appear. Then her reply. Yeah. Why?

I’m not sure what to say. Then my gaze lands on Otis and a cynical smile lifts my lips. Why not? Otis wants to see you again.

I’m using my dog as chick bait. I’m scum.

I get a smiling emoji back.

I’ve turned the corner and with a few more steps I’ll be right in front of her door. We’re out for a walk. Can we stop by?

This reply takes a little longer. Sure?

I ring her buzzer, then lean my head against the doorframe. Otis knows where we are and he’s wriggling his butt, his feet tapping on the step in a doggy dance. She lets us in, and we open the door to step into the hall.

Wearing a curious expression and a small smile, her face peers out in the space between her door and the doorframe, which widens when she sees us. “Hey. What’s up?”

Otis springs toward her, jumping up and down. She bends to pick him up. “Hello, handsome. How’s my guy?”

That greeting…those words…Christ.

“I took Otis for a walk. We were close and…”

“Come in.” She stands back, still holding a wriggling Otis.

I walk past her to enter the apartment. The living room is empty, with only a couple of lamps and the TV providing light. A soft blanket is crumpled on the sofa and a glass half full of red wine sits on the coffee table. I turn to Lilly. “Did you watch the game?”

“Yes.” She closes the door. “Glass of wine?”

“Sure.”

She sets down Otis and I watch her move to the tiny kitchen. Her hair is on top of her head in a bunch of messy loops. She’s wearing pink-and-gray flannel pajama pants and a huge, baggy gray sweatshirt. The loose clothes hide her shape, but I can’t take my eyes off her as I shrug out of my overcoat.

She returns with a glass of wine, Otis padding after her. When she sits on the couch, he jumps up beside her. I take the glass and sit on the couch too, Otis between us. Well, he got me in the door, I guess I can’t be too annoyed at that.

She picks up the remote and turns off the TV, then relaxes back into the couch cushions with her own glass of wine. “Bad night?”

“Fuck.” I take a gulp of wine. “Fuck, yeah.”

“It was so close,” she says. “I thought you guys had it when Bergen scored that goal. Only a few minutes left.”

“We lost because of me.” My voice is harsh. I drink more wine.

She frowns, then rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on.”

“Seriously. Coach reamed my ass out and trashed me in front of the whole team over that pass I tried to make.”

“Oh no.” She sips her wine, regarding me over the rim of her glass with warm eyes. “The goal wasn’t all your fault, though.”

I rub my jaw. “I was stupid. I should’ve just shot the puck at the net. Idiot.”

“Hey. Your coach does enough of a number on you. You don’t need to do it to yourself.”

I blow out a breath. “Right.”

“I guess I don’t know the game well enough to understand what happened. It was so fast. But it seemed to me that when they got that breakaway, your defense guys should have stopped them.”

“Yeah. Bad move by Jammer too, getting caught deep.”

“Jammer?”

“Jamal Jordan.”

“Ah.”

“Not to mention your goalie should have stopped that shot.”

A reluctant smile teases my lips.

“And the one in overtime,” she adds firmly. “Like, come on, no hockey player ever claims he won the game all by himself, right?”

I frown. “Of course not.”

“Therefore, no player loses the game all by himself either.”

“You’re right.” More tension eases out of my muscles. I know that. I’ve had teamwork drilled into me since I was six years old. But hearing her tell me that in her soft but confident voice, even though she doesn’t realize how atrocious my mistake was, somehow relaxes me and quiets the shit I’m giving myself in my head.

Otis jumps down from the couch, walks over to the fireplace, and curls up on the floor.

I lean my head back and close my eyes.

“You’re still wearing your suit.”

I roll my head and open one eye. “Yeah.” I tug at the knot of my tie. “I just grabbed Otis’s leash when I got home. I could get rid of this.” I toss my tie aside and unbutton the top buttons of my shirt.

“You look hot in a suit.”

Did she really just say that?

I slowly turn to face her again. Our eyes meet in a burst of sparks that I feel prickle all over my skin. “Thanks.”

She bites her bottom lip in a way that has my dick stirring.

“You look hot in pajamas.”

She glances down at herself and laughs. “These are the unsexiest clothes ever.” She straightens her legs to survey her feet, covered in fuzzy pink socks.

“Well, truthfully, you always look hot, so it probably doesn’t matter.”

Her cheeks rosy up. Her long eyelashes drift down, then back up. Heat shimmers around us. We’re both saying things we probably shouldn’t, but I don’t care. She is hot. I’ve thought that from the moment my dog attacked hers in the park. I don’t care if she’s my dog walker or my dishwasher or what the fuck ever. I want her.

Her lips part and I focus on them…so plump and pink. Her breasts rise and fall beneath her gray shirt in quick breaths. My entire body seizes with arousal so fierce I can’t breathe.

I think we both move, practically jumping each other, our mouths crashing together, and then we’re making out like horny teenagers on her couch, our hands everywhere, mouths joined in long, frantic kisses. I slide my tongue inside her mouth and her tongue teases mine. Christ, I’m so hard it hurts.

She draws back and stares at me, eyes hazy, her mouth wet. “Oh wow.”

I trace her cheek with my fingertips. “Yeah. Wow.”

Chapter 11

Lilly

When Easton walked in looking so defeated and down, my heart contracted. I knew they’d lost the game, obviously, but it didn’t seem like a reason to be that devastated. Teams lose games all the time. I also knew he’d made a mistake near the end of the third period because the hockey commentators talked about it, but it didn’t register with me that his coach would be pissed and give him shit for it. I should have known, from what I’ve heard about him. Asshole.

Not only did I want to make him feel better…I just wanted him. Dressed in his suit, looking so freaking hot and big and buff, hair falling over his forehead in that rebellious tumble, walking his dog…my ovaries pretty much exploded and hormones flooded my body.

I’d been thinking about what it would be like…to be with him…even knowing we shouldn’t. But those hormones obliterated my common sense, and now we’re sitting on my couch, panting, staring at each other after the most explosive, heart-pounding, panty-melting kisses I’ve ever had.

Holy shit.

“Your roommate?” He murmurs.

“She’s in bed.” I jerk my head toward the closed door at one end of the room. The apartment is a decent size by New York standards, but it’s still small.

“Ah.” He rubs his thumb along my bottom lip.

“My bedroom’s upstairs.” I gesture vaguely at the spiral staircase.

“Let’s go there.” He pauses. “Okay?”

“Yes.” I stand on weak legs and he rises too, picking up our glasses of wine from the table. I’d leave the wine; all I want is him. But it’s nice that he’s doing that and it doesn’t feel like he’s just trying to get me into the sack. It’s like he’s trying to…seduce me.

I like it.

I leave the lamps on, because who cares, and lead the way upstairs. I feel him behind me all the way up, and I hear Otis following too. Not sure how this is going to work, but we’ll figure it out.

My bedroom and tiny bathroom occupy a sort of loft area in the apartment. I also have sliding doors onto a small deck at the back of the building. I love my bedroom; it’s my sanctuary. But it’s decorated with flea market finds, like the black iron bed frame, old oak nightstands, a painted dresser, and a chair I recovered with a pink-rose-patterned fabric, mixed with IKEA deals like the small desk and chair, the rug, and the piles of soft blankets and cushions on the poufy duvet, all in shades of rose and ivory and pale pink, different patterns and textures. The fairy lights around the sliding doors and above the bed come on when I flick the light switch. There isn’t an overhead light in the room, just the twinkling white lights and the antique lamp beside the bed.

I don’t know what he’ll think of this. I turn to face him as he hands me my wineglass.

“This is a cool room,” he says softly.

“Thanks.” We watch each other as we sip our wine. Then we both turn to observe Otis curling up on the round rug in the corner, right in front of the big mirror that sits propped there. We face each other again, smiling.

“Good boy,” he murmurs.

“Yes.”

He reaches out a hand and slides it around the back of my neck, beneath my hair. Shivers cascade down my spine as he pulls me toward him and kisses me again. Our mouths wet and tasting like cabernet, we melt together. Heat ripples in my belly.

“You taste amazing.” He kisses one corner of my mouth, then my cheek. “Like blackberries and spice.”

“Mmm.” I tip my head to give him access and his lips graze over my jaw, my earlobe, the side of my neck. Pinpoints of sensation move over my skin and slide down my spine. “You taste so good too.”

“Wanna taste you everywhere.” He sucks gently on the skin where my neck joins my shoulder.

Flames burst low in my belly. Oh God. “I want you to.”

He lifts his head and peers intently into my eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I nod, knowing he’s checking in, appreciating it, and wanting him to know I’m definitely consenting. Definitely.

He takes my wineglass and sets both on the dresser, then turns back to me and eases me toward the bed. “Do you think there’s enough pillows here?”

I laugh softly. “We can get rid of them.” I sweep some onto the floor then pick up two more and toss them across the room. With his hands on my waist, he sits on the bed, then lies down, lifting me on top of him.

I stretch out, loving the contact against his body from my aching breasts pressed against his chest, all the way down to our thighs. He runs his hands over me, squeezes my ass as we kiss, and I frame his face with my palms. Our mouths slide, tongues tangle, and we’re both making soft moaning noises. Then he takes one of my hands, his eyes fastened on my face, brings it to his mouth, and kisses it.

God. My bones are dissolving I’m so turned on. We kiss again, my hand still in his, pressed to his chest. Then he slides his other hand into my hair and cups the back of my head, tilting it for a deeper kiss. I tug his shirt out from his pants and slip my hand under it. I want skin…hot, smooth, sexy skin. He feels so good, so firm and taut. I want to feel more and, daringly, I skim my hand down, lower, over the bulge behind his fly. Dear God, he’s enormous, so hard and hot. He groans, and I push back and up onto my knees, straddling one of his big thighs. He reaches for the hem of my sweatshirt.

Our eyes meet and hold and I give him a tiny nod. My body is pulsing, burning up. He lifts my shirt and I raise my arms in the air to allow him to slowly remove it. My nipples tingle, my skin prickles all over, and my breasts swell. He leans up to kiss my stomach and my heart lurches when his mouth moves between my breasts as the shirt goes up. My breasts are right at his eye level.

He tosses the shirt to the floor and studies me, his eyes dark and heavy lidded. “Fucking gorgeous,” he says hoarsely, wrapping his arms around me. He kisses between my breasts again, then turns his face, nips at the inside of one, and licks the nipple. My entire body seizes with delight. He kisses my nipples, then tugs one into his mouth. I feel it right between my legs and I can’t stop the greedy, needy noise that spills from my lips, my head falling back. He continues to suck and lick and nibble, and even moves back to admire my breasts, and I’m on fire, burning up. He presses his face between the full curves like he never wants to leave.

A whining noise makes us both freeze.

At the same time, we turn to peer over the side of the bed. Otis sits there, stubby tail quivering. Then Easton and I look back at each other. A giggle slips from my mouth. His lips quirk.

He looks back at Otis. “Go lie down, Otis.” He waves a hand. “Lie down. Good boy.”

Otis sadly pads over to the rug in front of the mirror.

“Mood killer?” Easton asks.

“No.” I bite my lip on a smile, then bend to kiss his mouth, touching his face, letting my fingertips rasp over his beard stubble. I shift off him and kneel next to him to work his belt and his fly open.

His body vibrates beneath my hands and he mutters, “Christ, Jesus, yes.”

I pull out his cock and it’s alive in my hand, pulsing, soft delicate skin over steel, hot and oh so beautiful. I brush my thumb over the glistening tip, sweep my hair behind my shoulder, and slowly lower my head. Easton drops his own head to the bed as my lips graze over him, and he groans.

I wrap my fingers around his thick shaft and lick up and down, then trace my tongue over the firm, sculpted head. My pussy is aching, weeping. Then I take him into my mouth, swirling my tongue, tightening my lips around him. His hips jerk.

“I want to touch you. So beautiful.” He reaches out and cups one of my breasts, its fullness filling his palm, his other hand caressing my back, then my arm from my shoulder to my hand. I shiver with pleasure at his slow, sensual touches.

“Need the pants off,” he growls, and we both push his pants and underwear farther down his legs and off, along with his socks. I resume my position to suck him more, eager for more of his clean male taste and the feel of him in my mouth, so strong and thick. His hand finds my ass, still in my flannel PJ bottoms (I can’t believe I’m wearing such awful clothes!) and rubs over it.

I rise back up onto my knees and he pulls down my pajama pants and panties slowly, caressing my skin as he does so, leaving wakes of shivers behind his fingers. He pauses to study my pierced belly button, then the triangle of hair on my mound, then he kisses my stomach. Then he wraps his arms around me and spins me onto my back.

I give a breathless laugh and gaze up at him. His shirt hangs open, and I reach to push it back and off his shoulders. He has to pause to remove the cuff links at his wrists, which he tosses onto the nightstand, then he tugs the sleeves and it too disappears, and now we’re both completely, gloriously naked. It’s my turn to admire him above me—his lean torso, wide shoulders, and rippling muscles—as he moves between my legs. I study the tattoo on his left upper chest—what looks like a hockey team logo, a triangle with two crossed sticks and the word “Warriors.”

“Oh yes…” My body quivers in anticipation of his touch there, and when his lips meet sensitive skin, a hard shudder wracks me. “Oh God!”

He’s still moving leisurely, his lips soft on my lower lips, his tongue sliding over my flesh. I bend my leg up and rest my foot on his back, throwing one arm up over my head and sliding my other hand into his thick, silky hair. Pleasure whips through me, every nerve ending burning. My body undulates as he licks and sucks and flicks his tongue over my clit, and I push my hand behind my head to hold it up to watch him.

So beautiful. His eyes closed, thick eyelashes on his cheeks, his mouth working magic, it’s almost unbearable. Throbbing sensations rocket through me. Then his eyes fly open and he’s staring right into mine with a blazing intensity. My heart clutches, then races. I almost can’t breathe. “I want you inside me,” I whisper. “Please. I need it.”

It’s been a long time and I can’t stand the sharp pinch of desire inside me.

He moves up over me and kisses my mouth, leaving my own taste on my lips. Then it’s my turn to flip him, although I can do it only because he lets me. With a carnal smile on his face, he grips my hips so I’m straddling him but holds me over him. “We need a condom, gorgeous.”

I bite my lip, impatience straining inside me. “Right. Right. In the drawer.” I gesture and he throws an arm out to yank open the nightstand drawer. I lean over and rummage around, emerging with a small packet. Do I do it for him? Give it to him? Beset with uncertainty, I hesitate.

His smile still sensual, his eyes warm, he plucks it from me, tears it open, and I shift to watch him expertly don it. Holy hell, that is so fucking sexy, I think I’m dying. His hands are big, his cock is enormous, his balls are full and taut, and I’m destroyed.

“Okay,” he murmurs, reaching for me again. “Come here. I want to fuck you so bad.”

“Yessssss.”

He grips his cock and finds my entrance. I’m shaking, flaming, and I lean forward and reach for the iron headboard and curl my fingers around it. He lifts his head to suck my nipples again as his cock fills me. It’s too much, but not enough. I need more…deeper. There. I lower myself onto him and he’s so deep inside me it almost hurts. And it’s still not enough. “Fuck me,” I beg him.

His hands slide down my back and curve around my ass cheeks. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard,” he groans, squeezing my butt. “Christ, you feel good. Amazing.”

I let go of the headboard and fall on top of him, finding his mouth with mine in a desperate, hungry kiss. I want him everywhere, kissing my mouth, fucking my pussy.

His hand on the back of my thigh pulls my leg higher against his side as he pumps his hips up, fucking up into me. I push up onto straight arms and match his rhythm, staring into his eyes, then rise the rest of the way to kneel. Our hands join, fingers clasping each other tightly as I bounce up and down on him, then I lean back. My hair falls behind me. He runs his palm over my abdomen, watching where we’re joined.

“Beautiful,” he rasps. “Holy shit, that’s hot…my cock sliding in and out of that sweet, tight pussy.” He holds my hips and lifts me up and down on his cock, then he jackknifes up to sit, so easily, his abs contracting. I clasp his face, we kiss again, then he falls onto his back and lifts me off him. His strength is impressive…exciting.

Our eyes still connected, I turn over onto my back, holding my hair behind my head, and I smile at him. I’ve never felt so confident during sex, so unconstrained. He’s athletic and strong, and the way he looks at me makes me feel desirable. Powerful.

He kneels between my legs, kisses me slowly over my stomach, my nipples, then my mouth, slow, clinging, erotic kisses. I reach between us for his cock, rub it over my wet pussy, then guide him back inside. He kisses the side of my neck as he moves, thrusting in, gliding out, fucking me with dirty sweetness. His cock sliding over nerve endings inside me has sensations mingling with the feel of him rubbing on my clit. Pleasure grows inside me, swelling big and hot, coiling tight. I slide my hands from his head down his sleek back to his amazing ass, so firmly muscled, feeling it flex as he fucks me. He plants his fist into the bed and drives into me harder. “I’m so close…” I gasp. “I just need…” I find my clit with my fingertips and in seconds that coiling heat twists up into a sharp, exquisite point that shatters and detonates splinters of heat through my body.

He muffles a shout into the pillow as he comes too, his body tensing, his cock pulsing inside me. I hold onto him through it, my own body still quivering and sensitive. I’m wrecked. Maybe forever.

Chapter 12

Easton

“I need to get rid of the condom.”

“The bathroom’s right over there,” Lilly mumbles.

“I can’t move. I can’t feel my legs.”

Her head snaps up. “What?”

I grin lazily and close my eyes. “It was totally worth it, though.”

After a couple of beats she starts giggling. “Oh my God.” She drops her forehead to my chest.

I squeeze her ass and laugh too, and then we’re both laughing. I wrap my arms around her and hug her. Fuck. Post-orgasmic and laughing…it’s the best kind of high. Addictive.

When our bodies stop shaking with laughter, I ease her to my side. I don’t want to let go but I really do have to get rid of the condom. I slide out of bed.

It’s only a few steps across the small room to her bathroom, which is compact and quirky, like her bedroom. It’s been remodeled, but I’d bet the marble hexagon tiles on the floor and white subway tiles going halfway up the wall are original. The upper half of the walls is painted a pale gray and a big, old-fashioned medicine cabinet framed in substantial white molding matches the trim around a small window and the door. An open shelving unit holds thick, gray folded towels, baskets of toiletries, candles, and a few little plants. And on one wall, a vintage-looking sign says, “Take a bath, you dirty girl.” I grin as I dispose of the rubber and wash my hands, then return to the bedroom.

Otis has lifted his head and watches me walk toward the bed. I hold my hand up in a “stay” gesture.

Lilly has moved beneath the covers and I slide in there with her, pulling her close. “Just tell me you didn’t do that because you feel sorry for me.”

She snorts, still on the edge of laughter. “Yeah, right.”

“I have to admit, I do feel better.”

“Well, that’s good. So do I.”

I chuckle again. “You know what they say.”

“Um…what?”

“An orgasm a day keeps the worries away.”

“Oh! That’s been my problem! Not enough orgasms!” We both shift to look into each other’s eyes, my smile reflected in hers.

“Hey, me too.”

“Oh, come on. I’ve seen the gossip about you. You’re a puck bunny stud muffin.”

Another laugh bursts from my chest. “A what?”

She giggles again too, fingers teasing through the hair on my chest. “I don’t think you’re lacking orgasms.”

“Phhhht. The only ones I’ve had lately have been from my own hand.”

Her smile wanes. “Really?”

I hold her gaze steadily. “Yeah.”

“Same.” Her teeth sink into her lush bottom lip. “For a long time, actually.”

I stroke her hair off her face. “Maybe this is what we both need.”

She blinks, and the corners of her mouth twitch up. “Maybe so.”

“Sometimes you need a good hug. Or someone to tell you it’s going to be okay. Or hot sex so mind-blowing you can’t remember what your problems even are.”

She collapses into laughter again. “Yes.”

“This doesn’t change anything. If you’re worried about that.”

She peers up at me. “Okay.”

“I know you didn’t think this would be a good idea. What changed your mind?”

“I, uh, didn’t really change my mind. But you’re really, really attractive…”

I grin.

“And you were here and I felt…you know…things…”

“Turned on?”

She closes her eyes. “Oh my God, yes.”

“Good, good.” A smug pleasure fills me. “I was turned on too.”

“I still don’t know why. I was wearing my fugliest clothes.”

“I love that word.”

“Fugly?”

“Yeah. Fucking ugly. I like to combine words, too.”

“You’re weird.”

I laugh. “Whatever. You’re hot no matter what you wear. You’re especially hot wearing nothing.” I sweep a hand over the bare curve of her hip.

“Okay. So. We slept together.”

“So far no sleeping has occurred.”

She pushes at my chest. “Okay, we banged. I just want you to know that I’m not looking for a boyfriend. I have shit going on in my life and a relationship doesn’t fit in with that. But I was definitely horny.” She meets my eyes.

“Are you saying you used me for sex?” I’m not really sure how I feel about that. I love sex. And I definitely love sex with her. I’m also perfectly aware that a lot of women have slept with me because of who I am. And I’m sure as hell not looking for a relationship either. So I’m not sure why this unsettles me.

“Are you saying you didn’t want it?”

“Hell, no!” That’s the last thing I want her to think.

“Then it was mutually…beneficial.”

“Huh.” Okay, that’s true. “Okay. Orgasms are definitely beneficial.”

She laughs softly.

“And you know the only thing better than an orgasm?” I roll her beneath me and prop myself on my elbows above her.

“What?” She stares at me, her lips curved into the sexiest smile I’ve ever seen.

“Another one.”

“Ohhh.” Her eyes fall closed and I dip my head to nibble at her shoulder. I kiss my way down to her tits and bury my face between them again. My new favorite place to be. “Your tits are spectacular,” I mumble.

Her fingers thread through my hair, which sends tingles down my spine. “Thank you.”

“I could stay here forever.” I kiss the soft curves, nip with my lips, then slide my tongue over her skin.

She lets out a soft sigh, holding me to her breasts.

I find a nipple and suck, loving how her back arches and her breath hitches, loving how her flesh tightens into a stiff peak in my mouth. I squeeze her other tit, then capture that nipple between thumb and forefinger to tweak it, pinch it. A low moan leaks from her lips and her hips lift against me. I’m so fucking glad she loves to have her tits played with because did I mention this is my new favorite place?

I play there for a while, and she’s rocking her hips up against me in a way that tells me she’s as horny as I am. My dick is hard again; actually, I don’t think I ever got soft. It’s been a while since I’ve been this hongry—that’s hungry and horny—and I’m raring to go again already.

Watching her ride me like that was my own personal porn movie. Watching my cock slide in and out of her pretty pussy, watching her amazing tits bounce, watching her watch me with lust-glazed eyes…holy hell. She’s so honest and real about what she wants and likes, not afraid to take pleasure in her sexuality and enjoy things. It was so freakin’ hot, I was completely lost in it, every cell in my body lit up and sizzling. I want that again.

I turn away from her briefly to find another condom in the still-open drawer and quickly suit up. Then I roll her onto her stomach, nudge her legs apart, and kneel between them. Gripping her hips, I bend and bury my face between her thighs. God, she’s so wet and sweet. I loved the taste of her I had earlier, and I glide my tongue over soft, plump flesh. She moans and arches her back to give me more access. I grip her ass cheeks and squeeze, licking and sucking, and Jesus, maybe this is my new favorite place. The soft sounds of her panting and whimpering make my cock hard as a goalpost.

She’s all wet and slippery, and I lick my way up her back, dropping openmouthed kisses along the curve of her spine until I’m on top of her and my throbbing dick is sliding against her pussy. I move my hips, rubbing back and forth over slick flesh. I need to be inside her, feeling that tight glove around my cock.

“Do it,” she murmurs.

I move my legs outside of hers, bring her hair back over one shoulder, her face turned to the side, and I nuzzle her ear and cheek as the head of my cock finds her entrance.

She lets out a long sigh of pleasure as I press into her, sliding easily with all her wetness lubing the condom and smoothing the way. I bring my knees higher and wider for better purchase, my chest grazing her back, and I band one arm beneath her and cup her breast as I thrust into her. “How’s that?” I murmur against her ear. “Deep enough?”

“Oh yessss.”

“Hard enough?”

“Harder is good…”

I drive deeper, rocking my hips against that fantastic firm ass. “Good?”

“So good. Oh my God, fuck me…that’s…so…good. So deep…I feel you so deep inside me.”

“Wanna make you come again.” I slide a hand down over her flat stomach and lower, between her thighs. She shudders when I brush over her clit. “I want to feel your pussy come all around me again. That was fucking amazing.”

“Amazing…” Her voice is a bare breath, her eyes squeezed shut. My fingers moving on her, pressure builds inside me, hot and hard, but I’m holding off…Christ, it’s so hard, my orgasm building, my spine tensing…then she lets out a wail, turning her mouth into the pillow to stop the sound, her body taut beneath me, her pussy ripping around me. And I let go, with three fast thrusts, ecstasy erupting and spilling into her in hard, hot pulses.

I collapse over her, trying to take my weight on my elbows, my heart hammering in my chest hard enough that she probably feels it too. I inhale the scent of her hair, trying to slow my breathing. “Jesus.”

“I can’t believe I came again that soon,” she pants.

“I can’t believe I came that hard again that soon.”

“Don’t be offended, but I’m probably gonna fall asleep.”

I huff out a laugh. “That good, huh?”

She lifts her ass against my groin. “Don’t get all cocky. I always fall asleep after an orgasm.”

I kiss her shoulder, then ease slowly out of her, reaching down to hold the condom in place. After another trip to the bathroom, I find her buried under the bed covers and I slide under them next to her. I hope it’s okay.

She’s already asleep.

I smile as I tuck her against me. I could use some sleep too, my body contented and lax, my mind muddled and happy. Sex is awesome. And sex with Lilly is…fawesome. That’s fucking awesome.

—

The morning after. Should I stay or should I go? Jesus. Could I come up with any more song titles? How about “One Awkward Morning” with apologies to Casting Crowns? “Danger Zone.” “Send Me on My Way” by Rusted Root.

“What are you smiling about?”

I turn in bed to survey Lilly. “You’re awake.”

“I am.”

We lie on our sides, looking at each other. I reach out to smooth her hair, which is a tangled mess but still gorgeous. Her face is soft and pretty. Is that a hint of beard burn on her chin? Yikes. “I was telling myself jokes.”

Her smile broadens. “Do you do that often?”

“Actually, no.”

“Are you going to share?”

I touch my fingertips to the patch of pink skin on her jaw. “I was thinking about which song most accurately describes this moment.”

She bites her lip. “Oh. And that made you laugh?”

“Well, one of the songs was ‘Send Me on My Way’ by Rusted Root.”

Her smile fades. “Is that what you want me to do?”

“No.” I rub my thumb over her abused bottom lip. “Another was ‘Should I Stay or Should I Go.’ You tell me.”

Her eyelids lower. “Can you stay?”

“We have a day off today, so yeah.”

The smile creeps back over her mouth. “Okay, then. Stay.”

My mouth is hovering over hers and…Otis jumps on the bed and barks at us.

I heave a sigh. “Damn, dude. Very bad timing.”

Lilly laughs softly. “He needs to go out.”

“Yeah.” I throw back the covers. “I’ll take him.” I start looking for my clothes. “Shit. I only have my suit.” I pick up the pants. “Where the hell is my underwear?” I glance around the room. “Oh no.” I spot it on the rug where Otis slept. I pick up the boxer briefs to discover they are now crotchless. “Shit!”

Lilly rolls on the bed, laughing. “Oh no.”

“He ate my fucking underwear!”

“Is that the first time? Dogs love underwear.”

“I guess I don’t leave them lying on the floor at home.” I shake my head. “Commando it is.”

She’s watching me move around the room naked. It doesn’t bother me, I’m used to being naked around a lot of people in the locker room. I’m not used to someone looking at me the way she is. She looks…excited. Aroused. Damn.

“Do you want to go home to change?” she asks.

“Maybe?” I pull up my suit pants, tucking myself in before zipping up. “Come with me. We can drop off Otis and go for breakfast.”

After a beat of hesitation, she says, “Okay.”

I shove my arms into my wrinkled shirt and quickly button it, leaving it untucked, then sit on the flowered chair to put on my socks and shoes. “I’ll be right back.”

“My keys are on the table near the door. Take them so you can get back in. I’ll get dressed.”

Otis and I jog down the stairs and into the living room.

“Hi.”

I pull up short at seeing the woman on the couch. She’s sitting cross-legged, holding her phone in one hand and a mug in the other. Short, dark hair frames a petite face with big eyes and a small mouth.

She grins at me. “Easton, I believe?”

“Uh, yeah. Hi. You must be Carlin.”

“That’s me.” She sets down her mug and rises, extending a hand. “Good to meet you, finally. I’ve met Otis, of course.” She bends to rub his head. Clearly he knows her, doing his happy doggy dance around her.

“I just have to take him out.” I move toward the door.

Okay. That was slightly awkward. Then again, it could have been worse. She didn’t seem horrified or offended that I’d been there all night. So that’s good.

I grab my coat, Otis’s leash, and Lilly’s keys as she instructed and head outside. It’s bright and sunny, the air crisp. I lead Otis toward the park. Luckily I have a poop bag in my coat pocket, and I let him take care of his business then hike back to Lilly’s.

Inside, I unclip Otis and he runs and jumps on the couch beside Carlin. She grins and gives him some love. I guess I have to like someone who likes my dog. I stand uncertainly for a moment. Is it too forward to go back upstairs? Maybe I should wait here for Lilly.

“Would you like some coffee?” Carlin offers.

I’d love some, but I say, “That’s okay. We’re going out for brunch.”

“Sounds good.”

I guess I better make conversation with her while I wait, so I ask her what she does for a living and we chat until Lilly comes bouncing down the stairs, dressed in ripped jeans, a loose gray sweater that droops off one shoulder revealing enticing black lace beneath it, and short boots. “Hey! You two met.”

She looks at Carlin and a wordless exchange of information passes between them.

“Yep.” I stand. “We were just discussing that high-speed chase the other day where it turned out a dog was driving the car.”

Lilly laughs. “Get out of here.”

“True story! The guy was wasted and said he was trying to teach his dog how to drive.”

“Hmm…” Lilly sets a finger to her lips.

“Oh, come on! You can’t do that!” Carlin laughs.

“You know I love dogs.” Lilly grabs her jacket. “But yeah, that’s just stupid. See you later, Carlin.”

“Have fun.”

Out on the street I say, “Are you sure dogs can’t drive?”

She giggles. “What kind of dog was it?”

I laugh too. “I don’t know.”

“Some breeds are smarter than others.”

“But come on, they can’t reach the pedals with their paws.”

“True. The vehicle would have to be modified.”

We bump each other’s shoulders in acknowledgment of the ridiculousness of this conversation. I feel light and cheery. Unusual for me.

Once we’re at my place, I first fill Otis’s food bowl and give him fresh water. “I’m gonna have a quick shower,” I tell Lilly. I lift an eyebrow. “Want to join me?”

She purses her lips. “If I do, we’ll have to order in brunch.”

I perk up, not really expecting her to take me up on that. “DoorDash works great.”

A smile pulls her lips into a sexy curve. “Well, okay, then.” She saunters toward me.

Chapter 13

Lilly

I stand in front of Easton and he slides a finger beneath the narrow twin straps of my bralette. “This is sexy as fuck.”

“Thank you.” I look down and then up again, heat pooling low inside me.

“I want to see more of it.” He holds the hem of my sweater and slowly raises it. I lift my arms and he pulls it up and over my head, revealing the black lace bralette. His eyes darken as he studies my cleavage. “Nice.” He drapes the sweater over his shoulder and sets his hands on my waist. The contact makes me shiver.

“Come on.” He turns and leads me down the hall to his bedroom. Jesus. I’ve peeked in there, I’ll admit it, but I’ve never been inside. I look around as he leads me across the room. His bed is huge, a California king I guess, taking up a lot of space in the room. A pair of jeans and T-shirt lie on the slate gray duvet covering the bed. The walls are also gray, the trim white, a gray-and-white patterned rug atop the hardwood floor.

We step into the master bathroom—more gray and black. The shower is huge, with white and gray marble tile walls and all glass on the front. Easton opens the door to reach in to turn on the water. He sets my sweater on the counter and turns to face me as he unbuttons his shirt. I undo the button of my jeans and lower the zipper, then work them down over my hips. He watches me shimmy my hips with a hot expression. In seconds, we’re both naked and steam is rising in the shower enclosure.

He sets his hands on my hips and guides me inside the shower ahead of him.

“This is nice.” I gesture at the two shower heads, the rain one above us and the handheld one mounted on the wall.

“I love my shower.” He closes the door and moves up behind me. I feel his body heat radiating off him, and when his skin brushes mine, I tingle everywhere. “It even has a sex seat.” He waves at the small tiled bench at one end.

“I think I’d use it for shaving my legs.”

“I haven’t tried that.”

I laugh softly, tipping my head back against his shoulder. He nudges me under the warm spray of water and reaches for a bottle of bodywash in a tiled niche. With his hands soaped up, he glides them over my body. “Christ, that feels good.” He tests the weight of my breasts, then slides his hands over them. “Soapy tits are the fucking best.” He squeezes one and slips his other hand down between my legs. Sensation ricochets through my body at his touch.

I lay my hands flat on the tile wall while he plays with and nuzzles my wet hair and ear, kisses my shoulder and back. My thighs are shaking, and a melting sweetness pools low inside me.

His hand glides up from my breast to my throat, cupping it so gently and tilting my head way back so he can find my mouth with his and kiss me. I open to him immediately, letting his tongue enter my mouth and lick mine, a low moan rising in my chest. With his big, hard body pressed to my back, I nearly swoon.

We wash each other, teasing and tormenting ourselves with lingering touches in intimate places, watching each other’s faces in the haze of steam until I’m vibrating and aching with need.

“I don’t have a condom,” he groans into the side of my neck as I stroke his cock. “Want me to go…?”

“No. We can do something else.” I move to the bench and sit.

His eyelids grow heavy as he watches me prop my heels onto the bench and slip my fingers into my pussy. “Jesus.” His hand moves to his cock.

“Yes…do that.” I study his body and Christ on a bike, he’s so sexy. His wide shoulders and chest taper down to a narrow waist and hips, his abs ridges of packed muscle and his obliques a defined V. His big hand on his cock makes my pussy squeeze and ache even more. I watch him draw his hand slowly down his length and off, his cock springing up. The big muscles in his thighs bulge as he leans his upper body against the glass wall, his hips canted out, his calf muscles like sculpted stone.

I’m out of the spray of water, which is good because I don’t want to wash away the lubrication my arousal has produced. I tip my head back and sink my teeth into my bottom lip as I focus on the sensations building inside me, coiling tighter, higher, twisting inside me in a fiery spiral, my fingers moving quicker over my clit.

“That is so hot,” Easton groans.

“Yes…”

His hand moves faster, his other cupping his balls.

“I’m coming.” The orgasm seizes my body, embarrassing, inarticulate noises spilling from my mouth.

“Fuck, yeah.” Easton pushes away from the wall and takes two steps toward me, his face taut and intense, his eyes blazing. His hand pumps in a blur, and then he comes too, shouting as his cum lands on my belly. I’m dying, this is so hot, watching this.

His hand slows, giving a few final strokes to his still-hard shaft. I trail my fingers through the ejaculate on my stomach and he lets out a low, feral groan. Then he reaches out for my hands and pulls me up to standing, drawing me back under the shower of water, holding me as he rinses me, then wraps his arms around me. I grip his shoulders because my legs are still unsteady, and we sway together in our tight embrace for a few minutes as we recover.

“Holy shit,” he mumbles against my hair. He pulls back and gazes down at me, then cups my face with both hands. “You’re amazing.”

“I’m waterlogged.”

He chokes out a laugh. “Yeah. Let’s get out of here.” He cranks off the water, opens the door, and reaches out for a thick towel hanging on a hook. He wraps it around me, then helps me step out. Still naked himself, he grabs another towel and steps behind me to rub my hair with it. The sensation of gentle tugging on my scalp has lethargy running through my veins. Okay, it could be the orgasm too.

I fumble with the towel around my body to dry off as he dries himself off and follow him into the bedroom. I eye the bed longingly. Otis is curled up at one end of it. Oh hell. I’m doing it. I take a few steps and face-plant onto the mattress. It’s heaven. Firm but cushiony, the duvet poufy, and I bury my nose in it to breathe in Easton’s scent. Otis bounds up toward me and starts snuffling around my face.

With a soft laugh, Easton follows me down onto the bed. “Time for a nap, gorgeous?”

“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” I mumble.

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

He chuckles. “You’re right. Go to sleep. It’s Sunday and we don’t have to do anything. I’ll order food.”

I pull Otis up against me, close my eyes, and drift off.

—

We eat breakfast in bed—waffles with strawberry compote, bacon, and fried potatoes, washing it down with orange juice and delicious coffee. We have to lock Otis out of the room, though, because he keeps helping himself to the food. My heart breaks at the sound of him crying outside the door and I can tell Easton doesn’t like it either. Eventually, Otis goes quiet.

“Tell me about your family,” I say as I fork up a strawberry. “You said it’s just your mom back in Regina?”

His face tightens and I immediately feel his disquiet. “Yeah. That’s right.”

I wait, not wanting to push it, because I sense he’s not eager to talk about it.

“My dad and my brother died,” he says flatly. “Years ago.”

“Oh no! I’m so sorry.” My heart squeezes. “I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“It’s okay.” He looks down, his mouth a firm line. “It happened a long time ago, but it’s still…hard.”

“I’m sure.” I hesitate. “What happened?”

“It was an accident. A motor vehicle accident.”

“Oh. That’s so tragic.”

His face tightens even more, if that’s possible. “Yeah. And my mom didn’t handle it very well. She kind of had a breakdown.”

“Oh my God.” I gaze at him with my heart in my mouth, sorrow and sympathy flooding through me.

“She was in the hospital for a while, now she lives in a care home. She’s had…treatment. But she’s still not the same. She takes a lot of medication and…she’s not really with it.”

“That’s so sad.”

He shrugs. “It is what it is. I go see her at Christmas and in the summers, and I make sure she’s looked after. My Aunt Kathy—her sister—keeps me posted about how she’s doing.”

I reach out and curl my fingers around his big hand to squeeze it.

“What about your family? You mentioned your dad called the other day.”

I let him change the subject. “Yeah. From the Philippines. That’s where he is now.”

“Wow. He lives there?”

“No, he’s just traveling around. He’s having a midlife crisis.” I roll my eyes. “I guess that’s what it is anyway. He’s doing all the things he wanted to but never could.”

“Are your parents divorced?”

“Nope.” I shake my head and cut another piece of waffle. “He just left. They’re still married. Mom thinks he’ll come home to her when he’s got it out of his system. She’s just patiently waiting. Meanwhile, she’s stuck with the house and all the bills and a daughter who can’t support herself.” I laugh lightly.

“You’re working on that.”

“I am. But she doesn’t get that either. She’s the practical one in the family.”

“No brothers or sisters?”

“No.” I make a face. “Spoiled only child.”

“You’re not spoiled.”

“Oh, I am. Or was.” I let out a gusty sigh. “I didn’t realize how much until I was out of work. My family wasn’t wealthy, but we were comfortable. I had a part-time job as a teenager, and I used it for expensive makeup and cellphones and designer clothes. I got a good job right out of college and I kept spending money on those things. I didn’t have much saved up when I lost my job, and I thought I’d find something right away. I didn’t realize what a mess I was creating for myself with the lawsuit, and I was pretty bitter that I couldn’t buy new shoes and go out to clubs and spend fifteen bucks on a cocktail.” I keep my tone light, but I’m not proud of the way I was. I don’t even like talking about it, but he told me about his sad story, so what the hell. We’ve seen each other naked, might as well bare everything. “I learned some hard lessons, but it took a while.”

He’s watching me, his face relaxed again, his mouth soft. “At least you learned.”

I nod, his support bringing on a rush of warmth in my chest.

“Why did you decide to sue? What did they do that was so bad anyway?”

“Ugh. The company I worked for is a big chain of resorts and time-share properties. Lexington Resorts. They have operations all over the world. I got to travel a lot to some really gorgeous places. Anyway, they sell a lot of time-share to seniors, and when I got more involved in that side of the business, I started to see that they were using some very unethical practices. Reps were preying on older time-share owners to get them to increase their holdings and told them that the company would buy back their ownership stakes if they didn’t want them anymore. They opened credit card accounts for buyers without their knowledge or approval. They verbally told them all kinds of things that were totally different than what was in contracts, and the seniors believed everything they were told and handed over their money.” I close my eyes, remembering the devastation and heartbreak of some of those seniors. “The company set sales goals that were impossible to meet if reps were actually following policies and regulations. They were breaking laws.” I pause, that anger flaring again inside me.

“Wow.” Easton tilts his head. “That’s shitty.”

“It was awful. I saw the lives they were ruining by taking those poor seniors’ life savings, knowing they’d never see that money again.” I pause, then say regretfully, “My own grandma got sucked into it. I felt horrible. I wanted to do something about it. Only I didn’t realize how high up the corruption went. When I first approached my boss about my concerns, he brushed me off. He knew what was going on. They wanted more business and they didn’t care how they did it. Then I complained higher. And they started to retaliate against me. They said I wasn’t supporting their agenda, not being a team player.” Bitterness edges my tone.

“Shit.”

I nod. “Then I got fired.”

“Bastards.”

A quick smile pulls at my lips. “Yeah. I was pissed. At first three of my colleagues joined me in my lawsuit. But then the company settled with them and they dropped out. I was the only one left, and when they offered me a settlement, I told them I’d only take it if they changed their policies to help protect customers. They refused.”

“Wow.” He stares at me. “That takes guts.”

I lift one shoulder. “Not sure if it’s guts or stupidity. Everyone was telling me to take the money and get on with my life. Like I said, I had no idea how far they’d retaliate. They smeared my name in the hospitality business, and as soon as potential employers heard what I was doing, there was no way they’d hire me. I didn’t know how bad things would get. But…” I pull in a long breath and straighten my shoulders. “That just made me more determined to make them pay. And to try to stop them from doing it to other people.”

He moves his head slowly from side to side as if finding it hard to believe what he just heard. “That’s amazing, Lilly.”

Tension unexpectedly releases from my body, tension I wasn’t even aware had gathered while I talked. I suck on my bottom lip and hold his gaze. “Really?”

“Yeah…”

“You don’t think I’m a money-hungry troublemaker?”

His lips twitch. “Uh. No.” He tilts his head, as if thinking. “Maybe…idealistic?”

I frown. “Because I think businesses should have principles and ethics?”

He grimaces. “Of course they should. But that’s not realistic.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Oh, here we go. This is what everyone told me. ‘Get rid of those rose-colored glasses.’ ‘You can’t fix all the injustices in the world.’ I don’t want to fix all the injustices in the world, but maybe this is something I can fix.”

He sets down his fork and holds up his hands. “You’re right. And that’s not what I’m saying. I admire your principles.”

I eye him skeptically.

“Really.” He leans over and smooches my mouth. He meets my eyes. “I do.”

“Thank you. Not everyone has.”

“I get that. And I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“I also think it takes a lot of strength to do what you did. Maybe you didn’t know all the consequences, but you wanted to do the right thing.”

“Yes.” My heart is pattering wildly.

“That’s really brave.”

Oh my God, I want to toss the food aside and jump him again. He’s making me all soft and squishy inside. I drop my gaze to the plate on my lap. “Thank you,” I say again. This man’s opinion of me…matters.

At that moment, Otis makes himself heard again. We both turn toward the door, back to each other, then laugh.

“Poor Otis.” I lift my plate. “I’m done. How about you?”

We let Otis in and make a fuss over him, then move to the living room. We sit on the floor with Otis and a bag of treats, working on teaching him to sit, lie down, and stay. We hang out on Easton’s couch watching a movie, then get dressed to take Otis for a walk. My hair is frizzy and my makeup washed off in the shower, so I have to go “woke up like this,” although I have a lip gloss in my purse.

Instead of heading to the park we wander along Broadway, window-shopping on a Sunday afternoon. It’s such a relaxing, easy day. We make each other laugh, Otis entertains us, and I love seeing Easton without that edge, that cynical attitude of always expecting the worst.

I don’t want it to end.

I know it’s just sex, but even the no-sex parts of the day are fun with him.

I pop into Trader Joe’s so I can pick up a few things—I need fruit and yogurt, and I grab a couple of pre-made salads. We arrive at the corner of my street and it’s late afternoon. I pause. “I guess I should head home.”

Easton nods and we turn down my street. He’s carrying one of my bags of groceries, so he follows me inside. The apartment is empty and quiet; I guess Carlin is out. Easton sets the bag on the kitchen counter. I feel shy and awkward. How do we end this?

“So.”

He smiles. “So.”

My insides knot up. “When do I walk Otis again?” I have his schedule; I just can’t remember it right now.

“Wednesday. Home game that night.”

I won’t see him until Wednesday. Damn.

“We have a practice and team meeting tomorrow.” He pushes hair off my face in a tender gesture that eases the knots in my stomach slightly. “And I have to go read to some schoolkids in the afternoon.”

I nod. He’s a busy guy, I know. But so am I. I volunteer at Amsterdam Rescue tomorrow. I have other dogs to walk tomorrow and Wednesday. And a hair appointment Tuesday.

“I’ll text you,” he says.

I smile. “Okay.” I follow him to the door. I bend over to rub Otis’s head. “Bye, Otie. Be a good boy.” I straighten. “Good luck with your meeting tomorrow with your coach.”

His eyes cloud and the corners of his mouth tighten. “Thanks.” He leans down and brushes first a kiss over my forehead, then a long, clinging kiss on my lips.

My belly flip-flops and I want to grab him and climb him like a ladder. But I draw back slowly and smile again. “Bye.”

When he’s gone, I take off my jacket and hang it up. I bend to unzip my boots and toe them off as well. Then I cross to the couch and sit and stare into space in the silence.

Well, I wanted hot, athletic sex and I got it. Hoo boy, did I get it. My thighs are sore, my nipples sensitive, and every move that hurts reminds me of the things we did and makes my belly flip with lust. I’ll be thinking about it for the rest of the day. Probably dreaming about it tonight.

Which also makes me uneasy. I liked it all a little too much. I didn’t want Easton to go. And I shouldn’t feel like that. I know I’m setting myself up for a big disappointment if I care too much. Apparently I haven’t learned that lesson.

Chapter 14

Easton

“I’m not going to go see her.” I fold up the towels I just took out of the laundry. “I don’t need to see her when I just saw her the day before yesterday. And talked to her last night.”

Otis tips his head where he’s stretched out on my bed.

I pause, my hands still holding a towel. Who am I talking to?

I used to talk to Bryce. But I think just now, I was talking to Otis.

I sit heavily on the side of the bed and close my eyes. “I still miss you, Bryce, buddy.” I rub my chest. The ache that usually materializes there when I think of him is smaller than it used to be. I guess it’ll always be there. That’s okay. “I’m not forgetting about you,” I promise him.

Maybe I was just talking to him and Otis. Yeah.

Sometimes I think I’m crazy. Mostly I don’t care.

Anyway, I’m fighting the urge to get Otis’s leash and walk over to Lilly’s place. I fought it last night, even after she texted me to ask how my meeting with Coach went.

It didn’t go well.

Fuck, he’s an asshole.

I wish I could tell him that. But I kept my mouth shut, nodded, and agreed with him, told him I’ll do better. I won’t try for the fancy stuff, I’ll get the puck to the net, blah, blah, blah. I know that stuff, but he talks to me like I’m an imbecile.

Hockey’s too important to me to spout off at him, though. I have to make this work.

I ended up calling her to talk about it, and we stayed on the phone for nearly an hour. I don’t talk to anyone on the phone, never mind for a fucking hour.

Today was another shitty day. Apparently to punish me for my mistake the other night, Coach has taken me off the power play number one unit.

I have the second-highest goals on the team. It’s bullshit. But what am I gonna do? Throw a tantrum? Yeah, that’ll go over well. A string of curse words runs through my head, remembering the practice and team meeting earlier today.

“We’re gonna change things up,” Coach said. “Jay’s got the speed to get the puck established in the offensive zone, and we can use him down low after we get set up.”

My eyes met JBo’s and he gave the tiniest apologetic shrug. I mean, it’s not a bad plan. Coach is right about JBo’s speed.

I pile the towels up and carry them into the bathroom. It doesn’t matter. I’m still playing. That’s the important thing. I can’t let Coach’s mind games get to me; if I do, I’ll make even more mistakes out on the ice.

Fuck it. I’m going to see Lilly.

No. I can’t. I’m grouchy and pissed.

But somehow seeing her always changes that.

Oh man, I’m so screwed. I can’t get involved with her. She’s sweet and believes things are always going to work out, and I’m bitter and know things never work out. I can’t inflict my negativity on her adorable optimism. And I can’t let myself care about her, because when she disappears, she’ll be one more thing that’s taken away from me. I can’t handle that again.

I glance at my watch. Nearly five o’clock.

“Fine,” I say on a long sigh. “I’m going to text her. Maybe she’s not even home.”

I grab my phone and fire off a quick message. I busy myself with the rest of my laundry while I wait for her reply, which takes about ten minutes.

I’m just dropping off Apollo, then heading home.

I hold my phone, feeling its small weight in my palm. Then I tap in another message. How about dinner?

We’ve gone out on what I guess could be called dates, but after we had sex that first time, we basically agreed that’s what we were doing—having sex. She doesn’t want a relationship as much as I don’t, so that’s great.

Maybe I should have just asked for a booty call.

I roll my eyes. That’s not what this is about, even though I want to pretend it is.

My phone buzzes and I start. I glance down at it.

Okay, sure.

I smile. I’ll come by your place at seven.

I get a thumbs-up emoji in return.

I grin at Otis. “We better go for a walk now. I’ve got a hot date.”

—

She answers her door wearing black leggings, a big, loose blue sweater with a cowl-neck, and her usual boots. “Hi!”

“Hi.” For a moment, I’m without words. I don’t know why. She looks casual and put-together but not speech-robbing. It’s her smile that does it—wide and glowing and engaging, her eyes full of light and life.

“I’m ready.” She pulls her jacket on and picks up her purse from the small table near the door. “I feel like Otis is missing.”

“He can’t come on a date with us.”

She locks her door and slants me an amused glance. “Is that what this is?”

“Call it what you want.”

We step outside and descend the stairs to the sidewalk. “Where are we going?” She tugs the neck of her soft sweater up under her chin.

“Let’s walk up to Broadway and hail a cab. There’s a place in Hell’s Kitchen I like.”

“Okay. We can take the subway, though.”

“I’ll spring for a cab tonight.”

“That’s very generous of you.”

I laugh. “That’s me.”

Luckily we have no trouble getting a taxi which makes its way through bumper-to-bumper Manhattan traffic to the restaurant.

“I’ve never been here,” Lilly says as we get out of the car at Piccolo. “This looks fancy.” She glances down at herself.

I know what she’s thinking. “You’re fine.” I set my hand on the small of her back to enter the eatery.

I called and made a reservation right after she agreed to have dinner. This is a popular place, but I got lucky and we’re shown to a table for two. She slides onto the banquette and I take the upholstered chair opposite her.

“This is the best thing on the menu.” I read off the description of the black linguine with lobster in a spicy tomato sauce.

“That sounds amazing.”

“You order it. I’ll get something else, and we can share again.”

“Are you sure?”

It’s one of my favorite dishes in the world, but I’m sure. “Yeah.” I look over the menu. I end up ordering veal scaloppini with artichoke hearts, blue cheese, and truffles.

We also get a bottle of Sangiovese, which the waiter pours into enormous glasses.

“This is lovely.” She catches her bottom lip between her teeth. “You’ve been taking me to all these nice places and I feel guilty.”

“Why?”

Her lips now press together briefly. “I can’t afford places like this these days.”

I don’t want to dismiss her feelings, but she really doesn’t need to feel guilty. I also don’t want to sound like I’m bragging about how much money I have. “Next time, you pay.”

One corner of her mouth hooks up in a wry smile. “Okay. Can’t wait to take you to McDonald’s!”

I laugh. “That’d be fine with me. I love a Big Mac.”

Lilly sips her wine, then holds up her glass. “I feel like we should be celebrating something.”

“More like drowning my sorrows.” I make a face.

“Uh-oh.” Her eyes soften. “What?”

I tell her about the power play and Coach’s dick move.

She bites her lip. “Is it possible it’s justified?”

“No!” I lower my voice. “No. I know I screwed up last game, but I don’t deserve that. It’s not like I haven’t been scoring.”

“Okay then, he’s just a twatwaffle.”

I choke on a laugh.

She leans closer across the table. “You’ve heard of karma?”

“Yeah.”

She nods knowingly. “He’ll get his.”

“Fuck, I hope so. I hope I can survive until it happens.”

“Does it make you that miserable?” She sips her wine.

“I try not to let it. I don’t want it to mess with my head and make things even worse. I just get so…furious. It’s frustrating. I hate feeling like I have no control.”

“You do have control. You always have choices.”

I frown.

“But there are consequences, of course. As I know.” She rolls her eyes.

She does know. And I know too, that’s why I try to keep my mouth shut. “I tried to defend myself yesterday when we had our meeting, but he obviously didn’t like that.”

“I’m sorry.” Sympathy shadows her eyes and she reaches for my hand. “It sucks. You’re one of the best hockey players in the world, doing what you love, and you should be happy about what you’ve accomplished.”

My forehead creases. “Do I sound ungrateful?”

“No! That’s not what I meant. I meant it’s a shame that you’re in a situation like this.” She bites her lip. “Would you want to be traded again?”

I close my eyes. “I can’t do that. They were happy to get rid of me in Vancouver. If I ask for another trade, my reputation will be shit.” More than it already is.

“I understand.”

I meet her eyes and it occurs to me that she totally understands…because she’s been through this. She knows what it’s like to try to do your best and do the right thing and be criticized for it. To be unfairly accused of not being a team player, when the truth is she was trying to be the best team player.

The pressure in my chest eases and I relax my spine. “I know you do,” I say quietly. “Thanks for understanding.”

She nods, a small smile on her lips. “I do.”

—

I’m determined to play my ass off in Wednesday night’s game against Washington. Call me spiteful, but I want to show everyone that Coach’s decision was bullshit. I’m aware that I should be playing my ass off every game, and dammit, I do, but tonight it’s even more important. Then I stop and think about Lilly’s question. Is it possible it’s justified?

Is this Coach’s way of getting me to play better?

I ask Cookie that on the subway ride home.

He gives me a weird look. “You weren’t playing bad, though. Seriously. Look at all the stats—your points, your plus/minus, Corsi, Fenwick, shooting percentage…”

I nod slowly. I’ve doubted myself in lots of ways, especially since Bryce and Dad died and Mom didn’t care enough about me to even try to keep going. But I’ve never doubted my hockey skills. Before the accident, I knew I was going to get drafted, and after the accident that was all I had left to focus on. I may have made my career more difficult because of always feeling like things are too good to be true and I’m going to get whacked so I might as well hit first, but that has nothing to do with my ability to play hockey.

“Yeah,” I agree slowly.

“I mean, nobody’s perfect and we can always do better. But you’re one of the hardest-working guys on the team.”

Right now, it means a lot to me to hear that. “Thanks.”

“He’s an asshole,” Cookie says glumly. “We all know it. And tonight, do we score any power play goals? No. None. Zip.” He shakes his head in disgust. “Red’s just not strong enough in front of the net.”

I nod. We both love the guy, but it’s true.

“Coach’s stupid decisions are making us a worse team,” Cookie adds.

“That’s just not right.” I blow out a breath and glance around to make sure no one is in earshot of our discussion. “You’d think Mr. Julian sees that. How does Coach keep his job? Aren’t we supposed to focus on winning?”

“I know. I don’t get it.”

I shake my head. “Glad I’m not the only one feeling this way.”

“Nah, you’re not.”

The loss tonight feels shitty. As Cookie and I walk along 66th Street, I think about Lilly. Once again, I feel a visceral need to see her. She sent me her usual picture of Otis when she left him after his walk. Just seeing that text from her made me smile. I wish she was waiting for me in my apartment along with the mutt. But at least I have my dog. I’ll take him out for a walk and clear the frustration clouding my head.

Back out on the street with him, I consider walking to Lilly’s place. But I can’t keep doing that. I’ll see her tomorrow when I drop Otis off. We leave on a road trip to Montreal and Ottawa.

Instead, I text her when I get home. Thanks for the pic of Otis. See you tomorrow morning.

Yep!

Are you in bed?

Yes. Why?

I’m in my bed too.

I wait, then add another line. One of us is in the wrong place.

She replies:

Then she sends another message. Are you okay after the loss?

I’m pissed as hell. We could’ve done better.

I was afraid of that.

It’s okay. Your sexiness is distracting me from my anger.

You can’t even see me.

I’m thinking about you.

Oh yeah?

Yeah. If you could read my mind, you’d be having an orgasm.

Maybe I am having an orgasm…because I’ve been thinking about you.

Lilly…fuck.

I wish.

I groan. Maybe sexting was a bad idea.

—

I drop off Otis in the morning, on my way to the airport. Poor Otis. As usual he’s a roller coaster of emotions—overjoyed to see Lilly, then crying when I leave. I know he’ll be fine; Lilly keeps me very well informed about all his activities, including pooping. She even sends little video clips. If she does that for all her clients, she must be popular. She knows how hard it is for people to leave their dogs, I guess.

“We get back around one in the morning Sunday,” I tell her. “Is that too late to pick him up?”

“That’s way past my bedtime.”

She’s teasing me.

“Okay,” I say. “Here’s an idea. How about you stay over at my place Saturday night? I’ll try not to wake you up when I get home.”

Her eyes widen. “Um, really?”

I lean in closer until our noses are almost touching. “I mean, I could wake you up. If you wanted.”

I love the smile that curves her lips. “Well, normally I don’t like having my sleep interrupted, but I might make an exception for you. But maybe you’ll be tired after your trip.”

“Never too tired for you, babe.” I move that last inch and brush my mouth over hers. “Sleep in my bed.”

She swallows. “Okay.”

“Take care of the pooch.”

“I will. Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

—

We squeak out a win in Ottawa, four–three, then move on to Montreal. This is a big game, not necessarily because of the standings, but because it’s Saturday night in Montreal, which is probably the craziest hockey city in the world, and which means hockey night in Canada and tons of media attention.

Which is perfect for one of my most humiliating hockey moments.

It’s late in the third period, and we’re down a goal and trying to tie it up. We’re going hard to the Montreal net, but they get the puck on a rebound and take it back. In front of our net, Jammer and I are trying to cover Montreal’s leading scorer, Grekov, when Jammer goes down, taking me with him. What the fuck?

I look down and see that my skate lace is caught in the guard on the back of Jammer’s skate. As I see this, as we’re both lying on the ice, Grekov is totally open and scoops up the puck, firing it past Gunner.

I close my eyes.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Jammer curses. “What is happening?”

The hometown crowd is on their feet, cheering wildly, Montreal players celebrating. I look over at Gunner, who had no chance on that goal, and he slams his stick against the goalpost. I don’t blame him.

Jammer and I are still tangled up and I have to loosen my lace from his skate to be able to stand up and skate to the bench. Jesus fuck.

I don’t play at all the remaining four minutes of the game. I can practically see the steam coming out of Coach’s ears. Maybe he’ll have a heart attack. I’m going to hell for thinking that, but it would take the attention off me. I know this is not going to go well.

And Jammer. He’s more of a target for Coach than I am. Fuck.

The horn sounds and we all trudge back to the dressing room. The mood is heavy and my gut is a mass of knots, waiting for what whooping Coach is about to deliver on our ass. I can handle it. It was an accident, a fluke, a one-in-a-million stupid thing to happen. He can blame us for it, but everyone knows it was just shitty luck.

As expected, Coach is irate and Jammer and I are in his focus. “What the fuck was that?” he yells. “You left their top scorer open right in front of our net!”

Jammer and I exchange glances. He doesn’t realize what exactly happened?

“It was a freak accident,” I start. “My—”

“Freak accident?” He glares at me. “It was fucking garbage defense!” His head swivels to direct his glower at Jammer. “What were you thinking?”

“Coach, my skate lace—” I try again.

“I’m talking!” he yells.

“Well, maybe you should listen!” I yell back. Immediately I know that was the wrong thing to do.

He hurls his clipboard at me.

I duck, even though it doesn’t come that close and it crashes off the wooden stall.

Silence thickens the air in the room.

Coach storms out and we all bow our heads, not wanting to look at each other. I’m not on the list to talk to the media, thank God, so I yank off my skates and my equipment, handing it over to Tommy, the equipment assistant. Then I hit the showers. I should cool down on the bike and stretch but I’m way too wound up to do that. I just want to get the fuck out of here.

The bus is waiting for us in the tunnel. We’re going straight to the airport from here. I find a seat at the back in the dark and slouch down in the seat. I can’t think—everything in my brain feels stuck. A giant band is tightening around my chest and I’m sweating even after my shower.

Gradually other guys board the bus. Normally there’d be a lot of noise—trash talk and laughter, even after a loss. But tonight, things are quiet.

Cookie slides into the seat across the aisle from me. “You okay?”

I give him a look, then slide my gaze back to the window. Outside, there’s lots of activity. The equipment guys are loading up the luggage compartment and various arena staff are running around.

“Talk later,” Cookie says.

I nod half-heartedly.

It takes a while for everyone to show up since there were a lot of media interviews scheduled for guys like Bergie, our captain, and Nate, Murph, and Gunner, who played outstandingly, even though we lost. I can only imagine the tirade Coach went on when they interviewed him.

With a reasonable man as coach, he’d watch the video of what happened and see it as the fluke it was, then shake his head, say “shit happens” and maybe even apologize to me. But I know that won’t happen.

Then we’re on the road to the airport. I avoid Coach while we go through the expedited customs process we have in place and board the plane, taking a seat at the back of the aircraft. Everyone seems to know to leave me alone. I guess I’m giving off a strong say-one-word-to-me-and-you-die vibe.

I haven’t even checked my phone, so I pull it out and see Lilly’s texts with pictures of Otis. These barely bring a smile to my face. I messaged her earlier today to make sure she was staying at my place tonight. Now I’m questioning if that’s a good idea. I’m in a fucking savage mood.

The flight’s about an hour and a half. With my duffel bag in tow, I go straight to my car—we leave them at the private terminal when we travel—and head home. I drive down the ramp into the parking garage beneath my building and take the elevator to my floor. I feel like a zombie, shut down and operating on autopilot.

Until I walk into my apartment.

I’m greeted by an ecstatic Otis throwing himself at me. And when I look up after giving him some love, I see Lilly standing in the door of my bedroom at the end of the short hall. She’s leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, a smile on her face as she watches us. I take in her attire—holy crap.

She’s wearing a nightshirt, the old-fashioned kind that buttons up the front, but only a few buttons are fastened. It hits the top of her thighs, but in the opening caused by her cocked hip I can glimpse a tiny pair of peach-colored panties that match the peach floral print of the shirt. Her long legs are bare, down to her polished toes.

Tension melts out of my muscles, only to be replaced with a new kind of tension as all my blood flows to my southern region. I slowly stand, Otis still bouncing around, and shed my overcoat, letting it fall to the floor. I walk toward her. “I’m so glad you’re here,” I say simply.

Her face changes, softening, her eyes warming. She pushes away from the doorframe and takes a step toward me, opening her arms and I walk into them. I wrap her up in a tight hug, burying my face in her hair, and we stand like that for I don’t know how long.

Chapter 15

Lilly

I hold on to Easton, my arms around his waist. He’s so big and hard, so strong, yet I feel his suffering. I don’t know what happened after the game, and I’ve been hoping he’s okay, but now I know…he’s not.

If this is because of his coach, I am going to go to the arena or wherever they are tomorrow, find a hockey stick, and smack that asshole in the face.

I feel Easton’s harsh breathing against my hair, feel the vibrations of his body as he fights to control his emotions. His pain is an ache in my belly.

After a while, I draw back. I tip my head back to look at his face. “It’s okay,” I say, even though I don’t know that it is. “Come to bed.”

I lead him into his bedroom. I was already in bed, but I wasn’t asleep, I was reading. The lamp next to the bed shines softly, and I take hold of the knot of his tie and gently tug. I slide the silk fabric out from under his collar and toss it onto the chair, then start working the buttons of his dress shirt open. While I do that, he removes his suit jacket and toes off his shoes.

It’s a slow undressing, tugging his shirt out from his pants and pushing it back off his shoulders, kissing his tattoo as I undo his leather belt and then the button and fly. The suit trousers drop to the floor and he steps out of them, bending and lifting each foot to shuck his socks. My gaze is drawn to a big purple mark on his left hip. A soft sound of dismay falls from my lips as I so gently touch my fingertips to it. “Are you hurt?”

“It’s just a bruise.”

I run my hands over his hips in his formfitting black boxer briefs, squeezing the square, masculine bones of his pelvis, then sliding around back to cup his muscular butt.

A low groan escapes his mouth as I grip those firm glutes, and he slides his hands into my hair, thumbs on my jaw, and tilts my head so he can kiss me. Our mouths meet in a fiery impact, opening, tongues sliding, devouring. I tilt my hips and press against him, thrilling at the feel of his erection against my lower belly.

“Lilly.” He groans and drags his mouth over my jaw. “I’m a mess.”

“We’re all a mess.”

“I want to be with you. But I don’t want to drag you down with me.”

“You’re not. I can handle it.” I pull back to peer into his eyes. “Maybe I can lift you up.”

His eyes fall closed, his jaw tight, and I hook my fingers into his briefs and drag them down.

His beautiful body is naked, and now he undresses me, not that there’s much to take off. His hot eyes watch his fingers as he works open the small buttons on my nightshirt, parting it to reveal my breasts. “This is hot,” he breathes, sliding it off my shoulders. “So pretty. And these…” He touches my lace-edged panties. “Want them off you.”

When I’m naked too, I move to the bed. He follows me and comes down over me, fitting himself between my legs. His mouth covers mine, his tongue licks inside, and we kiss deeply, over and over, until my body is burning for him, my pussy aching and squeezing, hungry to be filled.

He slips a hand between us and drags his fingers through my slit. “Wet,” he murmurs.

“Yes.”

After he grabs a condom and puts it on, he slowly enters me, propped above me on one strong arm, his biceps bulging, his eyes fastened on me. I hold his gaze steadily, drowning in the warmth of his eyes, stripped bare by the intensity. The pressure of his cock filling me steals my breath and I bend my legs back to accept him.

Once he’s deeply seated, he bends his arm to lower himself to kiss me again, his hand tenderly cupping my face. His mouth brushes gentle kisses over my cheek and jaw and neck as his hips move slowly, sliding in and out of me with delicious friction. I curl my hand around his biceps and hold on, flames licking over my flesh. It’s simple, slow, missionary, but intimate and enthralling as he moves in and out, rocking his hips against me. I lose myself in the sensuality of it, the feel of his body against mine, inside mine, the scent of the shampoo he used after the game, the sound of his low groans. I hook my heels over the backs of his thighs, his knees spread wide.

Then he pushes up again to stare down at me, watching me. He caresses my leg from ankle to knee, pulling it higher, moving faster. Deeper. He touches his forehead to mine and our ragged breaths mingle. Tension curls inside me, squeezing, building, and when he lowers himself on top of me again, the pressure on my clit is just what I need and I let myself go, let myself fly, pure bliss taking me soaring.

“Fuck yeah,” he rasps in my ear. “Squeeze me with your pussy…that’s so fucking good, Lill, I fucking love it. You make me feel so good.”

“I love it too,” I gasp, and then it’s his turn. He groans and growls as he pumps into me, his strokes drawing out my orgasm almost painfully. His body tautens, stills, pulses inside me, and then he collapses onto me, his weight a sweet, reassuring pressure. He shifts to the side, burying his face in the side of my neck, and I open my mouth on his shoulder in a long, sweet kiss.

We both fall dead asleep after that, usual for me, but Easton must have been exhausted, I suspect both physically and mentally. When Otis makes some soft whining noises in the morning, I quickly slip out of bed to take him outside and let Easton sleep more.

Still early on Sunday morning, traffic noise from 9A is light. I see only one other person walking their dog on the grassy area across from the apartment building, then I return inside. I cross the gleaming stone floor of the lobby toward the elevator.

“Morning, Ms. Evans,” Javier greets me.

“Good morning.” I flash him a smile and prepare to pick up Otis.

“How’s Otis doing in the elevators?” Javier asks.

“Oh, he’s getting better.” I lift him with my hand beneath his back paws. “Whatever happened to him sure traumatized him.”

“It was traumatic,” Javier says. “We all thought he was gonna die.”

I pause. “It happened here?”

He nods. “Yes. This woman he was with got into the elevator and the doors closed before Otis got on. He was about to be strangled! But Mr. Millar saved him. It was pretty close. I don’t know how he managed to get the leash off.”

I blink at Javier. “Oh. Wow. I didn’t know that.” Mr. Millar didn’t tell me those details.

“I think Otis was nervous about elevators to begin with,” Javier continues. “Which was why he didn’t get into the elevator with her. But now he worships Mr. Millar.” He frowns. “Still don’t know what happened to that woman. She just took off and abandoned the dog, and she wasn’t even the owner.”

“Well, he has a good home now,” I say absently, still absorbing this new information. “Have a good day, Javier.”

“You too, Ms. Evans.”

I carry Otis into the elevator. “Nobody told me about that,” I say to him. “I knew you were traumatized somehow. I didn’t know Easton saved your life.” I kiss him between his eyes. “He’s a hero, Otis. But you already knew that.”

Easton’s still asleep, sprawled on his stomach in his huge bed. I study him for a moment, my heart tender and aching. He’s so relaxed, unlike his usual wired self. I love seeing his face peaceful, his mouth in softer lines. He saved Otis’s life, a dog he didn’t even know, and he’s never told me he did that. He’s a good man and he shouldn’t have to be going through what he is.

I close the door softly and head to the kitchen. I picked up a few things yesterday, knowing I’d be staying here last night, so I can make breakfast for us. I’m not the best cook in the world, but I make fantastic pancakes. Pancakes got me through a lot of heartache; maybe they’ll help Easton.

—

I’m getting to love these lazy Sundays hanging out in Easton’s apartment. I love the view of the river out the big windows and today, with icy flakes of snow swirling in the air, it feels cozy and warm. We eat pancakes and bacon. Go back to bed. Watch TV. Play with Otis. I ask him why he didn’t tell me how he rescued Otis.

He blows it off with a shrug. “I just did what I had to do.”

I lean over to kiss him, both of us sitting on the floor. “It sounds pretty heroic to me.”

“Oh yeah, that’s me. Big hero.” He rolls his eyes, but despite the self-deprecating words I sense that he’s pleased by my remark.

In the afternoon we bundle up and take Otis for a walk, strolling the paths at Riverside Park along the edge of the river.

He tells me about what happened after the game last night. Watching the game on TV, I didn’t realize what had occurred, but slow-motion replays showed Easton’s skate lace getting caught on his teammate’s skate. They all said it was a crazy freak thing, but it cost them a goal.

“He threw a clipboard at you?” We’re sitting on a bench, and my spine straightens with outrage. “What the hell?”

Easton grimaces and rubs his stubbled jaw. “He missed.”

“That is not the point! Jesus! I can’t believe a grown man can get away with acting like that!”

“Yeah, I know.”

“That’s assault, Easton!” I stare at him. “You have to do something about it.”

“Ha. Like what? Call the cops?”

I bite my lip. “I know hockey’s a physical sport and fighting is part of it, but that is not okay.”

“You have to be tough to play hockey.”

I shake my head. “Seriously? Stuff like that in the locker room is normal in hockey? That’s fucked up.”

“It’s not normal,” he admits. “But we have to be team players. Nobody wants to stick out by making a big thing of it. So we deal with it.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “I don’t know. It sounds like abuse to me.”

I see his frustration. He’s pissed at his coach but thinks he has to put up with that. I don’t know hockey culture, but it doesn’t sound right to me.

“When he sees the tape, he’s going to realize that it wasn’t something Jammer and I did wrong. It’ll be fine.”

I don’t think he’s as sure of that as he makes out, but I let it go.

We stop at a little dumpling place and pick up our dinner to go, carrying it back to Easton’s place to eat edamame, pork dumplings, and lo mein. And then later, Easton and Otis walk me home.

“You don’t have to come with me,” I tell him. “I’ve been walking around this neighborhood for years on my own.”

“I know. But Otis loves walks.”

The snow that was falling earlier didn’t stay on the ground, although there are a few places where the sidewalks are dusted white.

“Next week is Thanksgiving,” I say as we walk. “Do you have plans?”

“Uh, sort of. We only have one day off, Thanksgiving. Home game Wednesday night and then we’re in Boston Friday. So Gunner and Layla are doing a Thanksgiving potluck for anyone who wants to join them.”

“Oh, that’s good.”

“What about you?”

My mom invited me to go to Syracuse for Thanksgiving, but I looked at Easton’s schedule. I already knew he had an away game on Friday, and he’d need me to look after Otis, so I told her I can’t make it. I feel guilty about that because she’s on her own. So I asked her to come here. She thinks she probably won’t get time off work, though. “My mom might come here. She hasn’t let me know yet.”

“You can come to Gunner’s with me if you want.”

“Really? They wouldn’t mind?”

“Hell, no. They know you. We just have to bring food.”

I laugh. “I can do that. I’ll confirm once I know my mom’s plans.” Carlin’s going home for the full four days so I’ll be alone in the apartment if Mom doesn’t come.

At my door, he gives me a squeeze. “Did I tell you how happy I was that you were in my bed last night?”

“You told me.”

“Thanks for being there. You always…make me feel better.”

“Is that a euphemism for orgasms?”

He chuckles. “No. Although those are great. It’s just…you.” He strokes hair away from my face.

Our eyes meet. I know what he’s saying because I feel the same. It’s…him. Something about him and me, together, that makes me happy and satisfied. I’m glad I make him happy too. A warm connection stretches out between us. Then he smiles, smooches my lips, and says good night.

I shut and lock the door and turn to face Carlin.

“Wow,” she says. “What’s happening with you two?”

I glide over to the couch and sit at the opposite end from her. “I don’t know.”

“It seems good.”

“It feels good. But…” I wrinkle my nose.

“But what?”

I sigh. “Neither of us wanted a relationship, but I’m getting to know him better, and I really, really like him.”

“You thought he was a cocky jerk.”

“Ha ha. Yeah, well, he can be, but I think that’s just to hide the fact that he’s…” I stop. I almost said he’s afraid. But I don’t feel right telling Carlin that. And truthfully, I’m not sure what he’s afraid of. “He’s got issues with the team.”

“Oh.”

“It’s just that…I’m scared. If I like him too much, and then he lets me down like every other man in my life the last few years, I think I could be…really, really hurt.” I look down at my hands. “But I also feel really…excited. Like this could be something so good.”

“For what it’s worth, I like him too. The times I’ve met him. So, just take it slow.”

“Yeah.” I nod. “I’m getting ahead of myself. Just take it slow. Got it.”

Easton has home games Monday and Wednesday this week, which means I’ll see Otis but not necessarily Easton. My mom isn’t coming for Thanksgiving, so I’ll be alone, which kind of sucks, but Easton did invite me to Colton and Layla’s dinner. I let him know that Mom’s not coming, and he sends me a text message asking if I’ll stay at his place again Wednesday night. Then we can spend Thursday together, which sounds good to me.

Easton

I wasn’t called into Coach’s office for a meeting Monday. But Tuesday morning, I’m set up in the video room and told to watch tape for hours and hours. This is my punishment for what happened the other night. Even though what happened was nobody’s fault.

I go to Coach’s office to foolishly try to talk some sense into him. He’s not having it.

“Whose fault was it, then?” He leans back in his chair after I tell him it wasn’t my fault. “Jamal’s fault?”

“No!” I am not throwing my teammate under the bus, for Chrissake. “It was nobody’s fault! It was a freak accident.”

“How about the way you reacted?” Coach says. “You do not talk back to me. I expect respect in the dressing room.”

I swallow. There’s so much more I want to say. But I don’t. “Yes, sir.”

—

“It’s fudiculous.”

Lilly smiles. “Another good word.”

My smile is wry. “Yeah.”

I’ve told her what happened yesterday. We’re sitting in the back of a taxi on our way to Spyscape. It was her idea; I’ve never been there.

She’s the one who calms me. Who always makes me feel like there’s hope. I need that. I need the distraction too.

“How was your day?” I ask.

“Great! I got three calls today from potential clients. I’m meeting two of them tomorrow morning, and another one next week after the holiday weekend.”

“That’s fantastic.”

She grins. “I think they see your name and they figure if Easton Millar trusts me to walk his dog, they can too. So thank you.”

I wave a hand. “I’m sure your reputation is getting known.”

“Aw, thanks. Anyway, with the other clients I’ve gotten the last couple of weeks, I’m getting really busy!”

“That’s so good. You deserve it.”

“Penelope and I were talking the other day.”

I nod. I know Penelope is her friend at the animal shelter. She’s a dog groomer and she volunteers there too, providing grooming for the pets at the shelter.

“I told her someday I’d like to expand from just dog walking to maybe a doggie daycare. And she wants to start her own grooming business. So we thought we could maybe team up.”

“That sounds like a great idea.”

“Right? It would be perfect. We get along great, and I know she’s good with dogs.” She sighs. “We have the same ideas about what we’d want to do with the business. It’ll be a while before either of us can afford it, though.”

“Lilly.” I stop.

She tilts her head. “What?”

“I have money.”

She rolls her eyes. “I know.”

“I mean, I could help you start your doggie daycare, if you want to do that.”

Her eyes fly open. “Are you kidding me?”

“Uh…no.”

“You can’t do that!” She gives her head a violent shake. “And I don’t want that! I’ll do it on my own.”

I wince, remembering her reaction when I offered to let her use my name. “Right. I know that’s important to you.”

Her face softens. “It is. But thank you.”

At Spyscape, she wants to pay the admission for both of us, so I let her, after that conversation. We spend a few hours learning about spies and spy gadgets and doing interactive activities and we get to see James Bond’s famous Aston Martin. “I want this car,” I tell Lilly with a deep longing.

Her eyes widen. “Seriously?”

“Yes. Seriously. Okay, maybe not this exact one. I should check into dealerships.” A new car might cheer me up.

She gives me a look like I just told her I can fly. “An Aston Martin. Just like that.”

I scrunch up my face. “I, um, can afford it.”

She closes her eyes. “Of course you can.”

“Am I being a dick?” I don’t flaunt my money. I think.

She opens her eyes and shakes her head. “No. I just can’t relate.”

“Let’s not talk about money.” This never seems to go well. I get that she’s sensitive about the imbalance, even though it doesn’t bother me.

“Fine with me.”

We continue our exploration of the museum.

“This place is sick,” I tell Lilly with delight. “We need to come back here.”

She beams a gratified smile. “I’m glad you had fun.”

After, we walk to a nearby Mexican place for sangria, chips and queso, and enchiladas. We sit in the bar where there are TVs playing sports.

“Did that distract you from your worries?” Lilly asks, picking up a chip.

“Yeah. It did. For a while.” I grimace.

“That’s good.”

“I’ll be more distracted shopping for an Aston Martin.”

Her smile unravels more of the coil of tension inside me and I lean back in my chair. One of the big screen TVs on the wall is playing the Islanders versus Oilers game.

“Who are you cheering for?” Lilly asks, nodding at the TV.

“Oilers.”

“Really.” She lifts an eyebrow. “Why?”

“They’re not in our division. It’s Thanksgiving this week and that’s an important date for the playoffs.”

She leans her chin on her hand, her elbow on the table, and regards me with fascination “How so? Playoffs are months away.”

“I know, but statistically, about twelve out of the sixteen teams in playoffs spots as of American Thanksgiving will still have a playoff spot at the end of the season.”

“Huh.”

“So everyone’s looking at standings and how teams are performing as of that date.” I shrug. “It has some merit.”

“And where are you in the standings?”

“I can’t believe you don’t know that.” I shake my head in mock disappointment.

“Sorry. I like hockey, but I don’t know all the stats.”

“I’m kidding. The Islanders have a spot right now, but we don’t. So we need them to lose.”

“Ah. I see.” Her forehead pinches. “Does that mean you’re out of the playoffs?”

“Hell no.”

“But you just said—”

I grin. “Never mind that. It’s not over until it’s over.”

She laughs.

“We’re one point out of a wild card spot.” I grimace. “We can do it, but the truth is our defense is a problem.”

She listens intently and I fucking love it. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Last year we lost a few core members of our D, and—”

“That sounds really dirty.”

I pause. “Yes. Yes, it does.”

She grins. “Go on, sorry.”

“Early in the season we were scoring enough goals that our deficiencies on the blue line weren’t as obvious. And our goal tenderhas been stellar; he’s stolen so many games. But our numbers are dipping—possession rate, shooting rate. Five on five, our goals have been flat and we’re giving up way too many chances.”

“Does that mean you need to score more?”

“Well, scoring more is always good, but I think we really have to do something about our defensive shortcomings. We could still sneak into a wild card spot, but if we want any hope of surviving more than one playoff round, we need more depth.”

“Does that mean a trade?”

I shrug. “I think so. We’ve called a few guys up from the farm team, but they’re just not quite ready yet. We need someone with experience. There’s been talk…” I trail off, remembering the rumor that the Stars are looking for offensive power. And remembering who plays defense for them.

“I have faith in you.”

“Thanks.”

She tells me about one of her new dog clients, Rusty. “We were walking along Seventy-fourth and there’s a little cigar shop, which is so weird—does anyone smoke cigars anymore?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Well, the old guy who owns it saw Rusty peeing on a tree near the shop and he yelled at him. He yelled at Rusty for peeing!” She shakes her head. “Crazy. I mean, I’m a responsible dog walker. I always pick up their poop. But they pee where they pee.”

I watch her talk animatedly, gesturing with her hands, and I’m so amused and entertained, I’m just smiling like crazy. “What did you do?”

“Nothing. We just kept going. But here’s the best part.” She leans forward, eyes dancing. “The next day we went by there, Rusty saw the man, and he walked over to the same tree and lifted his leg and peed again.”

I bark out a laugh. “No!”

“Yes. And he’s done it every day since!” She sits back in her chair. “I love Rusty.”

Her smile glows, her eyes sparkle, and she tosses her hair back over her shoulder, so clearly delighted with Rusty. And I’m delighted with her.

Chapter 16

Lilly

I picked up the ingredients for a dish I plan to make to take to the potluck dinner. Thursday morning, I get busy in Easton’s kitchen. I don’t cook much, but this recipe I found on Pinterest seems easy.

I sauté chopped bacon until it’s crispy, then add some onions and garlic.

“That smells fantastic.” Easton saunters into the kitchen. He’s wearing his gray sweatpants, which I love because he doesn’t wear underwear and I can catch a glimpse of the outline of his cock. Yes, I am a dirty girl.

He steals some of the bacon which is sitting on a plate on the counter.

“Hey, don’t eat that! It’s for the potluck.”

“I have to eat it. It’s bacon. Bacon and onions.” He breathes deeply. “We could just eat that.”

“I guess we could.” I stir the onions and garlic, then check the recipe on my phone. Time to add the corn. I have a couple of big bags of frozen corn, and I open them and dump them in, then add half the bacon, salt, pepper, and red pepper flakes. The pan is pretty full, and corn spills out onto the stove. “I’m making a mess.”

“That’s okay. Thanks for doing this. I would have picked up a few bags of chips.”

I grin. “That might be better. We don’t know how this is going to turn out.”

I move the pan off the burner and turn to mix up cream cheese, milk, and some parsley I chopped up. Then I dump that into the big skillet. More mess ensues as I try to mix it all up, then turn it in to a big tinfoil casserole I purchased. I sprinkle the rest of the bacon on top and study it.

“It looks like the dog barfed it up,” I pronounce.

Easton guffaws. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Yes, it does.” I wrinkle my nose. “Oh well.”

“I’m sure it tastes good.” He goes to dig a fork into it, and I smack his hand.

“It has to bake first.” I slide it into the oven and set the timer. “We’ll see how it tastes when it’s done.”

He helps me clean up, even though I’m the one who made the big mess in the kitchen using multiple cutting boards and utensils and scattering food everywhere.

“What time are we supposed to go over there?” I ask him, wiping the counter.

“Some guys are going this afternoon to watch football. But dinner’s at six.”

“I need to go see my grandma. It’s Thanksgiving.”

He nods. I’ve told him about Grammy in the care home. “We can go there right after lunch.”

“We?” I turn to him. “You don’t have to come with me.”

He shrugs. “Why not? Grammy sounds entertaining.”

“Are you sure? You can go watch football with your friends and I’ll come later.”

He meets my eyes. “I’ll come with you.”

I bite my lip. “Okay. We can even take Otis.” I pause. “As long as you have his vaccination records.” I know he took Otis to the vet to get him checked after he decided to keep him.

“Yeah, I have that. Sounds good.”

So that’s what we do. Grammy’s happy to see Otis again, and very interested in Easton.

“Do you fight a lot?” she asks him.

“No.” He grins. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

“Well, that sounds promising.” Grammy winks at me.

I cover my face with one hand. “Oh my God.”

Then she frowns. “Does that mean puck bunnies?”

“Grammy!” I drop my hand and stare at her. “What do you know about puck bunnies?”

“I know you better not be one.” She points at me.

My eyes widen. I look at Easton.

“She’s not a puck bunny,” he says. “I had to convince her to go out with me. She didn’t think we were…what was the word? Compatible.”

I bite my lip on a smile. “Okay, I was wrong.”

Our eyes meet and hold in a loaded connection.

“Nothing wrong with liking hockey,” Grammy says. “I like it too. As long as you’re with him for the right reasons, and not just because he’s a hockey player.”

“I didn’t know you like hockey.”

“I may or may not have waited outside the Apex Center after Bears games back in the day. The old arena,” she clarifies. The Apex Center was rebuilt a few years ago.

“Grammy. You were a puck bunny!”

She laughs. “What can I say? Hockey players are hunky.”

“Hunky.” I press my fingers to my lips.

Easton pretends to preen. “I’m a hunk,” he says. “Definitely.”

Clearly, Grammy likes Easton. And most of our conversation is about hockey, if you can believe that.

“Well, she’s a cool lady,” Easton says as he holds Otis in the elevator.

“She loooooves you,” I say with an eye roll, but secretly I’m delighted. But then I have to remind myself it doesn’t matter. Shouldn’t matter. Because I’m not getting involved with Easton. Like, emotionally involved.

We stop back at Easton’s place to pick up the corn casserole I made, along with wine and beer. We debate bringing Otis to the party, but in the end agree it’s probably better not to. So we say goodbye to him and leave his sad face to walk down Riverside to the building where Colton and Layla live. It’s just as nice as Easton’s, but their view from the twentieth floor is of the city looking toward Central Park.

I’m excited and nervous about meeting Easton’s teammates. He talks about them all the time. I met Owen Cooke briefly one day at Easton’s, and I know Colton and Layla of course, but I don’t know anyone else.

Loki greets me ecstatically, which is so nice. I give him pets and rubs while Easton says hi to Colton. We carry our food and booze over to the kitchen, where a buffet is being set up on the island. On one side of the kitchen, a modern hutch holds bottles, glasses, and an ice bucket.

“What would you like to drink?” Colton asks.

I soon have a glass of wine in hand. “This will need to be heated up before we eat,” I tell Layla, gesturing at my big casserole.

“Not a problem.” She picks up her own glass. She’s gorgeous—a freakin’ Victoria’s Secret model, literally—tall, slender, with long, wavy dark blond hair, high cheekbones, and full lips. “I’m glad you came.”

“Thanks for having me.”

I have one of those moments I have from time to time with Easton, like when he said he wants to buy an Aston Martin—what the hell am I doing here with these people? I do not fit in at all. But Layla is so nice and friendly, and I try to relax.

Easton beckons to me from the living room, where all the seats are filled with people watching a giant television playing a football game. I move to his side. “Everyone, this is Lilly. Lilly…” He waves a hand. “Everyone.”

I laugh and lift a hand in greeting. “Hi, everyone. However will I remember all your names?”

Eason nudges me. “That’s why I didn’t bother with all the names. There’s too many. You’ll get them eventually.”

“You know me.” Owen waves a hand from a couch.

“Yes.” I smile.

We sit on the floor, leaning against the floor-to-ceiling windows. As we watch the game, Easton mentions names of the players there, along with a few wives and girlfriends. Some are cheering for the Falcons, and others the Saints, which makes for a lot of noise and good-natured insults.

I watch the Saints get first down and pump a fist into the air.

“Wait.” Easton stares at me. “You’re cheering for New Orleans?”

“Of course! Aren’t you?”

He laughs. “I actually don’t care. I like football, but I never got invested in American football.”

“American as opposed to…?”

“Canadian. CFL. A much more exciting game.”

“What?” Now it’s my turn to stare in shock.

He laughs. “The field is bigger and the end zones are deeper, so there’s room to run more stunt plays.” He shrugs. “Also, another player on the field means more options for the quarterback and one more guy for the defense to track.”

I blink. “Huh.”

“I think it allows for more creativity on both sides of the ball. Just my opinion. And three downs means more offensive aggression is necessary, which usually means more passing and a lot less settling for plays that might only get you a couple yards. That means a more pass-and-kick-oriented game since there are fewer downs available for short-yardage running plays.”

I purse my lips. “Really.”

“The kicking rules are different too.” He lifts his beer to his lips and drinks. “In Canadian football, there’s no fair catch rule.”

“Whereas in American football, if a kick returner thinks he won’t be able to advance the ball after recovery, he can signal for a fair catch and be immune from contact.”

He looks at me with admiration lighting his eyes. “Yeah. And in Canadian football, no player on the kicking team except the kicker and any players behind him on the field can be within five yards of the ball unless it’s been touched by an opponent.”

“I did not know this.”

He shrugs. “Not many Americans watch Canadian football.”

After a while, I go help Layla in the kitchen, along with another woman I learn is Charlotte, who is here with Ryker Murphy, a Bears center. Also helping us is Igor Barbashev and his wife, Nadia, who tell me, in their Russian accents, that they don’t really like football so they’d rather help in the kitchen.

We heat up food and arrange platters and bowls on the island. “There’s enough food here for the whole team,” I say.

Layla laughs. “You can never have too much Thanksgiving food.”

She even roasted a turkey, which Igor carves and arranges on a platter.

Everyone helps themselves, loading up plates and sitting in various places around the apartment. Easton and I snag seats at the dining room table and dig in. I notice he has a huge serving of the corn casserole I made, and my heart bumps.

“This is really good,” he says, after tasting it.

“Thankfully it tastes okay, because it doesn’t look very appetizing.” I tasted it myself at home—oops, I mean at Easton’s place—before bringing it here. If it was horrible it would have gone in the garbage and we would have stopped at the Superette on the way here for bags of chips.

“It looks fine. It has bacon. You can’t go wrong with bacon.”

I laugh. “True.”

We chat with Igor and Nadia, and Owen and Wendel, who sit with us at the table. I love watching Easton interact with his teammates, relaxed and at ease, joking around. They even tease him about his skate lace getting caught in Jamal’s skate and Easton laughs about it. Nobody mentions their coach.

After dinner, we play a game of Never Have I Ever.

Layla explains the game to Igor and Nadia. “If you’ve done what the first player says, you have to drink.”

Igor nods and lifts his glass of vodka.

Owen goes first. “Never have I ever faked an orgasm.”

I didn’t expect this to be the sex version of the game.

I take a sip of my wine.

“Hey.” Easton nudges my shoulder. “What is that?”

“Not with you,” I assure him.

“Okay, good.”

Igor tosses back his vodka.

“No, no,” Nadia says. “You drink if you have done it.”

He meets her eyes.

“What?” Her mouth drops open.

“We talk later,” he says, grinning, to much laughter.

Nadia shakes her head.

It’s Jamal’s turn. “Never have I ever…had sex in public.”

We all watch everyone else expectantly. Then Nadia and Igor drink.

“This game. I will be…hammed,” Igor says with a laugh.

“Hammered,” Jamal corrects him, grinning.

Nadia’s turn. “Never have I ever had sex on a boat.”

Hoots of laughter greet this. I swear almost every guy here takes a drink. I shoot Easton an amused glance.

“Long time ago,” he says.

Now it’s his turn. “Never have I ever had sex with someone twice my age.”

Igor drinks.

“Oh my God!” Nadia cries.

“You Russian dog!” Owen says, laughing.

Igor shrugs and stands. “Need more vodka.”

My turn. Eeep. “Never have I ever had a threesome.”

Igor and Nadia drink, and I nearly fall over laughing. They are quite the couple! Also drinking are Owen, Colton, who gets a glare from Layla, and…Easton.

“It was a long time ago,” he says again.

“You have quite the wild past,” I say.

I have to drink as I confess to getting caught watching porn (by Carlin, so it wasn’t that bad) and after the question about anal sex, Easton whispers to me, “We’re both anal virgins.”

I slide him an amused glance. “Yes.”

“Maybe we need to get more adventurous.”

I smirk. “Maybe we do.”

“Maybe we need to leave right now.”

I shake my head, laughing.

It’s not a late night because the guys are traveling to Boston tomorrow. I’m not sure how Igor is going to play after all the vodka he’s consumed, but he actually seems fine. I myself am a wee bit tipsy and I’m glad I have Easton to hold on to as I trip down the sidewalk along Riverside in the dark.

“That was so much fun,” I say with a happy sigh. “I like your friends.”

“Good. That was fun.”

“You had a threesome, but you’ve never had anal sex?”

He laughs and tightens his arm around my waist. “Forget that.”

“Was it two women?”

“Yes. And that’s all I’m saying.”

I’m not sure how I feel about this. Intrigued…but also, ugh. “Do you want one again?”

“No.”

“Really?”

He laughs softly. “Really.”

“Maybe I want a threesome.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Maybe. Also, I may be a little bit drunk. Hey, you know what rhymes with drunk?”

“What?”

“Sex.” I jump him, wrapping my legs around him.

Luckily he’s strong, because it’s a little awkward with us both in jackets. He braces himself with a step back and slides his hands under my ass to hold me up, and he’s laughing again. “Jesus. Let’s go get some sleep. Are you going to be too hungover for morning sex?”

I snort. “I’m not as think as you drunk I am.”

He groans, lowering my feet to the sidewalk.

“I totally said that on purpose.” I give him a cheeky grin and slide my arm through his.

“Right. So I’ll take that as a no.”

“I like morning sex. Especially with you.”

We both take Otis out when we get back to his place. The fresh air has made me less tipsy. When we get into bed, I snuggle into him and touch his tattoo. “What is this ink? It looks like a hockey logo.”

His body tenses and he doesn’t reply right away. Then he clears his throat. “Yeah. That’s the logo for the Swift Current Warriors. I played for them when I was a teenager.”

“Oh. That’s nice.” I sense he’s waiting for more reaction from me. “Is that who you played for before the NHL?”

“Yeah.” He pauses. “You haven’t heard of them before?”

I frown a little, my fingers still tracing the tattoo. “No. Why?”

He shifts on the bed, tucking me against him, my back to his front, his arm wrapped around my middle. “They were in the news a lot…eight years ago. There was an accident with the team bus.”

An accident.

His brother and his dad died in a motor vehicle accident.

I start to turn, but he holds me in place with his strong arms, like he doesn’t want to face me. “Was that the accident you lost your brother and your dad in?”

“Yeah.” He coughs. “I was on the bus too. We were on our way to Medicine Hat for a game. It was winter and the roads were bad. A semi slid through a stop sign and T-boned us on the highway.”

My stomach churns and aches. “Oh no.” I curl my fingers around his taut forearm.

“Fourteen people died. Including Bryce and my dad. My dad was an assistant coach. Our coach also died, the bus driver died, a guy from the local radio station died, and our athletic therapist died. And nine other players.” He swallows and when he speaks again, his voice sounds like he swallowed broken glass. “Some of the other guys were hurt really bad.”

“You?”

“No.” I feel his head movement. “I mean, I had some bruises and I was sore for a while, but nothing serious.”

I close my eyes and slowly inhale. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m so sorry. That must have been a horrific experience.”

“Yes. It was.”

My insides are all knotted and twisted, my chest hot. I don’t know what to say or what to do. I knew he’d lost his dad and his brother, but not like this. And all those other people. It’s so tragic, my eyes sting with tears.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “We had such a fun night, and this is a downer.”

“It’s okay.” I squeeze his arm. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I asked about it.”

“No, it’s fine. I…I don’t like to talk about it. Or even think about it. It’s been eight years, but I still get angry about it when I think about how unfair it was, all those lives cut short. I actually don’t remember some of it, which I’m told is probably a defense mechanism. But I do remember sitting in the ditch, in the snow, in the dark, holding Bryce…he was hurt so bad and I kept trying to tell him he’d be okay. I told him Dad would find us.” His voice cracks. “I told him we’d get him to a hospital, and he’d be okay. But…he wasn’t okay. He died in the ambulance.”

“Was he older than you?”

“Yeah. He was twenty. I was eighteen. I was…going into the NHL draft that spring. Bryce never got drafted, but he was good. He loved hockey. We both did.”

“And your dad, I bet.”

“Oh yeah. He was so proud of us. And excited about me going into the draft. The rankings had me going in the first round, so he was super pumped about that.” He stops and breathes. “He never got to see it.”

“He knows.”

“Yeah. I believe he does.”

“And he’s still proud of you.”

“I wish every day they were still here.”

“Oh God. I’m sure you do.” I squeeze my eyes shut and a tear slides down my cheek.

“I lost everything that day,” he adds quietly. “I lost my mom too.”

I remember him saying that she’d had a breakdown after that. She must have been so devastated.

“I lost my team.”

“You didn’t play again?”

“No. The whole town was wrecked about what happened.”

“God.”

“And I lost my two best friends…Josh…they thought he might not make it. He did, but I…really haven’t seen him since then. He plays for the Stars now. And Hunter…he was fine, but he disappeared off the face of the earth for a year and then ended up playing college hockey. I’ve never really talked to them since.”

His voice is sad, edged with a touch of bitterness.

Another tear leaks from my eye. “I’m so sorry, Easton.”

“Yeah.” He rubs his face against my hair. “I’m sorry too.”

“Was it hard for you to play hockey? After that?”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. “No. It wasn’t. I felt like that was all I had left. I would have lost my mind if I couldn’t play hockey. But I did feel…guilty, I guess. That I could play when others couldn’t. When I got drafted, I told myself I was playing for them too.”

A piercing ache fills my chest. I squeeze his arm tighter. That’s so impressive. There is so much more to this man than I ever realized. To have come through something like that…I see now why sometimes he’s a little cynical.

It takes me a long time to fall asleep, thinking about what Easton just told me. Even when he’s breathing slowly and rhythmically, sound asleep, I’m wide awake. I keep thinking about him sitting in a dark, snowy ditch, holding his brother, and my heart breaks for him. I think about his dad, and how Easton kept thinking he’d find them. More tears dampen the pillow beneath my cheek. What an incredible tragedy for that team…all those families. And for Easton.

Chapter 17

Easton

Early in December we have a long road trip, a whole week away, playing in Vegas, Santa Monica, Long Beach, and Anaheim. It’s probably a good thing to get a little distance and make sure neither Lilly nor I are getting too caught up in things.

Since I told Lilly about the bus crash, I’ve felt like things are different between us. She now knows more about me than anyone else here in New York. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. It’s so easy being with someone who gets you, who knows all about you and likes you anyway. But it also makes me feel exposed. Like she knows my biggest weaknesses. It scares the shit out of me.

It also scares the shit out of me that I think about her all the time.

I need to take a step back. So this trip is perfect timing.

Road trips are fun, and Vegas is cool; so is California. The guys all hang out together, which is good for team building.

Of course, Lilly texts me with pictures and videos of Otis. Sounds like she’s really busy with all her new clients plus having him for a whole week, but she seems happy about that. I’m happy for her, glad that this new business is working out.

We win our first game in Vegas, which puts Coach in a good mood and things are calm. In Santa Monica, we play great, but end up losing in an overtime shoot-out. Coach isn’t happy about that, but there’s not much he can say about the quality of the game, and we get a point. So far, three out of four road trip points is pretty good.

We celebrate by going out to a hot club after the game, which I’d normally be down for. When I find myself unenthusiastic, I give myself a stern talking-to. Nothing wrong with having a little fun! So I throw myself into it, tossing back a few drinks and dancing with four different women on the dance floor, the club throbbing with music and light.

Then I feel guilty, which is stupid, because I’m not in a serious relationship with Lilly and she’s probably out with her girlfriends doing the same thing. Probably. Maybe.

We have an optional practice on Wednesday and, despite the late night and the drinks, I make myself go. I don’t want to give Coach any reason to be annoyed with me. Last night, he put me back on the first power play unit with Bergie and JBo, and I fucking scored, so he has to be happy with that and I want to keep it that way. After practice, a bunch of us hit the beach, right across from the hotel we stay at in Santa Monica, and enjoy some sun, sand, and beach volleyball. We do a little shopping, and later we go out for a seafood dinner at a restaurant near the pier.

Sometimes we put all our credit cards in a pile and get the server to pick one and that’s who pays for dinner, but tonight, we’ve decided that the first person who uses the word “dick” will be the one who pays.

I’m not cheap but I am competitive, so I’m determined not to say that word and I’m going to get someone else to say it. “Hey, Russ, what’s happening with your vasectomy?”

His head jerks back and everyone else at the table directs their attention on him.

“You’re getting a vasectomy?” Gunner says. “Whoa.”

“I’m not getting a vasectomy.” Russ glares at me.

“Wow, talk about taking one for the team,” Nate says, ignoring Russ.

“Hey,” Cookie says, smirking. “What do a Christmas tree and a man who’s had a vasectomy have in common?”

I grin at him. “What?”

“Ornamental balls.”

Everyone roars. Except Russ.

“I’m not having a vasectomy!” he shouts.

Other diners at nearby tables turn to look at us.

“Shit,” he mutters, bending his head and rubbing his red face. “I hate you guys.”

We’re all still laughing.

“Wait, I’ve got another one,” Cookie says. “If a bluebird has blue babies, a blackbird has black babies, a redbird has red babies, what kind of bird has no babies?” He pauses. “A swallow!”

This time the laughter is mixed with groans.

“So, no snip, eh?” I say to Russ.

“You said ‘eh.’ ” Cookie points at me.

He likes to bug me about my “Canadian accent.” I roll my eyes. “I can’t help it.” I turn back to Russ. “Anyway, I heard there’s going to be a global condom shortage. You better stock up.”

“What?” His eyes widen. “Seriously?”

Cookie backs me up. “I heard that too.”

“Oh, man.” Russ looks worried.

Some of the other guys believe me too. “Good thing I just bought a jumbo box,” JBo says.

I snort. “As if you need jumbo condoms.”

“Not jumbo as in size. I mean, like, a large box of them.” He scowls when he realizes I’m yanking his chain and we all laugh.

Dammit, all of that and nobody said “dick.”

A while later, Russ gets up to use the men’s room. I motion to Cookie, seated next to him. Russ left his phone sitting on the table. Cookie grins and slides it over to me. Score! He just used it and didn’t lock it.

The other guys see I’m doing something, but they don’t know what.

I find myself in Russ’s contacts and change the name to Hannah, then return the phone to the table.

Cookie tells another joke and everyone’s laughing as Russ returns.

“What’d I miss?” he asks as he takes his seat.

“This dick,” Cookie says.

Everyone roars and points at him.

“Dinner’s on you!” I’m laughing so hard.

“Well, shit.” Cookie shakes his head.

“Good, good,” Russ says, elbowing Cookie. “Thought maybe I missed something big.”

“Ha ha ha.”

I casually pick up my phone and send Russ the text I already composed. Hey honey, we need to talk. I might be pregnant.

I lift my glass of water and take a sip while watching him pick up his phone when it pings. He reads the message he thinks is from Hannah. His jaw goes slack and his face pales. He swipes a hand across his forehead and mutters, “Shit.”

I swallow my laughter. Cookie turns to Russ. “What’s up, man? You don’t look so good.”

“I…” He swallows. “Hannah says she might be pregnant.”

I slowly shake my head. “See? Shoulda had the big snip.” Then I can’t contain it any longer and burst out laughing. As does everyone else.

Russ lifts his head, looks around, and realizes he’s been had. He throws his napkin at me across the table. I catch it easily, still chortling.

If only the team could be like this all the time. We get along great. We have lots of talented players and some big chemistry. But the tension Coach creates with his temper and abuse isn’t bringing out the best in us. It pisses me off. I hate feeling so helpless to fix something that’s making me crazy.

Lilly

Carlin and I are Christmas shopping at the Columbus Circle Holiday Market, bundled up against the chill, although it’s not a bad day for December. I’ve picked out gifts for Grammy and Mom, Adriana and Maya. Maya’s Muslim and doesn’t celebrate Christmas, but the four of us have always exchanged gifts at Christmas. Next week I’m going to pop back to pick up the silver bracelet that Carlin was admiring at one of the stalls.

We stop for something to eat, piling our shopping bags beneath the table as we devour tacos. It’s getting late in the afternoon and with the overcast sky, the little white lights strung with the garlands of greenery twinkle in the low light. It’s so festive and pretty it makes me sigh with pleasure. Also, I love buying gifts for people, and this year I can buy things without the stress of feeling totally broke. I’m making small payments on my debts, so I am guilt free and enjoying picking out just the right things.

“I want to get something for Easton,” I tell Carlin. “But I haven’t come across the right thing. What do you get a guy who can go out and buy an Aston Martin?”

She makes a face. “Yikes. Right?”

I sigh. “I can’t spend much money. But I’ll keep looking.”

“So does this mean you two are serious?”

I pause. “I don’t know. We shouldn’t be. We both agreed we didn’t want a relationship. And yet…”

“It’s a relationship.”

“It feels like it,” I agree softly.

That night he told me about the bus crash changed things for me. I felt so devastated for him, for what he’d been through, and I realized how much I’m starting to care about him. Which is, a lot.

“Are you happy?”

“So happy.” It’s true. He makes me so happy. Annoyed and frustrated too at times, but I love being with him more than any other person I’ve ever known, and I want him to be happy too. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t need this. What if he’s like every other man in my life and disappears?”

Carlin nibbles her lip. “He hasn’t disappeared yet.”

“Actually, he has,” I joke. “He’s away all week on a road trip.”

“Is that a problem for you? That’s part of his life, right?”

“It is. And no, it’s not a problem. I’m joking. He hasn’t called, though. Or texted much, even.”

“He’s probably busy.”

I nod. “I’m sure he is.” I’m afraid to say out loud that I’m afraid he’s bailing on us just when I’m starting to catch serious feelings for him. “I miss him, but I’m fine. I’m busy and I’m fine.”

“So if he did disappear, you’d be okay.”

I suck briefly on my bottom lip. “Yeah.”

“You don’t sound very sure of that.”

I drop my head forward briefly. “I know. To be honest, the thought of him disappearing scares the hell out of me. And that…that’s the problem. I don’t want to have feelings for him. But it’s so hard not to.”

Carlin’s eyes soften and warm. “You’re falling in love with him.”

“Oh God.” I press my hands to my cheeks. “I am. I didn’t want to fall in love. But I am.”

“Maybe he is too. He seems to like being around you.”

“I’m his dog walker.”

“Lilly.” She tilts her head and gives me a reproving glance. “You know that’s not what it is.”

I roll my eyes. “I know.” I straighten my shoulders. “Everything is fine. You told me to take it slow, and I kind of started rolling down a hill out of control, but I can put the brakes on. Let’s go shop more.”

We come across a stall with all kinds of dog gifts. Gifts for dogs, but also for dog lovers. I pick up some handmade treats for all my doggie clients, and the most adorable New York Bears sweater for Otis, and then I spot cuff links. I noticed that some of Easton’s shirts have French cuffs and he uses cuff links.

The vendor, a girl about my age, speaks up. “We make those custom with the image of your dog on them.”

I look up at her, smiling. “Really? Can they be done by Christmas?”

“Yes, there’s still time.” She hands me a business card and we talk about dates. I can email her a photo of Otis and pick up the cuff links here.

“This is perfect,” I say to Carlin as we leave. “He’ll love cuff links with a picture of Otis on them!”

They’re more money than I planned to spend, but maybe I can sell my last Coach handbag on The RealReal. What do I need designer purses for when I walk dogs for a living?

Easton

Coach seems annoyed by our good spirits when we get on the bus to go from the hotel to the arena in San Jose. We’re feeling pretty good about our play, and a little downtime in Santa Monica has relaxed us even more. I haven’t been with the team that long, so I like spending time with the guys and getting to know them better.

“You’re loosening up around us,” Cookie says to me on the bus.

“Huh?”

He nods. “It’s good to see you laughing and letting loose a little.”

I frown. “Am I an asshole?”

He laughs. “Nah. Just snobby.”

“I’m not a snob!”

He elbows me. “Okay, not snobby. Standoffish.”

I think about that. I guess I haven’t been the friendliest guy since I got traded here. I know I had a chip on my shoulder about the trade and about life in general. I get along with most people, but I haven’t made a lot of friends since I started playing in the NHL.

“If it makes you feel any better, I was like that in Vancouver too,” I tell him.

“No wonder they traded your ass away.”

A jab like that would have had me spitting fire a few months ago. Now, I just laugh. “Yeah. So hey, thanks for talking to me even though I’m a snobby dickhead.”

He shrugs. “You have your moments. Like when Coach called Russ a little bitch and you stuck up for him. That was savage.”

Huh. My lungs expand on a satisfied breath.

I check my phone one last time before I lock it away in my locker for the game. There’s a new message and photo from Lilly showing Otis out on the sidewalk wearing a red New York Bears dog sweater. I laugh out loud. He looks ridiculous. But cute. Shaking my head, I shut the locker.

I feel good tonight. Really good. It’s one of those games where I feel light and fast, and everything clicks. JBo, Brando, and I connect for three goals—one each—in the first two periods, and Gunner is a wall, blocking every shot so far. The mood on the bench is jubilant, electric. If only it could be like this every night.

We start the third period up by three. We just need to keep playing our game, doing what we’ve been doing, shutting things down in the neutral zone.

We don’t quite succeed, though, and the Sharks get the puck down in our end. It’s behind the net and Jammer goes to get it, scooping it out. I don’t know what the fuck he was trying to do, but he sends the puck right in front of our net, and Adams, a Sharks forward, is right there. I’m watching this, racing toward Adams, but in a fraction of a second he puts the puck upstairs and behind Gunner and the goal light glows red.

Gunner never had a chance, but he’s pissed, kicking the puck out while the Sharks celebrate. Jammer’s head is down, knowing that was a brutal turnover.

Skating back to the bench, the arena is loud as the crowd cheers and the goal song plays. “It’s only one goal,” I tell Jammer, clapping him on the back. “We got this.”

He gets to the bench before me, and as I enter the gate I see Coach come up behind Jammer as he sinks onto the bench. “That was fucking bullshit!” Coach yells. And then he does something unforgivable. Two things, actually. He uses the N-word, calling Jammer stupid, and…he kicks him. In the back.

He kicks him.

A red haze creeps in from my peripheral vision and tints my vision. My blood is already pumping hard and fast in my veins from that shift, but now I think I’m going to explode. I’m a volcano, erupting, spewing molten lava. I can’t control it.

“What the fuck?” I’m still standing, staring at Coach.

He looks up at me and scowls. “You were on the ice for that travesty. Sit your ass down.”

I gape. I swallow.

JBo looks up at me from the bench. He saw it too, but he’s giving me a subtle headshake, telling me with his eyes to sit down and shut up.

I’m shaking. My face burns and my back teeth grind together. It takes every molecule of self-restraint I have to sit on the bench. My leg bounces and sweat pours off me.

What the fuck? What the fucking fuck?

My mind is buzzing, I can barely focus on the game. I can’t believe that happened. Maybe I saw it wrong. Maybe I heard it wrong.

I didn’t. It happened.

Somehow I get through the rest of the game. We win, three–one. Everyone’s all smiles and backslaps as we leave the ice and tramp back to the dressing room. Even Coach. I want to punch him in his ugly grin.

He stands in his suit in the dressing room as we all sit, sweating, in stalls. “Great win, guys,” he says. “That’s the kind of play I want to see. Every game. Every shift. Other than that goddamn turnover…” he shoots Jammer a narrow-eyed look. “Don’t play like that again.”

I don’t know what to do. My insides are writhing to the point I’m afraid I might puke.

I look over at Jammer. His mouth is a thin line, his eyes downcast as he yanks his skate laces.

Do I say something? Here? Should I talk to Coach on his own? Do nothing?

I feel it like a fist in my gut. Doing nothing is not an option. Not this time.

I stand up. “You called Jammer a racial slur.”

The room goes dead silent, including the trainers and the equipment guys.

Coach’s face doesn’t change. He regards me with an impassive expression. “Not your business, Easton. Jamal can take it up with me if he wants.”

“I’m taking it up with you. That was racist.”

“I’m not a racist!” Coach’s face reddens.

“That’s not what I said.” I keep my voice calm. “I don’t think language like that has a place here. And…you physically abused him.”

Coach says nothing, just getting redder. “We’ll discuss this later.” He stomps out of the dressing room.

I close my eyes and sit back down. Yep, I’m pretty sure my career is over.

It was a good run.

I open my eyes and see Jammer looking at me. He gives me a small smile and a nod. My gaze sweeps around the rest of the room and Wendy starts clapping. Then Jammer. Then everyone is clapping.

Heat washes down through me. My heart feels like it’s going to explode out of my chest. I swallow, my throat thick, and wave my hands. “Stop, stop.”

I rub my mouth and resume undressing.

I keep my head up as I board the bus. Coach is already there along with our assistant coach, seated at the front of the bus, and I move past them to swing into a seat. Cookie joins me.

“See,” he says. “You have your moments.”

We exchange wry smiles. “I’ll probably never play again. It was nice knowing you.” I say it jokingly, even though I’m terrified it could really be the end of my career.

He shakes his head. “Not gonna happen. You contributed to all three goals tonight.”

“Yeah.” I shrug. “I was having a great game. Until that bullshit happened.”

—

I don’t hear a word from Coach the next day, not during our practice nor after. The guys all go out Saturday night again. I tag along, but this time I can’t even force myself to have a good time. I feel a sense of impending doom but keep trying to tell myself as time passes that maybe it’ll all be fine.

Ha. I know better than that. My motto is to always expect the worst, then you’re never disappointed.

We win again on Sunday afternoon in Long Beach, although it doesn’t feel as good. We get down by two goals early and have to fight back in the third to tie it up, and when JBo scores with four minutes left in the period we’re ecstatic. But we have to hang on for those last four minutes and the Long Beach Golden Eagles throw everything they have at us. We pull it off and wow, what a road trip, seven out of eight possible points.

We get home late Sunday. I text Lilly to let her know I’m back so she can bring Otis over, as we arranged.

Fuck, I missed her.

And Otis. I missed him too.

It doesn’t take her long to walk over. I hear her come in and I head to the door. Otis scrambles across the hardwood floor toward me, his nails clicking. I grin at him, but immediately look to Lilly.

“Christ, you’re beautiful,” I say before I can stop myself.

Her mouth curves into a smile. The cold air outside has made her cheeks and nose pink. She has a black knit cap pulled over her hair and a big scarf around her neck so all I can see is her face, and damn.

“Thank you.”

I have to give Otis some attention or he’ll never leave me alone, but I just want to wrap my arms around Lilly and carry her into my bedroom and bury myself in her sweet heat. “Can you stay?”

“Yes.” She unwraps her scarf and unzips her jacket. “Have you eaten?”

“I’m starving.” I meet her eyes and she laughs softly.

Finally, Otis calms down and I can kiss Lilly, and yeah, I’m starving. Starving for the taste of her, the feel of her mouth and tongue, and her body against mine. Ravenous for her scent, and desperate to have her. It feels like she’s just as hungry, melting against me, sliding her hands into my hair, and kissing me back with the same fervor.

When we’re both panting, we lean our foreheads together. “Bed?” she whispers. “Or food?”

“Bed first.” I lead her to my room. “We’ll order food after.”

Chapter 18

Lilly

After some toe-curling, heart-pounding, soul-melting sex, then the best shishito peppers, spicy salmon tartare, and vegetable bibimbap, which is delivered from a nearby restaurant, we go back to bed and snuggle.

“Naked cuddles are the best cuddles,” I tell him, settling in against his chest, his super-soft sheets tucked around us.

“I agree.”

He tells me about the road trip, about how much fun they had, and how he felt like he really bonded with the guys. I sense there’s something more on his mind, though, and finally he gets to it and tells me what happened with Jamal.

I’m horrified, and I sit up and shift to face him, my eyes wide. “That’s terrible.”

“Yeah.” He rolls his head on the pillow. “Totally fucked up.”

I touch my fingertips to my lips, appalled on Jamal’s behalf. But also just generally sickened.

Then he tells me the rest—what he said in the dressing room. How pissed off his coach was. And I can see how distraught he is about the whole thing.

I am falling in love. I am falling like the snowflakes outside, like leaves in the autumn and petals in the summer. Like stars that you make a wish on. I know what I wish for. I wish for him.

My heart expands, warm in my chest, and my throat tightens. I lean over and touch my lips to his. “You did good,” I whisper. “I’m proud. You’re a good man.”

He makes a noise of disagreement. “I fucked up. I shouldn’t have done it in front of the whole team. Coach is pissed and I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“He can’t fire you.”

“He can trade me. Again.” Easton’s jaw tightens and he doesn’t meet my eyes. “But he can also make it so that nobody else wants me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. Other teams can see what a great player you are.”

His lips quirk, even though his eyes are still dark with worry. “I appreciate your faith in me.”

“You should have faith in yourself.” I touch his cheek. “You did the right thing.”

“It’s not going to change anything.” His tone is laced with bitterness. “He’s still going to be an asshole.”

I nod slowly. “Maybe calling him on the racist bullshit will make him think.”

“I doubt it.” He sighs. “I expect I’ll find out what’s in store for me tomorrow, now we’re home.”

Worry dries up my mouth. But I really do have faith in him. I believe in him and his talent and his honor and integrity. “It’ll be fine.” I kiss him again. “You’ll be fine. But what about Jamal?”

He closes his eyes. “He says he’s fine. He’s used to it.”

I sigh. “You have to report him, Easton.”

His eyes fly open. “What? Report him? To who?”

“I don’t know. The manager of the team? You said that’s his boss, right? Nobody can say things like that in the workplace. Not to mention actually physically attacking someone. God!” I put both my hands to my head. “I thought I was dealing with unethical crap at Lexington, but at least people weren’t kicking each other!”

“I can’t do that. I can’t go over his head.”

“But why?” I throw my hands up, my temples pulsing. “Why can’t you? Someone has to.”

His jaw tightens, his lips thinning. “No, Lilly. I can’t.”

I stare at him. “I don’t understand,” I whisper.

“I guess I’m not that big of a person.”

He is, though. I just don’t get it. But what do I know about the world of professional sports? Nothing, that’s what. Easton knows better than I do, so I let it go.

Easton

I arrive at the arena at my usual time, around four o’clock. I stick to my routine, warming up on the bike, stretching, playing some soccer with the other guys. But when I walk into the dressing room in my shorts and sandals, I stop short at seeing my stall empty. There’s no jersey hanging there like there is in the other stalls, everything lined up perfectly.

What. The. Fuck.

I can’t move for a moment, frozen in place. Then heat blasts through me like an inferno. I spin and stalk into the players’ lounge, heading to Coach’s office, but then I stop short. My breath is coming fast, my hands curled into fists. I have to calm down. I have to handle this right. There’s no fucking way he’s scratching me tonight. Is there?

What other explanation is there for no jersey hanging in my stall?

“What up, Mills?” Russ asks, sitting on a couch with a bowl of yogurt and granola.

I’m standing there like an idiot, clenching and unclenching my hands. I turn to him and give him a blank look. “I don’t know.”

“Huh?” His eyebrows pull down over his nose.

Taking a deep breath, I walk to Coach’s office and stand in the door. “Hey, Coach.”

He looks up. “Millar. Glad you’re here. You’re out tonight.”

My gut cramps up. “Why?”

He frowns. “Coach’s decision.”

I step inside his office and close the sliding door behind me. The room becomes private and soundproof. “Look, I apologize for saying what I did the other night in front of the guys.”

He arches an eyebrow.

“I should have waited and had the conversation in private.”

His eyebrow dips and joins the other over his nose.

“You kicked him,” I say quietly, holding his gaze. “That’s abuse.”

“Toughen up, buttercup.”

My fingers curl against my palms, my blood heating. “And the racial slur. That’s fucked up.”

“I told you, this isn’t your problem. You’re not playing tonight.”

I consider arguing more. For a moment, I don’t move, then I give a tight nod, turn, and leave.

In the change room, I slam open my locker door, then sit, slouched, on the bench.

I was a healthy scratch once in Vancouver, but I deserved it. I hadn’t had a point in ten games after returning from a shoulder injury. The coach scratched me to send me a message—I needed to shape up. Of course they need the players who are producing to be the ones playing.

But this? This is fucking bullshit.

I take off my T-shirt and shorts and grab my dress shirt.

“What are you doing?” Cookie joins me, wiping sweat from his face with a towel.

“Coach scratched me tonight.”

“Fuck no.” He drops to the bench, staring at me.

“Yep.” I shove my arms into the sleeves of the shirt and yank it closed around me. This is embarrassing. Frustrating. I hate feeling helpless like this, like I’m not in control of my own life. My career.

Cookie shakes his head, muttering under his breath.

I have to hold my head up, though. I haven’t done anything wrong. Other than I probably shouldn’t have confronted Coach in front of the whole team. If I was going to say something, I should have waited and done it in private. He’s the kind of guy who can’t handle any hint of challenge to his authority. That was my mistake. I don’t regret doing it, though.

Dressed in my suit, I take the elevator to the press box level along with Goose, who’s out with a strained hamstring, and Larry, who’s kind of getting dicked around—he’s been up from the AHL but hasn’t cracked the lineup yet, only they know they’ll lose him to waivers if they send him back down to the farm team, so he’s spent the last month as a healthy scratch. He’s too good for that. Another team would take him in a heartbeat.

We watch the game from up here. I hate it. I hate watching the game, not contributing. But I keep a smile on my face because I don’t want the media writing stories about me having a temper tantrum or some horseshit. You never know, and I have enough problems.

After the game, I head out right away. Cookie and JBo are going to meet me at the Hive, a tiny dive bar that won’t have a lot of fans. I need booze and lots of it.

I’ve had two whiskeys by the time they show up. I’ve shed my tie and suit jacket, since that doesn’t exactly fit in here, and they quickly do the same and order shots.

“What the fuck, man?” JBo says, draping his jacket over the back of the stool.

“I know.” I shake my head and turn the glass in my hand. “I am so fucking pissed right now.”

“Thanks for telling us that,” Cookie says.

I give him a sharp look. Is he being sarcastic?

“No, really,” he says quietly. “It would be more like you to pretend you don’t give a shit.”

He’s right. That is how I would have played this. In fact, that’s how I was playing it, up in the press box surrounded by media and knowing cameras could be on me. But here, now…with these guys…I can be real. “Yeah.” I lift my glass in a small toast. “Thanks for being here for me.”

“Sure.”

“This fucking sucks,” JBo says.

“Excuse me.” A voice speaks beside me and I turn to see a woman smiling at me. She’s cute and blond with shiny pink lips, and a couple of women behind her must be friends. “You look familiar…”

I lift an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Well, I used to do porn.”

She blinks. Blinks again. Her smile evaporates. “Oh. Um. Sorry to bother you.”

She disappears.

JBo and Cookie cover their smiles with their hands.

“Savage,” JBo says.

“That was kind of assholish,” Cookie adds mildly.

“I don’t have the patience for that shit right now.” Guilt twangs in my chest, but I ignore it.

As I order another drink, I also ignore the fact that Lilly is waiting for me at my place. I’d probably be better off going home to her and spilling my guts, but right now I just want to get trashed.

Lilly

As is becoming usual, I stay at Easton’s place after I walk Otis. It’s nice to keep Otis company, and I like seeing Easton, and yes, I like spending the night with him and waking up with him, even on days he has to get up to go to the practice facility for a practice and team meetings, or days I have to get up to walk my doggo clients.

I’m confused when they announce that Easton is a healthy scratch tonight. I’m not even sure what that means, and the announcers seem mystified by it too, citing his great play in the last few games and saying this is a “head-scratcher.” Then they show a shot of him in the press box area, leaning over the wall to watch the action on the ice below. He looks so handsome in his suit and tie, holding a water bottle in one hand. But…he’s not playing.

Then it crashes into me. His coach is punishing him.

My heart thumps hard against my breastbone and my breathing quickens as I sit there watching, thinking about this. My entire body tenses, including the hand on Otis’s back, which I have to relax.

Sweet baby Jesus and his tiny toes.

I cannot believe the coach is doing this. My impotent fury swells up inside me, hot and huge.

I keep the game on, but I can’t focus on it. Thoughts race through my head. I’m so pissed on Easton’s behalf, I can’t even think straight. Goddammit.

I shouldn’t be, but I’m a little bit glad they lose. Not for the team, they don’t deserve it, but the coach…he deserves to lose.

After the game, I get ready for bed and crawl under the covers. Otis curls up at the foot of the bed. I pick up my e-reader, but I have a hard time focusing on that too.

I check the time. It’s late. Easton should have been home by now. I hope he’s okay. I get up and find my phone to see if he texted me. Nope.

I turn out the light in the bedroom and try to sleep, but that doesn’t happen. I’ve turned over and flipped my pillow and changed position about twenty times when I finally hear the sound of the door opening. Otis leaps off the bed and scampers to greet Easton.

I take a moment, relieved he’s home safe, but also a little annoyed that he knew I was here waiting for him. But I know he likely had a rough night.

A rough night and a lot of alcohol, judging from the fumes I can smell on him as I walk down the hall toward him.

He’s crouched, greeting Otis, who is stretched on his back with a big smile on his face. He looks up, a little bleary-eyed, his smile crooked. “Hey. You’re awake.”

“Yeah.” I lean against the wall. “I couldn’t sleep.” I pause. “Are you okay?”

“I’m wasted.” He straightens, wobbling a bit, and tosses his coat into the closet without hanging it up.

I repress my eye roll. “I see that.” I move toward him. “What do you need? Food? Water? Advil?”

He reaches for me and pulls me against him. “Fucking.”

While I am down for that pretty much anytime with Easton, right now I’m not so sure. “You smell like a distillery.”

“Ugh.” He wipes his mouth. “Sorry, babe.”

“Rough night?”

“Fuck yeah.”

“Come to bed.”

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

I pause in the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge, then Easton stumbles after me down the hall. I head into the bathroom and shake a couple of tablets into my palm. He’s nearly undressed by the time I return, his clothes on the floor.

“Here. Take these.” I hand him the painkillers, and he steps out of his boxer briefs, grimaces, then washes them down.

He drops the bottle onto the nightstand and grabs me again. “C’mere.”

I let him pull me into bed and I settle in against him. But it’s not happening.

“Goddamn whiskey dick,” he mutters, his mouth on the side of my neck.

I can’t help but smile. “Damn.” I stroke his back. “It’s okay. Go to sleep, Easton.”

“Mkay.”

My heart is hurting for him, but also full of emotion. I love him, and I hate that he’s suffering. I slowly run my hand up and down his back as he dozes off. It takes me a while longer, but eventually I sleep too.

—

“Ugh.” Easton rolls over in bed to face away from me. “Pretty sure I stink.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, you kinda do.”

“Gonna shower. What time is it?”

“Eight-thirty.”

He rolls out of bed and stretches, which is magnificent. His back is to me, but I get an excellent view of his firm ass, rippled back muscles, and powerful shoulders. I sigh.

He spends a few minutes in the bathroom but Otis is whining, so I throw back the covers and drag my own ass out of the comfortable bed to take him outside. When I return, Easton is under the covers again, his hair damp, a forearm over his eyes.

“Thanks for taking him out.”

“No problem. How do you feel?”

“Eh. Not bad, actually. I took more Advil.”

“Good. What time is practice?”

“Eleven. I don’t think I’ll go.”

Even I know that’s not possible, so I ignore that. I sit on the side of the bed. “What happened last night?”

He heaves a sigh. “Fuck. I’m sure you know I didn’t play.”

“Yeah. They said you were a healthy scratch. Everyone on TV was confused. So was I.”

“So was I.” He grimaces. “Okay, no, I wasn’t. Coach is an asshole and I knew he was going to do something like this. I’ve been waiting for it.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Nothing. What can I do?”

I tip my head back, eyes closed. “Easton. You can’t go on like this.”

“I have no choice.”

“You always have choices.”

He moves his arm and meets my eyes. “No,” he clips. “I don’t.”

I swallow a sigh and reach out for his hand. I twine my fingers around his. “I hate seeing you miserable. It shouldn’t be like this. And I’m sure you’re not the only one.”

“I’m not,” he acknowledges. “But it’s not going to be me. I can’t be the one who deals with this. I can’t…”

I wait. “What?”

“I can’t take that risk.”

I study him. I look away. I look back. “I understand.”

“No. You don’t.” He pushes up to sitting. The covers fall onto his lap and he’s beautiful, his broad, muscled chest, his rounded deltoids, his handsome face scruffy and fierce.

“I do—”

“You don’t,” he grits out. “You don’t know what I’ve lost.”

I blink, my mouth falling open. Is he talking about the bus crash?

“I know,” I say softly, squeezing his hand again. “But—”

He jerks out of my grasp. His jaw is granite, his eyes flint. “You don’t. I lost everything. Everything. My dad. My brother. My team. My best friends.”

I nod slowly, my throat aching. I lift the hand he just liberated and press it, shaking, to the base of my throat.

“I even lost my mom,” he continues, his voice gritty like sand. “Because she didn’t care enough about me to try to keep going.”

My eyes widen and I flinch. Oh my God. Is that what he thinks?

“I can’t lose hockey,” he grates out.

I stare. My heart thumps.

“They traded me from Vancouver because I was a pain in the ass. I can’t be that here again. I can’t.” He meets my eyes, his blazing. “I can’t lose hockey. It’s all I have.”

I’m frozen, an ice sculpture. I can’t move. Shards of ice splinter in my chest. I swallow thickly. I’m not sure if my voice will come out if I try to speak. I swallow again, feeling it all the way in my chest. My voice emerges as a whisper. “You have me.”

Chapter 19

Easton

I’m pissed. I know that. I’m furious at Coach and right now, I’m furious at Lilly. Because she’s so optimistic and sweet and positive about life that she thinks I can do something about this. And I can’t.

She keeps saying she understands, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t know how scared I am. And I can’t tell her that, because fuck me, being this scared is weak. I can be furious, but I can’t be scared.

And I don’t have her. We both knew that this wasn’t going to be a serious relationship. Neither of us wanted that. And this is why. I don’t catch feelings for people because I know they’re going to be taken away from me eventually.

“Things don’t always work out,” I say roughly. “I know you think they do. You’ve been waiting how long for your lawsuit to make things right? It’s not going to happen.”

Staring back at me, her face crumples.

Ah, shit. I’m an asshole. “I’m not that virtuous, that I can do the right thing and expect it to all be fine. I can’t take that risk. Okay?”

She stands. Gives a tight nod. “Okay.” She walks toward the door.

I grip the duvet in both hands. Is she leaving?

She stops at the door and turns. “You know what my dad told me?”

I frown. “About what?”

“About why he up and left to travel the world all by himself. He told me that we only regret the chances we don’t take. The relationships we’re afraid to have.” Her eyes lock onto mine. “And the decisions we wait too long to make.” She lifts her chin. “He was encouraging me to start my own business. I don’t want to have regrets. I don’t regret what I did at Lexington. I don’t regret starting my own business. And I don’t regret falling in love with you.”

Her words hit me like taking a slap shot in the chest. She’s in love with me?

“Until this moment,” she continues, her voice quivering. “Because I thought I fell in love with a man who’s good and honorable and brave. But now I see you’re really just a coward. I know you’re afraid to do the right thing. And you’re afraid to have a relationship. Because we have something pretty fantastic. But I guess that doesn’t matter to you.”

My chest constricts so tight I can’t breathe. “I’m not afraid.”

“Please. You are. And there’s nothing wrong with that. We’re all afraid, Easton. Being brave isn’t the same as not being afraid. It’s just deciding…something else is more important.” She tilts her head in a way that makes me think of a queen—strong and noble and magnificent. And I feel like I’m not worthy of her. “I wish you luck. If you decide you don’t want me to look after Otis anymore, I’ll understand. Goodbye.”

I don’t move. Otis prances after her. When the apartment door closes, he whines. And I feel like doing that too. Maybe more than whine. Maybe howl. Because I feel like I just had a sharpened skate blade plunged into my heart and twisted.

She’s in love with me.

My vision darkens and narrows to a small circle as I stare across the room. My stomach churns, and it’s not the booze I drank last night.

I should have known better than to get involved with her. I ended up hurting her. Shit.

I fling myself down onto my back and stare at the ceiling.

Shit, damn, fuck.

The last thing I feel like doing is going to practice, but I’ll be in way worse trouble if I don’t show up. When Coach pairs me up on line rushes with Larry and Goose, I know I won’t be playing again tomorrow. The rage inside me burns and eats away at my gut, pushing me to skate faster, shoot harder, even hit harder as I go into a corner in a scrum. I nail Barbie into the boards with a reverberating hit.

He whirls on me, straightening his helmet. “What the fuck was that?”

I stand up to him. “That was a body check.”

He narrows his eyes at me, breathing hard. “I will punch you.” And he drops his fucking mitts.

I’m not backing down. A fight would feel pretty good right now. Barbs is taller than me, but I outweigh him. I throw down my gloves too.

The other guys swarm in and circle us.

“No,” Cookie says, giving me a sharp look, edging me away from Barbie. “What are you doing, man?”

I glide backward on my skates, scowling at Cookie. “Nothing.”

His look is laced with incredulity. “Nothing. Ha. Get your shit together. You’re in enough trouble.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

His eyebrows fly up. “You goddamn better.”

My shoulders slump and my head drops forward. “You’re right. Fuck.” I stop, circle him, and skate over to Barbie. I lay my hand on his shoulder. “Sorry, Barbs. That was stupid.”

“What is your problem? You need Snickers?”

I choke out a laugh. “Yeah, that might be it.” I shake my head.

“I know this is bad.” He pats my helmet. “Is okay.”

“Thanks, man.”

We resume the practice, luckily before Coach strokes out, telling him we were just joking around.

I’m done earlier than the others, so I grab lunch from the spread in the players’ lounge. I make myself a bowl from the offerings—quinoa, sweet potatoes, edamame, chicken, avocado, and greens. I help myself to a bottle of water in the big fridge that holds nothing but beverages, mainly water and Gatorade.

I pull out my phone, then realize I’m looking for a message from Lilly.

Fuck.

It’s only been a few hours, but somehow I don’t think I’m going to hear from her ever again. My stomach roils and I gaze doubtfully at my food. Then I make myself eat.

Cookie joins me when I’m about half done. He sits at the small table with me and sets his bowl down. “Okay.” He picks up his cutlery and points his knife at me. “Who crapped in your granola this morning?”

“Ha ha.” I shrug. “You expect me to be happy after watching the game from the press box last night?”

“You hungover?”

“Nah.”

He forks up some pasta and chews. “Okay, we know you’re pissed, but you don’t need to be an asshole. This isn’t Barbie’s fault.”

“Jesus. If you’re gonna ride my ass, at least pull my hair.”

Cookie barks out a laugh. “So that’s what you like, huh?”

“Do you like to be spanked too?” JBo asks as he takes another chair at the table. “No judgment here.”

“I feel I’ve been spanked enough,” I say dryly. I blow out a breath. “Lilly and I had a fight last night.”

JBo nods. “You really like it rough, huh?”

“No! Not like that.” Well, I do like it rough sometimes and so does Lilly. I swallow another sigh at that thought. “I mean, we argued. I think we broke up.”

“Huh.” Cookie frowns. “Like things aren’t bad enough.”

“Tell me about it.” I poke at a piece of avocado. My gut feels like a rock. I shouldn’t have eaten this stuff. I set down my fork and lean back in my chair. “On the bright side, at least I’m not addicted to cocaine.”

“Look, Coach isn’t going to bench you forever. He can’t. We need your goals.”

One corner of my mouth lifts. “Sure.” But I realize that’s not really what I’m worried about. He’s right. This can’t last forever. Either he gets our GM on board and they trade me away, if they can find anyone who wants me after they let it be known I’m “not coachable.” Kiss of fucking death. Or Coach plays me and keeps insulting and abusing everyone.

I rub my mouth.

“You look like you’re going to puke,” Cookie says. “You sure you’re not hungover?”

“Maybe that’s it.” I make a face. “Maybe I should go home and go back to bed.”

“Too bad you’ll be alone,” JBo says.

“Thanks for reminding me.” My tone is as sour as kombucha.

“What did you fight about?” Cookie asks. “Hopefully not birth control.” He glances at Russ, sitting over on one of the couches.

“No.” I pause. I don’t know if I can even talk about it. I feel like the lowest scum. Lower than snake pussy. The things she accused me of…being afraid. A coward. I don’t want to be those things.

I fucking hate it that she sees me that way.

But why do I even care? I’ve never given a shit what anyone thinks of me. Other than the scouts before the draft, and the teams that interviewed me. And my coaches. And…

And Lilly.

“It was…well.” I stop. “She thinks I should do something about how Coach is treating me.”

She also thinks we had something fantastic. And goddammit, she was right. I’ve never had anything like that, with anyone. Just her.

As I say the out loud part, I question it. Was she telling me to do something for myself? Or for the team? Am I more worried about my own career than what’s happening with the team? And what if I am? What’s wrong with that? It’s not up to me to save the world. I’m the last person who should be expected to do that. Haven’t I been through enough? Why does it have to be me?

What kind of teamwork is that? I am an asshole.

They both regard me seriously. “We’ve got your back,” Cookie says quietly.

“I saw it too,” JBo reminds me. “And heard.” He winces.

“I don’t know. Fuck.” I rub my face.

“We get it,” JBo says. “It’s bullshit, but we get it.”

“Thanks.” I give him a mirthless smile. “Lilly didn’t get it. I better go.” I stand. “Catch you guys later.”

In my apartment, I’m greeted by a tail-wagging, slobbering pooch.

“I’ve still got you, Otis.” I bend to rub him all over. “Thank fuck. You wanna go for a walk? Huh?”

Otis spins a couple of excited circles and I grab his leash and hook him up.

I have to carry him into the elevator, but he’s not even shaking. He’s almost over his trauma. Christ, that was a crazy night, him nearly getting strangled in the elevator and that crazy woman, who I’ve been calling Jane Doe in my mind.

As if thinking about it conjures her up, I come face-to-face with her when the elevator doors open onto the lobby. She stares at me, then looks down at Otis. “Oh my God! I found you.”

My mouth drops open. The man standing next to her says, “Percy!” and bends to Otis.

Percy? What?

The man straightens. “This is my dog.”

Lilly

I’m sitting on my bed, hugging a furry pillow, listening to The Weeknd sing “Call Out My Name.”

I left Easton’s apartment and ran all the way home in the freezing rain. I was falling apart, and I needed to do it in my own place. Carlin’s at work and I don’t have to walk any dogs until two o’clock when I pick up Apollo and Rusty.

I cried myself sick, washed my face, straightened my shoulders, then cried some more.

I’m annoyed with myself for being this upset, lecturing myself. Yes, out loud. “Jesus and three fishes, you knew you shouldn’t fall for him. You knew you shouldn’t fall for any man.” I close my eyes and shake my head. “Men will just let you down. Every time.”

You still have me.

But apparently that’s not enough for him.

I knew I was supposed to be living my best life on my own. I don’t need my dad to bail me out. I don’t need a boyfriend. I don’t need a fucking boss. I can be my own boss and start my own business, and I have girlfriends who I love and who love me. And I have dogs. Maybe not my own, but the next best thing. Dogs, who love unconditionally.

I fell for Easton anyway. I fell like dismal rain, pouring from the sky. Like shadows that fall at night. Like tears.

Easton’s right. I always think things will work out. I should have known better. But maybe I’ll never learn that lesson and that’s okay, because that’s who I am.

His remark about my lawsuit hurt. It reminded me of other people who derided me for doing that. As if all I cared about was money.

He could be right, though. My lawyer sounds confident, but anything can happen. The court date is less than two weeks away. If I went through all that pain and suffering going through discoveries with the corporation’s sharkish lawyers interrogating me and trying to trip me up and painting me as unreliable and self-centered, and the endless meetings with my own lawyers, who, even though they represent me, are also sharks, and I don’t like sharks—if I went through all that for nothing…

I close my eyes.

What if that happens? I need to be prepared for reality.

At least it will be done. I feel I’ve already moved on with my life, but I still have that hanging over me and I want it done. If I lose, so be it. I tried. I can still hold my head up and know that I did the right thing.

Unlike Easton.

Fuck.

I fall forward onto the mattress and curl up in a fetal position, still clutching the cushion.

I haven’t known him that long, but after learning things about him, hearing what happened to him, I feel I know him pretty well. And I knew he was afraid of something, I just didn’t know what.

He’s afraid of losing hockey. Because that’s all he has.

That hurt too. Like a slap across the face. Because stupidly, I thought I meant something to him, like he does to me.

I pull in a long, slow breath and let it out.

—

The text message I get from Easton the next morning isn’t unexpected. It still pisses me off, though.

You don’t need to come walk Otis anymore. Thanks for helping with him.

My hands shake holding my phone. The adrenaline rush of fury makes me edgy, twitchy, my heart pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. I should have known this was going to happen. I did bring it up when we got involved and he assured me it would make no difference. Well, he can just fuck off. And keep fucking off. He can keep fucking off to the other side of the world and then fuck off some more.

I want to text that back to him. I grit my teeth to keep myself from doing that. Then I close the chat window and toss my phone down.

Great. I lost my biggest customer.

But that’s not even what I’m sad about. I’ll miss Otis. I love the goofy guy. And I’ll miss Easton. Because I love him too. But I’ll get over it, because he’s not the man I thought he was.

Except…I think he is. I think he has feelings for me. I think he wants to do something to help the team.

I don’t know how to help him.

When Carlin gets home from work, I fill her in on the latest. We talked last night. I love her. Thank God I have her. Thursday night, Maya and Adriana come over with all the stuff for mulled wine and appies, and I pretend I’m fine. I will be fine.

Now it’s Friday night. Carlin’s out at William’s staff Christmas party, and I’m home alone. Not even Otis is here to keep me company. I turn on the TV. There’s a Bears game tonight. I shouldn’t watch it, because it reminds me of Easton, but I can’t stop myself.

Carlin and I put up a little tree in the corner the day we went Christmas shopping at the market. Today, I went back to the market to get her necklace and pick up Easton’s cuff links. I’d already paid for them. Maybe I’ll mail them to him.

Our tree sparkles with little white lights and an assortment of ornaments from Target. Snow falls softly outside the windows onto the front street. It all feels very seasonal. And I feel…miserable.

Easton’s not playing again tonight. Even though I’m hurt and angry at him, I still ache for how he must be feeling right now. An intense longing sweeps over me, wishing he would come home to me and I could comfort him.

The outside door buzzer sounds. I start and frown. Who could that be? I know it’s not Easton because they just showed him watching the game.

I answer. “Hello?”

“Lilly? It’s Dad.”

I jerk back and blink. Holy shit.

Chapter 20

Easton

I’ve lost everything. But it’s my own fault.

I’m sitting up here in the press box level watching Friday night’s game. I’m not playing.

I’ve lost Otis. Okay, that wasn’t my fault. I knew he was never going to be mine to keep forever, except…I guess I started to take it for granted that his owner was never coming for him.

I’ve lost Lilly. That was definitely my fault.

Not only that, I’ve lost my self-respect. There’s a big problem here, and I’m sitting around feeling sorry for myself instead of doing something about it.

I’ve thought a lot about Lilly and the things she said. I’ve also thought about the things she’s done. Because actions speak louder than words, right? She believed so strongly in something that she sacrificed a lot of things—her career, her reputation, her finances—to make things right. She lost a boyfriend, who clearly was a dick not worthy of her to begin with. But she stuck to her values and kept going.

She has every right to call me a coward. Because she’s the bravest woman I’ve ever met.

Missing her is like missing a piece of me, like an arm or a leg. I’m lost and lonely and pathetic. I miss Otis too, but not like I miss her.

I fucked up big time.

The crowd roars, the goal horn blares, and Goose and Larry on either side of me give silent fist pumps. (Nobody ever cheers in the press box.) I missed the goal. I rub my forehead. I should at least pay attention to the game. I could be learning something from watching up here.

I manage to focus for the rest of the game. It’s Friday night and a bunch of guys are going out, but I’m not feeling it, so I head home. Cookie joins me on the walk to the subway station and on the train ride. Guess he’s not feeling it either.

“Want to come for a beer?” I ask him unenthusiastically as we arrive at our building.

“Sure.”

Damn, I was hoping he’d say no, and I could be alone to wallow in self-pity.

“It’s weird with no dog here,” Cookie comments as we walk into my apartment.

“I know.”

“That was so bizarre.”

“Yeah.” I sigh. “No kidding.”

It turned out Jane Doe is actually Karen, and Otis’s owner is Dennis. Not Percy. Percy was Otis’s name.

Otis is a much better name.

Dennis, who’d only just moved into the building, had been working in Hong Kong for a few months and Karen was supposed to look after Otis (I refuse to call him Percy) but she found out that Dennis had been cheating on her with another woman in Hong Kong, and she wanted to get back at Dennis and get rid of Otis. After the elevator incident she was so flustered and freaked out she took the opportunity to bolt, leaving him with me. Dennis just returned from Hong Kong to learn that his girlfriend had basically given away his dog and he was pissed. They’d talked to the building manager and had found out my apartment number and were on their way up to see me when I ran into them.

“I guess. Stealing him back probably isn’t an option, huh?”

“I considered it.” I grab two beers from the fridge.

“Did you consider not giving him back?”

I hand him a beer. “Yeah. But what could I do? I always knew he wasn’t my dog.”

I’m trying to pretend I’m not dejected about this, but I know that Cookie knows I’m totally faking it.

In the living room, I lose my suit jacket and tie, remove my cuff links, and roll up the sleeves of my shirt. “Ah. That’s better.”

Cookie does the same.

“You had a good game tonight,” I say. “Three assists. That’s fantastic.”

“Thanks.” He lifts his beer in a toast.

“I have to say, it’s a different angle watching from above. You can really focus on the little things. Like when Murph came underneath you in the defensive zone when you were running around trying to get the puck out.”

He nods.

I talk about some of the other little things I noticed that we don’t have time to focus on when we’re on the ice.

“Glad you’re feeling better about this.”

“I’m not.” I grimace. “Just trying to make the best of it.”

“I guess that’s good.”

“What else can I do?” I sigh. “Actually…I’ve been thinking about what to do.”

“About…?” He pauses. “Lilly? Otis? Our asshole coach?”

“Fuck.” I duck my head. “I can’t do anything about Otis. And I think there’s no hope of fixing things with Lilly. But maybe I can do something about Coach.” I have some other shit to deal with, but I don’t mention that to him.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what Lilly said to me. About being afraid. She was right, of course. But what sticks in my head, playing over and over, is when she said being brave isn’t the same as not being afraid. It’s just deciding something else is more important.

My fear isn’t the most important thing. I have to stop being selfish and protecting myself.

Cookie nods slowly. “Not so sure about Lilly, but okay. What’s the plan?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“You know…” He takes a swig of his beer then pins me with a stare. “You don’t have to do it yourself.”

I squint at him. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying there’s a whole team who’s pissed and frustrated.”

I purse my lips. “Okay. Yeah.” Thoughts form in my head and energy fizzes through my veins. “Let’s do this.”

Chapter 21

Lilly

“What are you doing here?” I stare at my dad after letting him into my apartment, and then I move in to throw my arms around him. “I’ve missed you so much.”

He hugs me back. “Missed you too, chickpea. How are you?”

“I’m…” I choke up. “I’m okay.”

He draws away and studies my face. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s a long story. Come in. Let me take your jacket.”

He takes it off and I hang it in the closet, and he sits on the sofa.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thanks. Come, sit.” He pats the sofa cushion.

I sink down onto the couch. “Why are you here?”

“I’m home.” He smiles, his eyes crinkling up, his skin tanned, his graying hair a bit shaggy. “I wanted to be home for Christmas.”

“Oh. Does Mom know?”

“No. I’m flying to Syracuse tomorrow.”

“Oh my gosh, she’s going to die.” I bite my lip. “You better hope she hasn’t changed the locks on you.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “I don’t think she has.”

“I don’t know. I’d be pissed at you.”

“I know you would.” He pauses. “Actually, you are, aren’t you?”

I bite my lip. “Yeah.”

“Lillian. I’ve been open with Mom about what’s going on. She understands.”

Maybe she does. I’ll let them figure that out, I guess. Maybe I don’t know everything that’s gone on between them. If it was me, I’d have not only changed the locks but sold the house and moved in with a hot boy toy. Ha.

“Do you want to stay here tonight? We don’t have much room, but there’s a couch.”

He shakes his head. “Thanks, but no, I flew in late last night and got a hotel room.”

“Okay. So are you home for good?”

“Yes and no. I’m home for now. I still want to travel more. But Mom and I are going to talk about that.”

“Okay.” Eeep.

“What about you? How’s your dog-walking business going?”

“It’s going great. Well, mostly.” I sigh, thinking of Otis. “I have quite a few customers and I’ve been making some money. I’ve been thinking about expanding, maybe offering doggie daycare.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “You’d need a place to do that.”

“Yeah, I would. Which would cost money. I even have someone who’s interested in going into business with me, she’s a dog groomer. But it’s something I can work toward.”

“That’s my girl.” He smiles and tilts his head. “Something else wrong? You don’t seem all that happy.”

“Well.” I look down at my hands and twist my fingers together. “I was seeing someone. And it didn’t work out. And I’m kind of…” My throat squeezes up. “Kind of b-bummed about it.”

“Oh no.” He reaches over and takes my hands. “I’m sorry, Lilly.”

“It’s okay. I’ll get over him. I was trying so hard to not get involved, to just look out for myself and get my life back on track, and…well, I tripped and fell into feelings.”

He makes a sympathetic noise. “Who is this guy? Should I go punch him?”

“Ha ha, no, don’t do that. He’s a hockey player. He knows how to fight.”

“A hockey player? Huh.”

“He’s a good guy, really. It’s not like he did something terrible to me, don’t worry. He just…” I stop. “He has a lot of stuff he needs to deal with, and I thought he was feeling the same about me, and he wasn’t.”

“I’m sorry. That hurts.”

I nod, swallowing past the hockey puck lodged in my throat. I point at the TV. “That’s the game. But he’s not playing tonight.”

“Whoa. The Bears.” Dad looks toward the TV. “Is he injured?”

“No. His coach is punishing him for standing up to him.”

Dad frowns.

“Oh shit, I probably shouldn’t talk about it.” But then it all spills out of me, all the things that his coach has said and done, not just to Easton, but to others. “And it’s making him miserable.”

“Wow.”

“But he thinks he can’t do anything about it because it could ruin his career and…well, there’s more.” I tell him about the bus accident and what happened to Easton.

“I remember that,” he says slowly. “It was such a tragedy. Those boys’ lives were changed forever, I’m sure. And that whole community.”

I nod slowly. “Yes.”

“I guess it’s understandable that he’d be hesitant about caring too much about someone, after losing that many people so fast.”

I’m silent. I let his words sink in.

“Maybe he just needs more time.” Dad slides an arm around my shoulders and pulls me in for a hug.

“Maybe.” And maybe I need to think about this more.

“Are you coming home for Christmas?” Dad asks.

“I was planning to.” I peer up at him. “If that’s okay. I didn’t expect you to be there.”

“Of course it’s okay.” He frowns. “Listen, Lill. I know you feel like I let you down by taking off. But you’re an adult. You’ve managed fine on your own. And you’re stronger because of what you’ve been through. You need to know that—that you can do anything. I love you and I’m proud of you.”

“Oh, Dad.” I sit up straight. I’ve been resentful because he hasn’t been here. But he’s right. I don’t need someone to bail me out. I just need someone to love me. And he does. “I love you too.”

Easton

We play in Philadelphia on Tuesday, the day before Christmas Eve. In the morning, before we leave, JBo, Jammer, and I meet with Brad Julian, the general manager of the team. I send an email to the players’ association as well.

I end up not playing again tonight. I’m still angry about it, but after what I learned from watching the last few games, I’ve decided to turn this into an opportunity, and I’m making notes about what I’m observing from far above the ice. I’ve also been skating and working out like a maniac because I don’t want this to set me back when I start playing again. Because I will be playing again.

I’m taking a page out of Lilly’s book and believing in the best.

After the game, I fly from Philadelphia home to Regina for Christmas. Well, first to Toronto, then Regina. I stay in a hotel there, and I get in some family time with my aunt and uncle and cousins, and of course my mom. It’s a short trip—I have to be back in New York for a game December 27—but I get in a few visits with her. She’s doing pretty well and is happy to see me. I pick her up to take her to Aunt Kathy and Uncle Ron’s place for Christmas dinner, and I go back to the care home on Boxing Day for a visit with just the two of us.

The fact that she’s doing so well gives me the courage to bring up things neither of us really want to talk about. But I have to.

“Can I ask you something, Mom?” We’re sitting in the visitor lounge. She seems too healthy to be here, physically still fine, although I think she looks older than fifty-seven with her hair gone mostly gray, but she can’t look after herself.

“Okay.”

“After Dad and Bryce died…”

Her face goes blank.

But I go on. “I know it was hard for you.”

She lifts and lowers her chin in a nod.

“It was hard for me too.” I swallow.

She stares across the room at the big Christmas tree all decorated. “Yes.”

“I needed you.”

Her gaze swivels back to me. For an eternity, she says nothing. Then her eyes glisten. “I’m sorry, Easton.”

I grab her hand and squeeze it, my own eyes stinging. I didn’t want to make her cry. “It’s okay, Mom. I know you were struggling.”

“I was.” Her fingers move in mine. Her mouth tightens. “I’m sorry.”

“I just…I felt like I didn’t matter.”

She stares at me. Her chin trembles and she lowers her head. “Oh, Easton.”

“I don’t want to make you feel bad,” I say urgently. Shit. This was a bad idea. I knew I would screw it up. “I just want…” I stop. What do I want?

She lifts her head, eyes wet and red. “I love you, Easton.”

That. That was what I wanted. Needed. My eyes are wet too as I squeeze her hands. “I love you too, Mom.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough.” She pulls her hand free of mine to swipe away tears with her knuckles. “I’m so sorry.”

And it hits me…“Maybe I should have been there for you.”

“Oh no. No. You were a child.”

“I was eighteen.”

A smile flickers on her lips. “A child. You went through an incredible trauma, being on the bus, seeing your teammates die. And your brother.” She lifts a hand to her throat, tips her head back, and closes her eyes. “And your father. Other people injured. You were so lucky. And yet…”

“Not lucky.”

“You shouldn’t dwell on that. You survived. You have what you always wanted—you’re playing in the NHL.”

That was what I always wanted. But now…maybe there’s more.

“That was all I wanted after that.” I suck in air, inflating my chest, then exhaling. “I should have been more focused on you and on being grateful. Instead…I’ve been bitter.”

“Oh, Easton. My boy.” A tear slides down her cheek. “You are so blessed. Don’t be bitter.”

I nod, my throat constricted.

“I love you and I’m so proud of you. You went through hell and you’ve done so well.”

“I’m not sure I have.” I pause. “I met a girl.”

Her lips curve up. “Oh. I’ve waited so long to hear those words.”

“She’s really special. And I screwed up. I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

I clear my throat. “I was afraid of losing her. Like I lost everyone else.” I swallow thickly. “I was afraid to want something I can never have.”

Love.

That’s all I’ve wanted.

“You can have it.” She meets my eyes. “You do have it. Yes, it hurts to lose people we love. It hurts so much.” Her voice fractures. “But Easton, my best boy…it’s worth the risk. Even I believe it’s worth the risk.”

I lean over to rest my forehead against her hair. And we sit like that for a long time.

Lilly

I’m home after spending Christmas with Mom and Dad. It was strangely normal. Dad had lots of interesting stories from his travels, but he didn’t talk incessantly about it, thank God. And it sounds like he and Mom are planning a trip in the new year—together. To Australia. Wow.

I could tell they’re concerned about me, so I tried to keep a happy face on, but that was tiring. So I’m glad to be back in my little apartment where I can just mope. I won’t mope forever. Just for a while. I need to be ready for the trial, which I’m sure is going to demand a lot of my energy.

Carlin gets back from visiting her family that evening. I go down to say hi and hear about her visit. William is with her and they’re both wearing huge smiles, and it takes only seconds for me to notice the diamond flashing on her left hand.

I let out a little scream and grab her hand. She starts laughing and then we both start crying and hugging. “I’m so happy for you. For both of you.” I lean back to smile at William. I like him, and he’s perfect for Carlin. “This is so wonderful!”

“We brought a bottle of champagne!” Carlin gestures at William and he produces it. “Let’s open it!”

I hurry into the kitchen and return with three champagne flutes. William pops the cork and Carlin sloppily pours the bubbly wine into the glasses.

“To both of you.” I lift my glass, beaming. “Wishing you a lifetime of love and happiness.”

We clink our glasses together.

“Thank you,” Carlin says with a sniffle. “You’re the best, Lill. You’ll be my maid of honor, right?”

I press a hand to my chest. “Oh my God! Of course! I’m honored! When will the wedding be?”

Carlin glances at William. “We’d like to do it this fall.”

“Perfect!” Then I pick up on the hesitation in her answer. “Oh.” I divide a look between them. “You want to move in together sooner, don’t you?” I tilt my head, smiling. “I’ve thought that for a while.”

She bites her lip. “Yes, but…I don’t want to leave you.”

“Well, William can’t marry both of us,” I quip, although my stomach tightens. I smile brightly. “Don’t worry about me! I’ll be fine.”

Carlin looks at her fiancé again. “We’re thinking that I’ll move in with him right away, but I’ll keep paying the rent here until you can find another roommate.”

“No! Oh, no. You don’t have to do that. I’m getting back on my feet. It’s okay.” Truthfully, I can’t afford the full rent. I’m barely making enough to pay my half as well as tiny payments on my debt. But I’ll figure something out.

“Well. We’ll discuss that.” Carlin smiles too, and I know we’re in for an argument at some point. But not now. Now, we celebrate.

We talk about Christmas and gifts and wedding plans while we finish off the bottle of champagne. We don’t talk about Easton, even though I still think about him all the time. There’s a Bears game tonight and this is distracting me and keeping me from watching it, hoping for a glimpse of Easton.

When William leaves and Carlin heads to her room to unpack, I flick on the TV. The game’s almost over. The Bears are winning three–one. That’s good. And then the play-by-play announcer mentions Millar. My eyes fly open wide and I lean forward. He’s playing!

Not only playing, he’s flying up the ice on a breakaway. A Carolina player is chasing him but has no hope of catching him and Easton goes in on the goal tender alone, playing with the puck, then shooting it over the goalie’s shoulder. “He scores!” the announcer shouts as the hometown crowd in the Apex Center erupts. “What a return to action for Easton Millar, a hat trick!”

Sure enough, hats are raining down onto the ice. I cover my mouth with my hands, watching, my heart so full of joy I could burst.

“Wow. Wow, wow, wow!” Good for him.

“What’s going on?” Carlin pokes her head out of her bedroom.

I tell her what just happened. She saunters over to perch on the arm of the couch and watch the replays. Then she turns concerned eyes on me. “You okay?”

I nod. Of course, my heart is still bruised and aching despite my happiness for him. “Yeah. Sort of. I’m just happy he’s playing.”

She nods, sets her hand on my shoulder, and squeezes, then returns to her unpacking.

I watch the end of the game, the team celebrating at the end, holding their sticks in the air to salute the fans before they skate off the ice. I see Easton among them, smiling, getting lots of helmet pats and backslaps from his teammates.

Tears blur my vision, but I dash them away. I was lucky to spend time with him, even though he let me down in the end. He has issues he needs to deal with, but deep down he’s a good man. We had so much fun together. He supported me in my crazy hopes and dreams. And I love him.

Chapter 22

Lilly

A couple of days later I get a call about another job. Yay! The dog’s name is Percy. He lives in Easton’s building, ugh, but that’s okay, I actually have another client who lives there and I’m sure I’ll never see Easton.

Even though I want to.

I head over there to meet Percy and his owner. I know Easton’s in Toronto for a game tonight, so I’m not worried about running into him today. Dennis, the dog’s owner, brings Percy down to the lobby. I sit on one of the chairs to wait for him. Javier’s not working today, or I’d go chat with him, although maybe that would be awkward.

The elevator doors slide open and a man steps off. He’s dragging a clearly reluctant and nervous black dog by the leash.

“Otis!” My jaw nearly smacks the coffee table in front of me. I jump up, my heart thumping. I look from Otis to the strange man, then back to Otis. Then I barrel toward them. “What’s going on?” I glare at the man. “Who are you?”

“I’m Dennis.” He frowns. “Lilly?”

“That’s me. Why do you have this dog?”

His frown intensifies. “This is my dog.”

Otis is going crazy over me, jumping and crying. I pick him up. I think he’s grown. He nuzzles his nose into the side of my neck, whining. “No! He’s not your dog. This is Otis. He belongs…ohhhhh. Oh no.” I gape at him. “You’re Otis’s owner?”

“His name is Percy.” He stares at me and Otis, who is now slobbering kisses all over my face.

“Where the hell have you been?” I demand.

Dennis takes a step back, narrowing his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“And don’t you know he’s afraid of elevators?” The sight of Otis being scared and towed out of the elevator breaks my already broken heart.

“He’s fine.”

I take a big breath. The world has spun off its axis here. He’s not the only one confused. I need to get a grip. “He was scared. You need to look after him better.”

Dennis rolls his eyes. “He’s a dog.”

My stomach heaves and I get a sour taste in my mouth. But I need to calm down.

“Otis, I’ve missed you so much,” I croon, rubbing him. Then I set him back on the floor and face the man. “Look, I’m sorry. I know this dog. I know the person who looked after him while you were…”

“In Hong Kong.” He shakes his head. “My girlfriend…er, ex-girlfriend…who was supposed to look after him apparently abandoned him. I just got back and found out.”

Once again, my mouth goes slack. I blink rapidly, processing this. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. I snap my jaw closed and press my fingers to my mouth. This is why Easton messaged me that I wouldn’t be looking after Otis anymore? He had to give Otis back to this man?

This man who isn’t fit to pick up Otis’s dog poop.

A million thoughts ricochet through my brain. I don’t know what to say. Or what to do.

“I don’t know if this is going to work out,” the man says, his eyebrows pinched together, looking at me like he thinks I’m a little nuts.

“Let’s talk.” I gesture at one of the seating arrangements and we move toward them. I take a seat opposite him. Otis jumps into my lap. My heart squeezes and I stroke his head and back. “Tell me about what services you’re looking for.”

“I need someone to walk him twice a day,” Dennis says. “Morning and evening. I work long hours.”

“So he’ll be alone all day?”

“Yes.”

I nod, sucking on my bottom lip. I know people have to work; that’s why I have a dog-walking business. It’s not my place to judge people. But I don’t believe this man cares about Otis. “Are you sure you really want a dog?”

He sighs. He looks across the lobby. “I don’t know. I got Percy just before I got sent overseas. I didn’t realize how much work he’d be. The last few days have been crazy. He has to go out all the time or he, uh, has accidents in the apartment.”

“Yes.”

“It was Christmas and I was busy and I kept coming home to messes. And he wants to play all the time.”

“Of course he does.”

“It was better when Karen and I were together. She helped look after him. Then I was so pissed off that she’d abandoned him, and I made such a big deal about making her find him and getting him back, I had to take him back.”

Sadness fills my chest and I nod slowly. “You don’t have to keep him,” I say quietly. “I volunteer at an animal shelter. We could find a home for him with someone who really wants him. But I’m pretty sure Easton would take him back.”

He makes a face and rubs his jaw. He stares across the lobby for a moment. “Yeah. That would probably be for the best.”

My heart leaps. “Really?”

“There’s a chance I’ll have to go to Hong Kong again in February. What would I do then? Do you look after dogs for months at a time?”

“No. Not for that long. I would tell someone who’s going to be gone for months at a time and has to leave their dog that they probably shouldn’t have a dog.” I say this kindly.

“Yeah. You’re probably right.”

“I expect Easton will be back tomorrow. You could talk to him then about taking Otis…er, Percy…back.”

“Would you take him?”

For a few seconds I’m confused. “Oh, you mean tonight?”

“Yeah. You could bring him to Easton tomorrow.”

My eyebrows raise. Is he that eager to get rid of Otis? “Okay. Sure. Uh, do you have his things?”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh yeah. He’s got a ton of stuff for a dog. I’ll…go pack it up and bring it down?”

“All right.” I frown. “You’ll come back, right?”

He huffs. “Yeah, I’ll come back.”

Holy shit. I’m going to have to see Easton. My heart is galloping. Tomorrow. I’ll see him tomorrow.

I play with Otis and talk to him for the time it takes Dennis to go up to his apartment and return with Otis’s bag. I recognize it from all the times I’ve taken him back to my place for overnight stays. Today, it’s packed full with every toy and treat he owns. Yeah, it’s a lot. Easton kind of spoiled him.

I stand and set Otis on the floor, gripping his leash. I take the bag from Dennis. “Thanks.”

“Thank you.” He appears relieved, and I’m glad, because I sure wouldn’t want to take Otis away from someone who loved him. “I’m sorry this didn’t work out for you. As a job, I mean.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I want what’s best for Otis. And it seems like it’s best for you too.” And maybe for Easton. “How did you get my name and number?”

“Easton gave it to me. In case I needed someone to walk him.”

My heart bursts into a glow and my lips tremble into a smile. My throat is thick as I swallow and turn to leave.

I walk home. The sun is out, glistening on the snow and ice, so I slide on my sunglasses. Otis prances on his leash, sniffing here and there.

I imagine the scene when Easton had to give back Otis and my heart hurts for him. I know he loves Otis even though he never wanted a dog and tried to get rid of him and had no idea how to look after a dog. At first. But the fact that he would give him up to return him to his rightful owner…oh man. That had to be so hard, to do the right thing.

I hope I’m doing the right thing too.

Easton

I roll out of bed and trudge into the bathroom for a shower. After getting back from Toronto last night, I came straight home and crashed. The last few days…hell, the last few weeks have been exhausting. It’s nearly noon and I had a good solid sleep, yet I still feel tired. Dragged out.

I’ve made progress, though.

It still feels weird not to have to take Otis outside before I do anything. I didn’t have him that long, but that damn dog managed to make himself part of my life. I miss the mutt.

After a shower, I dress in jeans and a hoodie and make myself scrambled eggs and toast and, of course, coffee. Which reminds me of Lilly. So many things remind me of her.

I pick up my phone and scroll through social media as I eat. I smile at a pic of Cookie wearing a Santa hat, flanked by his two sisters. I frown at a few posts I see about trade rumors. I don’t like to believe rumors, but where there’s smoke there’s usually a flame, and more than one sportswriter is talking about a trade between the Bears and the Stars, naming a few Stars defensemen, including Josh Heller.

I shake my head and scroll on, lingering over a photo Lilly posted on Instagram of her and Carlin with Carlin flashing a diamond ring. Huh. Looks like Carlin and William got engaged.

What does that mean for Lilly? She was worried about Carlin moving out and being able to afford the apartment.

I guess it’s not my business. Sadness washes over me.

I drop my phone.

A knock at the door jolts me. I frown. Is it Cookie or Russ? Did we make plans I forgot about?

I cross the living room and yank open the door.

Lilly.

My heart slams against my ribs.

And Otis.

My mouth drops open.

“What…?”

An uncertain smile flickers over her beautiful face. “Hi.”

I move my head from side to side, still not sure if this is real or I’m still in bed, asleep, having crazy dreams. “Hi.”

I look down at Otis, jumping up on me, crying. “You are such a badly behaved dog,” I mutter, bending to pick him up. “What the hell are you doing here?” I raise my questioning gaze to Lilly. “Both of you.”

“I brought Otis back to you.”

I’m still not comprehending. “Uh, come in. I’m a bit confused.”

Holy shit. I’m more than confused.

She walks in, bringing her scent with her, the scent that instantly makes me think of pressing my nose and lips against her skin, breathing her in. She’s carrying Otis’s bag, packed with his things, and her purse. She sets the bag down and removes her mitts. “So, this is kind of crazy.”

I stare at her, absorbing everything about her. Her shiny hair, her sparkling blue eyes, her pretty mouth. “I miss you.”

Her bottom lip quivers almost imperceptibly. She swallows. “I miss you too.”

“Yeah?”

She nods, her eyelashes fluttering.

Time stretches out, looping and wrapping around us. Finally I break the clotted silence. “You were right.”

Her eyes widen and her chin lowers. “About…?”

“Come in. Can I take your jacket? Would you like coffee? I’ll make you coffee.”

The corners of her mouth quirk. “Coffee would be great.”

As I set Otis down, she lifts her cross-body purse over her head and sets it on the table, then unzips her puffy jacket. I help her out of it and hang it in the closet. My hands are shaking.

I walk to the kitchen, my legs feeling stiff and awkward. Otis prances around, completely at home. My head is spinning. I have this chance. A chance to talk to her. I don’t know if it’s another chance for us. Is that too optimistic? Too crazy? I probably don’t even deserve it.

I manage to brew a cup of coffee for her while she pulls Otis’s dishes out of his bag and fills one with water, setting it in the usual spot.

“First tell me about Otis,” I say. “What’s going on?”

She leans on the counter across from me, where she sat that day eating breakfast and told me she takes coffee seriously and busted my balls by telling me she’d clap when she was impressed with me and I thought she was so incredibly gorgeous.

“Dennis called me. He wanted me to walk Otis. Only I didn’t know it was Otis until I got here yesterday. He called him Percy.”

“Yeah.” I wrinkle my nose. “That’s a terrible name for him.”

“I agree. Otis is much better. Anyway, I was totally floored when I heard what had happened.” She tips her head. “I was really mad at you for firing me.” Then she narrows her eyes. “You never said what happened, so I assumed that.”

“I was…bumfused.”

She chokes. “What?”

“Bummed and confused.”

Her lips twitch. “Right. So. I was mad. And hurt. Anyway”—she waves a hand—“it was clear to me that Dennis…”—she spits out his name as if she’s eating one of Otis’s dog biscuits. She apparently feels the same about him as I do—“…doesn’t really want a dog. I convinced him it would be better for both of them to give Otis back.”

I run a hand through my hair. “Holy crap. How did you do that?”

She shrugs. I pass her the coffee and she picks it up and takes a small sip. “It actually wasn’t that hard. I assumed you would want him back.” She meets my eyes. “But I can take him to the shelter. Or maybe…” She stops.

“I want him,” I say quickly.

She smiles. “You love him.”

“I kinda do. I admit it.”

Her eyes warm. “Okay. He’s home, then. For good.”

Christ. A fist squeezes my throat and I can’t breathe for a minute. I feel a stinging in my sinuses. After I breathe through it, I say, “Thank you.”

She smiles, obviously knowing how I feel about this.

“Can I tell you what you were right about now?”

She rubs her nose with the back of her hand. “Okay.”

“Let’s go sit in the living room.”

We both sit on the same couch and shift to face each other, each holding our mug of coffee. That’ll keep me from touching her, which I so, so want to do.

“You told me I was a coward,” I begin.

She winces. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” I shake my head firmly. “You were right. You were right about a lot of things. I was afraid.”

She holds my gaze steadily even as she sips her coffee, waiting for me to continue.

“I went home for Christmas. I saw my mom.”

“How’s she doing?” she asks softly.

“Pretty good, actually. We had a good talk. It was…painful. But necessary.”

She takes another sip of coffee and tilts her head.

I swallow. “I told her how I felt after Dad and Bryce died. How I felt she didn’t care enough about me to try to keep going.”

She nods.

“And I realized that what I’ve been afraid of ever since is…well, I’ve been afraid of losing things I care about, obviously.”

“Like hockey.”

I squeeze my eyes shut briefly at the sharp twist I feel in my heart. “I’m so sorry I said that.”

“But it’s true. Hockey’s important to you.”

“It is.” I inhale a deep breath. “But it’s not the most important thing. The thing I was most afraid of losing was you.”

Her mouth trembles. Her eyes get shiny again.

“For real, Lilly.” I hold her gaze. “I was afraid of losing you. You told me you love me, and I was terrified of that. I’ve been terrified for ages because all I think about is you. You mean more to me than any other person. You’re everything. Everything I need. Everything I want.”

“Oh God.” She sets down her coffee mug, her hands shaking. “Oh, Easton.”

“I was afraid of caring too much for you. I’ve been afraid of caring too much for anything. I try to be all cynical, but the truth is, deep down inside I’ve been terrified of wanting something I can’t have. I realized that when I was talking to my mom.” Now I shift my gaze away. “When she told me she loves me, I realized…that’s all I want.” My heart is beating so fast, I might have a heart attack.

Lilly covers her mouth with her hands.

“I wanted to come and tell you that. But first I had to fix some things.” I draw in another breath. “Jammer, JBo, and I met with Mr. Julian and formally made a complaint about Coach’s behavior.”

Her eyebrows zoom up. “Really?”

“Yeah. And we filed a complaint with the players’ association. There’s an investigation going on now.”

“Oh my God.”

“Somehow it leaked to the media. You didn’t hear about it?”

Eyes wide, she shakes her head.

“You were right that we had to do something. I was inspired by you—how brave you were to do what you did when your employer was hurting people.”

She presses a hand to her chest. “Oh, Easton.”

“I thought you didn’t understand. Hockey’s different. But you did understand. And hockey’s not that different.” I grimace. “There’s no place for abuse and racism. Anywhere.”

She’s watching me closely, emotions flickering across her face.

“And you told me that being brave means deciding that something else is more important than my fears. And you were right about that too.”

Tears slide down her smooth cheeks.

“I was brave enough to talk to my mom, and she told me…Christ, women are smart.”

Lilly chokes on a little laugh. “She told you that?”

I smile. “No. That’s just my own observation. She told me that loving someone is worth the risk. And for her to say that…must mean it’s true.”

She smiles back at me, her nose and cheeks pink.

“You’re worth the risk. You’re more important than my fears.” I pause. “I love you, Lilly.”

A small sob escapes her lips. “Really?”

“Really. I’m sorry I hurt you. I shouldn’t have said that you aren’t going to win your lawsuit. I was just being a cynical dick. And I’m sorry I let you think that you aren’t important to me. So, so sorry. That’s the last thing I ever want to do. I was an idiot.”

“Yes.”

I snort-laugh. “Is there still a chance for us?”

“Yes. Please. I’ve been thinking too. I didn’t…maybe I was right about some things, but I don’t think I really understood how much you lost in that accident. How much it impacted you.” She shifts closer on the couch and I reach for her hands and grip them. “I didn’t realize how you felt you’d even lost your mom. You were so young, and on your own, and becoming a professional athlete is a huge thing. I get why hockey’s so important to you.”

“Christ, I love you.” I pull her closer still, practically onto my lap, and wrap my arms around her. She melts into me, holding me too, and for a moment we sit there embracing, neither of us speaking, both of us struggling with our emotions. But we’re struggling together.

Eventually I pull back and turn to her to find her mouth with mine. She kisses me back, our mouths fusing, our hands clutching each other, kissing over and over and over. “I love you.” I kiss her cheek, her jaw. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

Our mouths meet again for more kisses. I pour everything into those kisses, all my love and devotion and reverence for her and for her sweet optimism and idealism and loyalty.

A while later, she murmurs, “I have something else for you.”

“Oh yeah. Let’s move to the bedroom.”

She gives me a tap. “Not that. Well, not yet. Hold on, you horny hockey player.”

I laugh as she gets up and walks over to where she left her purse. She returns with a small box wrapped in Christmas paper. “I got you this for Christmas. I couldn’t return it, so…” She hands it to me.

I turn it over in my hands. “Should I open it?”

“Sure.”

I peel open the paper, then lift the lid off the tiny box to reveal a pair of silver cuff links. I lift one to study it and I see Otis’s tiny face. “Oh, man!” My gaze shoots up to hers. “It’s Otis!”

She clears her throat. “Yeah. They made them from a picture I had of him.”

Heat radiates through my chest. “They’re perfect.” I cough, because my damn throat is squeezing up. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I, uh, actually have a Christmas present for you too.”

“You do?”

“I bought it in California. When we were on our road trip there. So I can’t return it either. I’ll get it.”

I truck into the bedroom and dig the small box out of my dresser drawer. I return and hand it to her. “I never wrapped it, sorry.”

She takes it hesitantly. The box is about the same size as the one she gave me. She opens it and peers down. “Oh.” She touches her fingertips to her lips, then lifts the pendant necklace. The small diamond-encrusted charm dangles on a silver chain—the charm shaped like a dog paw print.

She closes her eyes and her face gets pink like she’s trying not to cry. Then she draws in a breath through her nose, opens her eyes, which shine, and smiles. “Thank you. I love it.”

“I just want you to be happy.” I pause. “And naked.”

She laughs. “Okay, let’s go get naked.”

Chapter 23

Lilly

“One point five million dollars.”

I hear that number. Is that for real? I look at Ruth, my lawyer, sitting next to me in the courtroom. She nods and smiles.

The jury has found in the plaintiff’s favor—that’s me!—and has awarded me one point five million dollars in damages.

And then, even better, they’ve ruled that Lexington Resorts has to make changes to their policies and procedures that will prevent this from happening in the future.

I close my eyes. And I start to cry.

That’s what this was about. I could have had their offer months ago and walked away. This is what I wanted.

And I’m so, so relieved it’s over. The trial was stressful and exhausting. I hated reliving not only my experiences at Lexington and how I was treated, but how my life changed after that. It was humiliating telling the world about my depression and debt, my inability to find a job, and the loss of my relationship. The trial lasted just over a week, and then we only had to wait two days for the jury to make their decision.

It’s done now, and I can move on.

I can give Grammy money to make up for what she lost and pay a lawyer to get her out of the scammy time-share she bought into. I can pay back my parents and Carlin, pay off my loan. I can give a big donation to the animal shelter. I can pay for Carlin’s freakin’ wedding!

And…I’ll have enough to start the doggie daycare business I want to open. Penelope and I have talked more about it and she’s all in. We even found a space for it, which is perfect but which I never thought we’d be able to afford. It’s on the main floor of the apartment building where Igor and Nadia Barbashev live, where Loki is already my client along with another recent addition to my dog roster. It’s the perfect location for dog walking and daycare and grooming, with nearby parks and all the professionals living in that area.

Ruth hugs me and I collect myself. I turn, finding Easton sitting behind me. He’s grinning hugely and I smile back at him. He’s been here as much as he can, supporting me through the trial and then while waiting for the verdict. I could have done it without him. But I’m so, so glad I didn’t have to.

We rise as the judge leaves and the courtroom begins to empty. I make my way over to Easton and leap into his arms. He squeezes me so tightly I almost can’t breathe, but I love it. I bury my face in the side of his neck and a sob rises in my throat.

“You’re okay,” he whispers, stroking my hair. “You’re okay.”

“Yes. I am. Oh my God, Easton.”

“I know. You did so good, baby. So good. You were so strong. So brave.”

He’s been my rock and my anchor. My home. My love.

And I’ve been there for him, because he’s also been going through some shit.

A few days after the investigation into Tim Simmons’s behavior, he publicly acknowledged that he had indeed used a racial slur against Jamal…and he resigned.

After that happened, things kind of exploded. Other players from all over the league came forward with their own stories of abuse, by Tim Simmons but also other coaches, and it pushed the league to work on a new code of coaching conduct.

I was bursting with pride and love for Easton. And he’s been playing better than ever. As of right now they’re in a playoff spot, and there are trade rumors heating up about some changes they might make to help their chances.

We leave the courthouse, emerging into a freakin’ blizzard. Snow is blowing and swirling in the sharp wind, tugging at my coat and scarf as we make our way through downtown streets to the parking garage where Easton left his car. I’m breathless by the time I’m seated in his car but still jubilant, and I start laughing.

Easton starts the engine and grins at me. “Want to go for a celebration lunch?”

I shake my head. “No. I want to go home. I mean, to your place.” His place feels like home to me. “You have a game tonight. You need to nap.”

His eyes darken. “Ah. That’s how you want to celebrate. A ‘nap.’ ” He makes air quotes and smirks.

I lean over to kiss him. “Yes. It is. I want you.”

“Hmm. I want you too.” He smooches my lips softly. “I want us.” Another kiss. “I want it all.” Kiss. “With you.” He meets my eyes. “Only you.”

My heart floods with warmth, sparkles floating through my veins. “I want the same.”

Epilogue

Easton

“Holy shit.”

I’m dressed in my game day suit and ready to leave for the arena when my phone blows up with messages and notifications.

“What’s wrong?” Lilly’s still in my bed, naked, sleepy, and gorgeous. Fuck, it’s hard to leave her there, but I know she’ll be here when I get home and that’s all I want.

I scroll through messages. “The team just made a trade. Holy shit.” I blink and stare at my phone. “Larry’s gone, and we gave up a second-round draft pick.”

She sits up, pushing her hair off her face. “In exchange for…?”

My gut seizes up like a giant hand is squeezing. And twisting. I’m paralyzed for a moment. Then I blink and swallow. I look up at her. “Josh Heller.”

A little notch appears between her eyebrows, then disappears as her eyebrows fly up. “Ohhh…wow.”

She recognizes the name.

Josh Heller was one of my best friends on the Swift Current Warriors. He played defense, and along with our other buddy Hunter, the three of us were pegged to make it into the NHL. Then the bus crash happened.

Josh was one of the guys who was injured, with both his legs fractured and a few other broken bones. They weren’t sure he’d ever walk again, never mind play hockey. He’s from Winnipeg and they moved him right away to the hospital there so he could be near his family. He was a year younger than me and ended up getting drafted the year after I did. I didn’t see him for years. He ended up playing in Dallas, but when I was in Vancouver we only played them three times in one season, two of which I was injured for, then once the next season before I got traded here. We’ve barely spoken two words to each other since the accident.

I’ve tried to leave my past behind me. I don’t talk about it to people here. I really don’t want to be reminded of it every fucking day.

And I bet Josh feels the same.

Acknowledgments

Writing a book during a pandemic is hard, yo.

On March 6, 2020, I flew to New York on a research trip while writing this book. I was conflicted about whether to go, given what was happening with Covid-19. There had been a couple (I think?) of cases in New York at that point, but I knew it was going to hit them and hit hard. We had zero cases here in Winnipeg, and I didn’t want to be the one to bring it back. I decided I would slip in and out of New York in five days and take precautions while there, because I had a feeling if I didn’t go then, I wouldn’t be able to go for a long time.

While there, I toured Lilly and Easton’s neighborhood, explored, took pictures, walked miles through the city and Central Park, shopped, and ate in restaurants. I didn’t know those would be my last “normal” memories. I debated going to a Broadway show, but opted not to because of all the people in an enclosed space. Life seemed normal there, but I was using hand sanitizer like crazy, trying not to touch doorknobs and railings, and washing my hands every chance I got.

The day after I got home, Broadway shut down all the theaters and we had our first Covid-19 case here. I’d planned to self-isolate for two weeks anyway, but it turned out to be a lot longer than two weeks as our city shut down.

I wasn’t freaked out. I wasn’t worried about getting the virus. But it consumed all my attention and energy. I was so worried for the people who were getting sick and dying. I watched the news from New York in horror as the virus exploded there, where I had just been. All I could do was watch TV and Twitter news and eat and sleep a lot. I was exhausted. I couldn’t write, much as I tried. It felt pointless and unimportant.

Around the end of April, I got the most wonderful email from a reader, who said, “With the virus the world really sucks right now and I hope you know that what you do is important, vital even, and has helped me stay sane. Your words are the best escape in these troubling times. Thank you.” It helped so much to know that what I do isn’t pointless or unimportant.

I ended up getting this book done and to my editor a week past the due date, which is amazing considering I spent about a month on my couch. I am so grateful to Gina Wachtel for being understanding about this and managing to keep the release date. Even though I struggled, I really loved writing this story—I love Lilly and Easton (and Otis!) and the New York setting.

As always thanks to everyone who supports me in this crazy writing business—my author friends who reassured me I would finish the book; my daughter, who does the numbers stuff; my amazing assistant, Stacey Price, who does all the “other stuff”; my publicist, Heather Robertson, who makes sure people know about my books; my agent, Emily Kim, who somehow pulled this book deal out of a hat! And again, thanks to Gina—for giving me this chance to write more hockey romance for PRH, as well as thanks to the entire team at PRH who work on my books.

Most of all, thank you to my readers. I’m honored every time someone buys and reads my books, and I hope that in difficult times they provide a little escape, a little laughter, and a reminder that love really is the most important thing in the world.

BY KELLY JAMIESON

Aces Hockey

Major Misconduct

Off Limits

Icing

Top Shelf

Back Check

Slap Shot

Playing Hurt

Big Stick

Game On

Bayard Hockey

Shut Out

Cross Check

Last Shot

Body Shot

Hot Shot

Long Shot

Wynn Hockey

Play to Win

In It to Win It

Win Big

For the Win

Other Books

Dancing in the Rain

Must Love Dogs…and Hockey

PHOTO: LANCE THOMSON PHOTOGRAPHIC

USA Today bestselling author KELLY JAMIESON is the author of more than fifty contemporary romance novels. She writes the kind of books she loves to read—sexy romance with heat, humor, and emotion. She likes coffee (black), wine (mostly white), and shoes (high!). She also loves watching hockey.

kellyjamieson.com

Twitter: @KellyJamieson

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