Must Love Dogs...and Hockey

by Kelly Jamieson

  “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 e
ntrance 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.

  Wha
tever.

  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.”