Chapter 9
Liam
I wake up to something wet and warm on my face. For a blissful moment, I think it's Avery kissing me awake. Then my eyes open and I'm staring into the enormous brown eyes of Trouble.
“Morning to you, too, buddy,” I mutter, gently moving him off my chest. I swing my legs off the bed. “Avery?” I call out.
She's gone. This is the second time she’s snuck out on me.
The memory of last night comes flooding back. The way Avery felt in my arms, the way she submitted to me when I told her it was my turn to take charge.
I pull on a pair of boxers and pad to the kitchen. On the counter, there’s a note from Avery.
Puppy care schedule.
Apparently, I’m not worth staying for, but just enough to say goodbye to. Her handwriting is neat, every letter carefully shaped, and I find myself tracing the curves with my finger like a love-struck fool.
I should be grateful that she cares enough about the puppies to leave a note about their care. Instead, it pisses me off.
It’s me she should be taking care of.
The thought is a live wire, sparking through my system and heading straight south. I look down as my cock thickens under my boxers.
I’m so fucking horny. And not for any woman. I can get that in less than an hour. It’s Avery I want.
In my head, the morning should have gone like this. I’d wake up first, feeling her curled against my side. I’d trail my lips along her shoulder, my hand sliding down the smooth plane of her stomach.
Avery would stir with a sleepy sound, pressing back into me. I’d kiss her awake, slowly, taking my time as I roll her onto her back. I’d be inside her before either of us was fully conscious.
A sharp whine behind me punctures the fantasy. Reality is this painful, frustrated erection that has nowhere to go.
I rake my fingers through my hair. I don’t fucking get her. The moment we cross into territory that actually matters, she runs.
And that's bullshit.
Last night wasn't just sex. It wasn't just attraction or convenience or whatever excuse she's telling herself right now. What we have is different, and she knows it.
I’ve never felt this way about a woman. Ever. She's possessed me even though I know she thinks I’m a fuck up.
She’s probably right, but she makes me want to prove her wrong.
“Alright, crew,” I announce to the puppies, who are now awake and looking at me expectantly. “It's breakfast time.”
What follows is twenty minutes of chaos. I measure out food portions while six puppies weave between my legs, whining and jumping. Trouble somehow manages to knock over his bowl before I even fill it.
The outside potty break is another adventure. My building's courtyard at 8:30 AM is thankfully empty, but herding six puppies on leashes is like trying to conduct a symphony with spaghetti.
They want to go in six different directions, investigate every smell, and generally ignore any concept of bathroom etiquette.
“Come on, we talked about this,” I mutter as one of the pups tries to eat a leaf instead of handling his business. “The sooner you poop, the sooner we can go back inside where it's warm.”
By the time we get back upstairs, I'm exhausted.
Practice is in two hours, and I should be resting. Instead, I'm googling puppy training tips. Twenty minutes later, I give up.
I can’t do this. I need help.
I pull up the contact info from the shelter where I got the puppies and call them.
“Hi, this is Liam. I adopted six golden retriever puppies from you yesterday. I need a recommendation for a reliable dog sitter. Like, immediately.”
The woman on the phone is enthusiastic. “Oh yes. How are they doing? We have a list of excellent pet care professionals. Are you looking for someone to come to your home or daycare?”
“Someone who can come to my home. I have to go out in a couple of hours, and I need someone who can handle them.”
“Let me give you a few names. There's Olivia. She's wonderful with puppies and has experience with multiple dogs. She might be able to come on short notice if she's available.”
I take down Olivia's number and call her immediately. To my relief, she answers on the second ring.
“Olivia, my name is Liam Novak. I got your number from the shelter. I adopted six golden retriever puppies yesterday, and I desperately need help. Any chance you could come by this morning? Like, in the next hour?”
There's a pause. “Six puppies? That's ambitious.”
“Tell me about it. I'm a professional hockey player, and I have practice at ten. I can pay whatever your rate is, plus extra for the short notice.”
There’s a pause before she replies, and I’m bristling with impatience. “I appreciate the call, but six puppies are a significant commitment, especially with the level of care they need at that age.”
My stomach sinks. “I understand, but I'm really in a bind here. What if I paid you five thousand a week?”
There’s a sharp inhale from the other end. “I'm sorry, did you say five thousand?”
“Yes. Five thousand a week. I travel a lot for games, and when I'm home, I have unpredictable hours. I need someone reliable who can be flexible.”
I'm pacing now, two of the puppies following at my heels. “I know it's a lot to ask, but I'm willing to pay for the inconvenience.”
“That’s an incredibly generous offer.”
“So you'll do it?”
“Let me check my schedule.” I hear papers rustling. “I had a cancellation this morning, actually. I could be there by ten to assess the situation. If it works out, I'll need your full schedule. And I'll need at least two weeks' notice for any schedule changes when possible.”
“Done. Whatever you need.” I give her my address and brief her on the morning's chaos.
When Olivia arrives at ten sharp, she's exactly what I need. A competent woman in her thirties wearing practical clothes and carrying a bag full of supplies.
She takes one look at the puppy chaos in my living room and laughs. “Well, you certainly don't do things by halves, do you, Mr. Novak?”
“Call me Liam. And no, I don't.”
I share with her my schedule for the next couple of months.
“And you'll need me during all practices and away games?”
“Yeah. And honestly, even on days I'm home, it would help to have you come for a few hours. These guys need more attention than I can give them right now.”
She's typing notes into her tablet. “I can do weekdays from nine to four, and I'm available for extended care during your road trips. For five thousand a week, I can also do emergency calls if something comes up.”
“Perfect. When can you start?”
“I'm here now, aren't I?” She grins. “Let me get them settled, and you go do your hockey thing.” She grows serious. “I would advise that you think about giving some of them away.”
“No,” is my immediate reaction. I already love the little rascals.
Olivia shrugs and turns, busying herself with the puppies.
As I leave for practice, I’m feeling pretty proud of myself. Maybe now, Avery won’t think I’m such a fuck up after all.
The thoughts of Avery get me pissed off all over again. And hurt, if I'm being honest.
I've had my share of women. Plenty of them. But not one of them made me feel the way Avery does. Not one of them made me want to be better, do better, be more than just the guy who scores goals and makes headlines.
And she can't even stick around long enough to have a conversation about it.
I park and head straight inside, but instead of going to the locker room, I find myself taking the elevator to the PR department. I need answers. I need to understand why she keeps running from something that feels this right.
Avery's office door is open, and she's at her desk, looking perfectly put together in a navy blazer and white blouse. Like last night never happened.
I knock on the doorframe, and she looks up.
“How are the puppies?” she asks in an even tone, gesturing to the chair across from her desk.
“Alive. Fed. Got a professional sitter this morning, though. She's with them now.”
A smile tugs at her lips. “That's good. Smart move.”
“You left.”
My tone comes out angry, but I'm tired of pretending this doesn't matter.
Her smile disappears. “Liam.”
“That was the second time.” I plop down on the chair and pin her down with a stare. “What is it with you and disappearing acts?”
She glances toward her open door, then back at me. “Close the door.”
I do, then return to my seat. The tension in the room is thick enough to cut.
“Last night was a mistake,” she says carefully. “We got caught up in the moment, but we can't let it happen again.”
“Why not?”
“Because I'm your publicist. Because we work together. Because it's completely unprofessional.”
“So what? People have relationships with their colleagues all the time.”
She stands up and moves to the window as if she can’t bear to look at me. “We can't have an affair, Liam.”
“Who said anything about an affair? Maybe I want more than that.”
She turns to face me, and there's something almost panicked in her expression. “More? You don't even know me.”
I stand up too, frustration building. “I know how you felt in my arms last night, and I know you felt it too.”
“That's not enough.”
“It's a start.”
“It's not happening.” Her tone is final. “Last night was a one-time thing. It won't happen again.”
The rejection stings. “So that's it? You just use me and disappear?”
She whirls around and stares at me. “Use you?”
“Yeah. Use me. That's what this feels like, Avery. You take what you want and then you're gone. I'm the one left wondering what the hell happened.”
“You think I used you?” Her voice is incredulous.
“What else am I supposed to think?”
“You're unbelievable.” She's angry now, color rising in her cheeks. “You think I'm the one using people? You, who's been photographed with a different woman every week? Who treats relationships like a revolving door?”
“That was the past. I’m a different man now.” I can’t believe this shit is pouring out of me. Neither can I believe that I want this woman so badly that I’m begging.
Me. Novak. Begging for a woman’s attention.
She raises an eyebrow. It pisses me the fuck off, but I have to keep my cool. I move closer, needing her to understand. “Those women are just noise. This is different. You're different.”
Something flickers in her expression, but she shakes her head. “It doesn't matter. It can't happen again.”
“Why? Give me one good reason that isn't about work.”
She's quiet for a long moment, and I think maybe I'm getting through to her. Then she meets my eyes. “Because it would hurt me.”
The honesty of it stops me cold. “What?”
“When you get bored and move on to the next woman, when the novelty wears off and you remember that I'm just your uptight publicist who makes you follow rules, it would hurt me. And I can't afford that kind of hurt.”
“I wouldn't.” The very idea of it is insane. Doesn’t she understand? I’ve never been sure of anything in my life. Avery is it. She’s the one I never thought I was waiting for.
“You would. Maybe not intentionally, but you would. It's who you are.”
The words are like a knife to my chest. “That's not fair.”
“It's realistic.” She moves back to her desk, “I have a job to do, and you have a career to salvage. Let's focus on that.”
I stare at her for a long moment, anger and hurt warring in my chest. She's wrong about me. About this. But I can see in her face that she's made up her mind.
And that's what really pisses me off. “Fine,” I say finally. “Professional it is.”