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 Lil
ly’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.
Must Love Dogs...and Hockey Page 4