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.”
&
nbsp; 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.
Must Love Dogs...and Hockey Page 6
