Defensive Line (The Unlovabulls #1)

Chapter Seven

Who the hell talks in hashtags?

Lily

Brody had been watching CC since we left the park. “She doesn’t seem overstimulated now, and her ears are standing up. She’s always so watchful. Every little thing seems to put her on alert.” CC walked on leash beside Brody, buddied up to Jet like she’d been doing it her entire life. “But now, she seems relaxed. I can’t believe it’s that simple.”

I snorted. “It’s not. Some things come more easily than others. Depends on the dog. Right now, she’s physically and mentally too exhausted to give a damn, but some of her caution will return. I think her curiosity will always win out. She’ll always be watchful—that’s ingrained in her DNA. You need to get her out for exercise every day and start exposing her to new surroundings. A tired dog is a good dog.” A thought occurred to me. “Have you had her spayed?”

He nodded. “The emergency vet took care of it when they put her under to stitch the gash closed. They gave her shots, ran heartworm tests and all that. Told me I was lucky she was heartworm negative. She was dehydrated and underweight, but I don’t think she’d been wandering for too long. I need to find a regular vet. I have to follow up with the rest of her immunizations.”

“I’ll give you the name of my vet.”

As the coffee shop in Brody’s building came into view, he seemed antsy. “Got time for coffee? Unless, I mean, you have a class or client or something.”

“Sure, I’ve got some time. And that surrounding will be good for CC. It’s best to expose her to new situations after she’s well exercised. Plus, I wanna talk to you about some of my observations.” It took everything I had not to grin. He sounded like a nervous teenager and I was fairly sure the tips of his ears turned red. Truthfully, I’d been enjoying his company. Probably a little too much. The scene back in the park was...not something I did with my clients. Or anybody, for that matter. I had friends in the dog world who knew Joker’s story, but it wasn’t like me to be quite so transparent. The way Brody and I had connected back there... I’d never been so thankful for Jet’s timing.

Pulling a folded ball cap out of his back pocket, he slapped it on his head. Slipped on the sunglasses he’d hung on the neck of his shirt. After grabbing a table in the shade, I took CC’s leash and Brody went inside to order. By the time he reemerged with our coffee, the dogs were drowsing on the sidewalk.

“I worried about you handling all three dogs. Obviously, I didn’t need to.”

Flicking my gaze up, I took my coffee, and Brody’s lips parted. “Jesus, Lily. Those eyes...”

“It’s not polite to stare, Shaw.”

Brody cleared his throat, stared at my mouth. “Uh, sorry.”

A slow smirk crept across my lips. “I’m messing with you. I’ve gotten that my entire life. They’re unusual. People stare.” I shrugged, sipped my flat white.

“They’re just...arresting. I can’t believe I hadn’t noticed them before.”

“We’ve always chatted at night. Not a lot of changes in light.” I felt my cheeks shift to pink. Time to change the subject. “Something occurred to me with CC and Mack’s mill.”

He leaned both elbows on the table. “What’s that?”

“I think there’s a distinct possibility that this mill owner has answered free-to-a-good-home classified ads to find some of their breeding stock.”

One eye squinted as he sunk his teeth into his lip. It was all kinds of yummy. “Why is that?”

“The rescue I got Mack from found a handful of dogs that didn’t get as lucky as Mack. They’d been dumped in the woods back off a road.”

Nostrils flaring, Brody’s lips thinned as his molars got a workout.

“They took pictures for the authorities, and one of them had its ears and tail cropped.”

“Yeah, but a lot of these bully breeds have that, right?”

“Yes, but it’s an extra expense. It’s an aesthetic for a breeding dog. A puppy farmer wouldn’t care about it because they’re never going to let you see their breeding dogs. They could have weaseled them out of legitimate breeders, but that’s expensive. Plus, if they went through the hassle of getting dogs from legit breeders, they wouldn’t cart them out to the middle of nowhere and dump them because they weren’t producing. They’d sell them off at auction or clean them up and advertise them. As scrutinizing as show breeders are about who they give their pups to, mill owners are just as tenacious and deceptive.”

I bit the inside edge of my lip. “I think Mack may have come from an unwitting breeder. He hadn’t had any training when he came to me, but confirmation-wise, he’s a good example of his breed. CC... I’m ninety percent sure someone has worked with her on basic commands.”

“You think she was someone’s pet?”

“At one time. Did the emergency vet scan her for a microchip?”

Brody nodded. “Yeah, she didn’t have one. They gave her one, but I need to send in her registration.”

“Don’t forget to do that. Otherwise the chip isn’t much good.”

Two lines appeared between Brody’s brows.

I rested an elbow on the table, covered his hand with my own. “I don’t think anyone is out there looking for her. If she didn’t have a chip, chances are they weren’t real concerned with losing her anyway. But all the little clues did get me thinking.

“Nearly all pups in pet shops come from mills, but mills are also known to sell pups online. I think this puppy farmer may have ran across CC’s owner trying to give her away and picked her up to breed her. If this mill owner cruises classifieds to find cheap or free breeding stock, we may have another avenue to finding them. It’s essentially the same way fighting rings find bait dogs. It’s also why I tell people not to use classifieds or social media to get rid of a pet.”

Brody rubbed his plump bottom lip with his index finger as he mulled over the logistics.

“We can search classifieds for phone numbers—message them if we need to, like we’re interested in a dog—and narrow down the area. I can work on that since I probably shouldn’t go to pet shops with you anyway.”

“Spill it, Costello.”

I was never going to live this down. “I, uh...might have gotten arrested at a pet shop.”

Brody choked. Almost full-on spluttered coffee on me. “You did what, now?”

“It’s no big deal. I got belligerent with an owner, who called the cops. They cuffed me, but they didn’t process me or anything. After one glance at my driver’s license, they cut me loose.” One of the perks of being Billy Costello’s kid.

“It’s no big deal?” The way his eyes widened reminded me of a cartoon character.

“Anyhow, I didn’t get much info. Mill circles are incredibly tight lipped. And I’m fairly sure my picture is behind the register at most pet shops now.” I tried not to grin but failed. Truth was, this was why I needed Brody’s help. I needed someone on the ground who wasn’t affiliated with dogs or dog rescue like I was. Brody was that person, and the fact that he was a football player in a football town would go a lot further than some crazed dog trainer screaming obscenities.

While he held up a finger, amusement danced over his features. “I...want to revisit this. Particularly the part about you in handcuffs. But I don’t see how that rolls into finding the mill? I get we can narrow it by area code. I don’t mean to piss on your boots, but are we supposed to just drive around and hope we get lucky?”

“Mmm, I’ve thought about that. I mapped where each of the dogs was found after I left your place. They’ve all been within about twenty miles of each other. If I can narrow it down further, we can place our own free-to-a-good-home ad.”

“That’s smart. Find out where they’re selling most of their puppies and then bring them to us. What can I do to help?” The excitement on his face was pure and bright, contagious.

Yet, my gaze shifted to the woman who’d stopped behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, Brody. I thought you could use a refill.” As the barista set another to-go cup in front of him, I didn’t miss how she brushed his back with, um...all of her, really. “Oh em gee, is this your dog? Why haven’t you brought him before now? Hashtag whosagooddoggie.”

Seriously? Have you been under a rock? Although, she didn’t particularly seem the type who diligently watched the five o’clock news. She had spray-tanned giraffe-length legs she used to great effect when she bent to greet CC, and as far as she was concerned, I didn’t exist. Hand to God, I strained my macular nerves with my eye roll.

An amused expression crossed Brody’s face.

“What’s his name? Can I pet him?”

CC sat up, scooting back under the table.

“It’s a she, and she’s not crazy about strangers. Best give her some time. She’s still learning to trust people.”

The barista jerked her hand back. “Oh, okay. Well, just let me know if you need anything else.”

I was pleased to see him reading his dog’s body language. He hadn’t hesitated to tell the woman no. Actually, he’d surprised me a lot today. Particularly his empathy when I talked about Joker and the way he’d hinted at having his own issues with the game he played. He was kind and thoughtful, unfailingly sweet and so concerned he would screw up with CC. Surprisingly easy to blush when he got nervous or felt like he was out of his element. How fricking adorable was that?

Then, there was his research. He truly wanted to help any way he could. Most people got a glimpse into puppy mills and decided it was easier to write checks to soothe their conscience than to go down the rabbit hole. Experience told me that would be when he would bail—when things got hard and hands started to get dirty.

“Actually, you forgot to bring my friend another flat white.” Brody’s voice cut through. “Could you get her another, too?”

The woman’s eyes bulged.

That...did not make things any easier for me at the moment. Letting Miss Handsy know that she was being rude? My pink parts gave an involuntary shiver and I could have climbed him right then.

I sent the barista a completely petty grin. “In a to-go cup, please.” Because this morning had been way too revealing. I already had a hard enough time distracting myself from all the tingle feels I had about this man.

Leaning forward, a grin crept over his face as he fished his wallet out of his back pocket, producing a twenty. He slid the wallet back in and I’d never wanted to be a beat-up piece of leather so much in my life.

Mercy.

Clearing my throat, I forced myself to stop thirsting. “I have to get going, but let me talk to my dog peeps to see if they can help me send messages and make calls. You can do some of that if you want. Oh, and CC’s not reactive with other dogs, which is a very good thing given her breed. I do think she should spend some time with a group of dogs, to see how she does. My Sunday playgroup meets at that park around nine in the morning. If you’re free, I could meet you around eight thirty and arrange for the other folks to trickle in.”

“Wait. You’re leaving already? I have questions about commands and stuff. And handcuffs.” The puppy dog eyes he gave me were totally by design. Bastard.

“Sorry, big man. You think you’re all I’ve got to do today? I have a life.” Though, not much of one.

He arched a sexy eyebrow. Question: When the hell did eyebrows get sexy? Answer: Brody Shaw. “I’d love nothing more than for me to be the only thing you do today.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. Until his knee brushed mine under the table and I jumped like a schoolgirl with a crush. Seeing my reaction, he decided to let it linger. Lord help me. “Clever, Shaw. You give good...” Leaning forward, I let myself flirt even though I knew I shouldn’t, shifting my knee to brush the inside of his thigh. Now it was his turn to jump. “...innuendo, I’ll give you that much.”

The barista dropped off our coffees without looking at me. I said thank you anyway as she glanced at Brody over her shoulder. The fact that he ignored her when she did it...yeah, it was time to go.

“But, I’m not worried about you, Shaw. Something tells me you’ve got enough women lining up to crawl into your bed to last your lifetime. You don’t need me to be one of them.”

“You think I sleep around.”

I gave him the duh look. “Brody, the night you asked for my number, I watched you leave with some woman you hadn’t come in with hanging all over you.”

I thought I saw a quick flash of disappointment. “People grow up, Lil.”

I watched him, weighed his words. Was I selling the man short? Maybe, but I’d rather sell him short than give him enough rope to hang me with. Standing a bit slower than I should have, I enjoyed watching him track my movement while Jet and Mack got to their feet. “You can call me with your questions. I’ll text you some info about taking private lessons...with Rob. He’s our doggie basics instructor.”

Brody’s playful grin returned along with hooded eyes. “What, you mean my private lessons won’t be with you?”

“Or, if you’d rather, he has a group class starting soon. I hear tell groups might be your thing, Shaw.” I threw a wink in with the comment.

He barked out a laugh, tipped his head in a nod of defeat. “Round two to Ms. Costello. Two women brushing me off in one day. I know exactly where Jet learned it.”

I wondered about the whole fantasy suite thing and how much was true. The evidence was pretty damning, yet the man I’d spent this morning with made me want to hear Brody’s side of the story. It made me wish he didn’t play football and all that came with it.

Still, curious kitties...besides, I really didn’t need to like this guy any more than I already did.

Patting her head, I bent to whisper to CC loud enough for Brody to hear. “You tell him, girl. If he can’t run with the big dogs and all that.”

On that note, Jet and I sauntered off.

It might have had the desired effect, too.

If Mack hadn’t stopped to whiz on a patch of grass as we walked away.

Later that day, I was in the checkout line at the grocery store flipping through the latest edition of Dallas Life & Style when I came across their “Spotted” column. It was a people-around-Dallas thing, meant to highlight where to see and be seen.

The photo captions always read similarly. Spotted: Neiman’s flagship store—oil heiress Bitsy Anderson seen leaving the Zodiac Room with party girl and former college roommate Blake Wyatt.

Letting my gaze wander, I picked up on a familiar face. Spotted: Midnight Rambler—Baylor Fairchild, recently divorced heir to the Fairchild cattle fortune—seen making out with It Girl Mercedes Hanes before leaving with unidentified redhead.

I huffed a laugh . I’d known Baylor when we were kids. Once a dog, always a dog. Actually, that was insulting to dogs.

Spotted: Bourbon & Banter—tarnished golden boy Brody Shaw seen leaving with unidentified blondes under each arm. Things appeared cozy as the threesome shared an Uber to Brody’s home north of the city last Saturday.

It was Brody, all right. Leaving a bar with a pair of stunning women. The photo was split. In the second picture he and both women were getting out of a car in front of his apartment building.

I felt the lines in my forehead wrinkle.

Damn it . He’s exactly the guy I think he is. The quintessential baller and all that came with it.

After putting my groceries away, I took the dogs out to the backyard and curled up in my hammock with my Kindle, but I couldn’t concentrate on what I was reading. Honestly, I didn’t know why the magazine bugged me. It wasn’t anything I didn’t already know about football players. It was a hot-tempered sport played by overindulged men, and it allowed them access to a way of life I wanted no part of.

I loved my daddy, but life with him hadn’t been easy. He was on the road half the year, cheating on my mother with God knew how many women and pissing his money away at some poker game or another. When he was home, he could be the doting father and husband, or the angry drunk who put his fist through a plateglass window because he’d run out of the two Vs—Vicodin and vodka. All retirement did was take away the women and the money, leaving Billy to sink deeper in on himself until I didn’t recognize him anymore.

Sadly, the football hero facet of my father was also the very reason Brody would likely understand me. He could be someone I could talk to, but never someone I’d allow myself to depend on.

Catch-22 at its finest.

I needed to be smart about Brody Shaw because we had that connection. Not just the attraction and chemistry, or our shared love of all things Dean Winchester. We had the capability to understand each other on a level that had shaped us as people. As much as I might like to find out how deep that connection went, I wasn’t about to put up with cheating or volatility the way my mother and I had again. I could be friends with Brody, partners in this mill search, even have a harmless flirt, but any secret thoughts I’d entertained about letting it go further died in the checkout line at the grocery store when I thought about my mom screaming at my dad and my dad trashing the house.

Jet pushed her head under my hand, and I gave her an ear scratch followed by a scratch on Mack’s wiggly rump.

No, guys like Brody Shaw were like rescue dogs: you could only count on them being there for so long. Whatever you do, don’t let yourself get attached. Because they always move on soon enough.