Iced Out (Lakewood Leopards #1)

1. Lisa

Lisa

“This is your only chance. Get out.”

The last words my best friend said to me hammer home in time with my footfalls.

I let out an exasperated huff and lower the speed on the treadmill until I’m walking.

In through the nose, out through the mouth.

I focus on breathing low and slow, recovering from the grueling pace I was pushing myself at.

No matter how much I try to outrun this damn memory, it always keeps pace with me.

It’s been weeks since she said those words. Weeks since I heeded them. I’ve put a thousand miles and several states between us, but the echo in my head is proof there are some things I just can’t distance myself from.

I’d prefer to be running outside, where I’m able to distract myself with the world passing me by, but as it turns out, fall in Minnesota is volatile, swinging from sunny to frosty in a heartbeat.

Today is even colder than usual, meaning I’m confined to the indoor gym in my apartment building.

The second I step off the treadmill, the cool air envelops me like silk, chilling the sweat to my skin.

I shrug my hoodie back on and head up the elevator to my apartment, already daydreaming about the hot shower I’ll take before my evening work shift.

I have at least an hour before I need to leave, and all it will take is fifteen glorious minutes to warm back up, relax my sore muscles, and hopefully clear up my headspace, since my run clearly didn’t cut it. Hell, I might even use a shower bomb.

The daydream is cut short, however, by the scent that hits me as soon as I push my door open. My eyes begin to water.

Shit – again. Literally.

“Winny,” I groan, slumping against the door frame. “Really?”

The skittering of nails against hardwood in the other room tells me my dog heard the disapproval in my tone and is making a genuine attempt at escape.

While my one-bedroom Minneapolis apartment is large, it isn’t big enough for him to avoid my scolding…

and it certainly isn’t large enough to mask the scent of his third accident this week.

I tug my hoodie up over my nose as I locate the source of the offending odor, equipped with paper towels and floor cleaner.

The clicking of nails comes closer, stopping a few feet away as my dog, Winston, pokes his head around the corner.

I glance over to see his black ears tucked back, fawn-colored face furrowed in a genuine look of shame.

I snort and roll my eyes as I take in his apologetic expression, but I can’t really blame him.

Though I’ve had him for a few months now, he is a rescue, and he often experiences separation anxiety if I’m gone for more than an hour or two.

Our recent move hasn’t helped – something he’s made abundantly clear with his shitscapades.

“You’re okay, boy,” I murmur, and hear the tentative thump of his tail against the wall in response. I stand to toss the soiled paper towels in a bag and wash my hands. When I reach for his leash, his tail thwaps come faster, threatening to put a hole in the drywall.

For what I spent on this apartment, I know I could have found a home with a yard for Winston instead of having to take him for quick walks every time he needed to relieve himself.

But this apartment has fantastic amenities, grade A security, and honestly, the idea of maintaining an entire household by myself at twenty-four is too overwhelming.

Not to mention, the span of everything I own can – and did – fill two suitcases, so the idea of trying to fill multiple rooms is both unnecessary and depressing.

I sigh as I clip on Winny’s leash. Only crazy people pack up and move to Minnesota, sight unseen, on the cusp of winter. Crazy people, and people who have to disappear.

Nope. Stop. Something in my chest twists painfully, and I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment as I will myself away from thoughts of my past. After a long minute, the feel of Winston brushing against my legs brings me back, reminding me he needs to go out, now, lest he give me a repeat of what I just cleaned up.

I hop in the elevator with him and press the button for the first lobby floor, watching as the numbers drop. After two, I close my eyes, steering my thoughts in a more positive direction.

I was able to find this great apartment, and not one, but two jobs that have flexible hours.

I have Winston with me. I found a nearby boxing gym, and it’s been surprisingly easy to build up my physical strength, especially since I’ve been so consistent.

It’s much harder to carve out my mental strength, though…

especially when it feels like I’m starting from ground zero.

At the beep of the elevator, my eyes shoot open. I expect us to be on the bottom floor, but quickly see we’ve only traveled four floors down. I instinctively shift Winston to the corner of the elevator, tucking his small brown body behind my legs.

When I adopted him, I was hoping his company would ease my anxiety.

Instead, he’s a mixed-breed, 45-pound version of me, complete with his own brand of anxiety.

We’ve conquered a lot together, from walking over strange surfaces to the fizz of a can being cracked open – something my sparkling water addiction greatly appreciates – but men are something he still fears deeply.

I can’t say I feel any differently.

Unfortunately for both of us, they can’t be avoided. Half the population and all that. I just know there will be one on the other side of the elevator door, and chances are high he will be wearing a hat, making Winny even more afraid.

Just my luck, when the door opens, there are four of them.

All in hats.

I feel Winston shrink further into the corner and reach a hand down to scratch behind his ears. Gratefully, none of them even seem to notice his small frame as they clamber in, too busy laughing with one another about something. All they do is glance at me with pleasant enough smiles.

My eyes travel over their sweatshirts, which all have matching logos. A snow leopard, from the looks of it, with a hockey stick in its teeth. The words “Lakewood Leopards” stretch across the top.

I blink, trying to place it. I haven’t been here long enough to know the many cities that make up metropolitan Minneapolis, but I don’t think Lakewood has a college.

Besides, this apartment, with its fancy amenities and open floor plans, is not typically in a ‘college student’ price range.

My college housing involved holes filled with toothpaste, peeling paint, and a fridge that never seemed to fully close.

They’re all tall and fit, likely in their early to mid-twenties, like myself.

One of the men – stocky, with thick, dark hair and an even thicker mustache – notes my gaze and grins.

The movement lifts his mustache, and I can’t help the way my own lip curls as I watch it move, like a hairy caterpillar.

“Oh, hey,” he says, and I swear his voice sounds strained. Is he…trying to make it sound deeper?

My brow lifts, and my suspicions are confirmed as his friends snicker, shuffling and bumping into him. One murmurs, “Oh, hey,” in a mocking tone, and Mustache Man punches him, dragging a wounded “Ow!” from his friend. The snickering intensifies.

I open my mouth to say something, but as my mind races, my throat closes, stopping any possible response.

Their jostling causes one of them – a fair-skinned blond man – to bump into me, and he mutters an apology. Sweat begins to prick my palms, but I still say nothing.

The tallest one in their group runs his hand over his face, clearly feeling secondhand embarrassment for his friends. He turns his head, and I brace for whatever comment is coming next. Probably a question as to why my mouth is open, but no words are coming out.

Instead, he glances down at Winston, who remains tucked on the other side of me.

“Cute dog,” he says, his voice surprisingly soft.

There’s a thumping against my leg. I look down to see Winston gazing up – not at me, but at the tall man. He’s panting, but his ears are flopped forward, his tongue lolling happily.

I glance back at the man, my eyes going up his tall frame to land on his hat, resting on floppy, dark-brown hair. It’s strange. He should be everything that sets Winny on edge, and yet, it’s like he’s already built some mysterious, silent bond with my dog.

I lock eyes with him. His are a deep, dark brown, and warmer than I expected. They crinkle at the edges with confusion, and I blink, realizing I’m still gaping at him.

My mouth snaps shut, but before I can say something like, “Thank you,” or something more explanatory and reasonable, like “Sorry, I’m just blown away, because he’s never met a tall man in a hat he didn’t want to run away from or bite in the nuts,” the elevator beeps again, and the doors open on the ground floor.

The man smiles at us once more, though it looks a little uncertain this time. Before I can voice any of the thoughts flying through my head, he slips out of the elevator and disappears.

“Lisa? Lisa!” Fingers snap behind me.

I turn, blinking in surprise as I come face-to-face with a perky blonde – or, given her height, her even perkier chest.

“Didn’t you hear me calling you?” My coworker, Julia, lets out an exasperated sigh.

We work together at a German sports bar, conveniently located only three blocks from my new apartment.

The bar is incredibly cheesy – hell, it’s literally named Wunderbar – but it has great beer, fun games, and since it closes at 11pm, it never gets too rowdy.

I was lucky to jump on a bartender opening a few days after I moved in.

“Erm, sorry.” I wipe my palms across my jeans and lean against the bar. “What’s up?”

“The group over there just ordered some warm old fashioneds. Do you need some help with them, or are you good?” Julia motions at a group of four that just arrived.