Chapter 11 #2
The men are now sitting on the kitchen floor, listening attentively to me, like my rambling talk about my dog matters.
They don’t look bored like Xander was when I told him the story.
Sure, Xander listened, but then he wanted to go shopping for new bow ties because his favorite vintage shop was having a sale.
These guys look legitimately interested, and it’s irresistible to me.
“Roxy’s owner had been in hospice. But she didn’t have a family.
When she passed away with no one there except the hospice workers and her dog, she’d left a note to the shelter that said please take care of my girl.
” This part of the story always chokes me up, and I stop to breathe past overwhelming emotion.
Stefan pops up, grabs a tissue from the counter, and hands it to me.
I dab at my eyes. “Sorry. That note always makes me sad.”
“Of course it does,” Hayes says gently. “You feel for the person and the pet.”
My heart warms. “Yes, exactly.”
“Reminds me of my grandmother,” Stefan adds, his tone serious, and it’s one of the first times I’ve heard it that way. “She was in love with cats. I think cats were her soul mates. She was very concerned about what would happen to them when she passed.”
“What did happen?” I ask, a touch alarmed for the cats.
“My mom took them in,” he says simply. Like, what other choice was there?
“I’m glad to hear that. Does she still have them?”
“Yes. She cooks them dinner every night.”
“So, they’re her soul mates now?”
“Absolutely,” he says.
Stefan sits down again, and I join them on the floor, leaning in close, getting in on the Roxy love.
“I get that,” I say. “As for this girl, I just felt for both of them. For this dog who’d lost her person and the little old lady who had no one in her later years but a dog.
Little Friends helped the Florida folks facilitate the rescue, and when I saw their video about Roxy, I basically busted down the door to Little Friends, demanding, Let me have her.
” I swallow the hitch in my throat. “I just felt this intense desire to make her mine. To slather her in love and kisses and attention and bandanas throughout her golden years.”
Hayes’s smile grows bigger. “You’re the reason, then, that she gives a lot of love.”
My heart glows a little more, and I tell myself it’s just the dog story making me emotional. “Maybe,” I say. “But I think it’s also her personality.”
“I think she found the right person,” Stefan says, his voice warm now.
“I like to think so, too,” I say. “Someday, I want to donate a bunch of money to the two shelters and get a plaque for all the dogs waiting to be adopted, and it’ll say Roxy’s Playroom, and all the dogs will get homes.”
I try to shake off the emotions. I certainly don’t need to get teary-eyed in front of two strapping hockey studs who called me up for my kale expertise.
This isn’t my personal therapy hour, where I bare my soul about my feelings about family, and taking care of other people, and trust, and support.
“I’m just glad Trina tipped me off about her.
She has a dog from the same shelter—a three-legged Min-Pin named Nacho. We call them cousins.”
“Found family includes dogs,” Hayes says.
“Definitely. And they’re lucky pooches,” Stefan adds.
My head swims with even more questions. How is it that they both understand my overly emotional attachment to an animal?
I tell them more about Roxy and Nacho, how she stays with Nacho when I have to travel for work.
Like this weekend. The mascot doesn’t travel with the team—whipping up the crowds is solely a home-arena job—but the team asked me to travel with them to Vegas for a promo stunt the Sabers want me to do with their mascot.
Will it be weird to travel with both of these guys?
With the one man who got me hot and bothered in the equipment room and this other one who’s growing on me now?
Of course, I probably won’t even see them on the trip.
They’re the players. The stars. I’m just a girl who puts on a sweltering, fluffy costume and trips on the ice on purpose.
A girl like me, trying to hold onto her side hustle, can’t afford to fall for one co-worker, let alone two.
Shake it off.
I stand, smoothing down my crocheted top, centering myself. “About that kale…”
They get to their feet, and Hayes, leads me up a winding staircase to the roof, Roxy in my arms, Stefan behind me. “Does she have a whole collection? Of bandanas?” Stefan asks.
“Of course.” I toss him a guilty-not-guilty grin. “She’s a scrappy little fashionista. Like me.”
It’s the first time I’ve acknowledged my handle in front of Stefan, and a realization clobbers me.
He didn’t come across my newsletter by accident. He searched it out. He commented on it. He tracked me down. I am the certain someone.
“And she seems to enjoy the attention,” he says, his blue eyes locked on mine, like he knows a secret.
“Maybe she does,” I say evenly, trying not to give too much away. Just that he doesn’t have the upper hand. “Number Eighteen.”
It only seems to delight him more that I’ve put it together. Hayes looks at his friend curiously, assessing, but doesn’t seem bothered that Stefan’s flirting with me.
That surprises me. Hayes gives off possessive vibes, like when he told me not to talk to other rooftop gardeners. Is he unbothered because he already backed off? Is this some sort of hand-off from one guy to the other?
My head hurts, and really there’s no point in trying to puzzle this out. My guy radar is out of whack.
My plant radar is not though. It’s hot again on the roof, the sun beating down. As Hayes strides to the planters, he reaches for the hem of his shirt and peels it off.
I was not expecting that.
He shoots a confident glance my way, his dark eyes glinting a message. Two can play at the shirtless game.
With the same swagger he’s shown since he announced he’d take me to the wedding, he turns back around, like he doesn’t even care if my eyes are on him.
The sexy, cocky fucker.
I do care. I care so much that I sway. The man’s muscles are insane. He’s long, strong, and toned everywhere.
As I stare at him unabashedly on wobbly knees, Stefan reaches out a hand and steadies me, grasping my elbow. “The view can be dizzying,” he says with an amused smile.
I roll my lips together and nod, sealing up my sighs.
Yes, the view is dizzying.
Two toned, strong, shirtless men on a rooftop.
I don’t know what I’ve gotten myself into, accepting this invitation to the garden, but I can’t seem to resist stepping into temptation with Hayes. And now, it seems, with Stefan.
But is it that I can’t resist either of them? Or both of them?
* * *
Forty-five minutes later, my girl is stretched out on the patio, frog-dog style, back legs splayed behind her and her eyes closed as she sunbathes. Nearby, there’s a telescope—the stargazing must be amazing from up here on a clear night.
I’ve thinned some carrots, and now I’m showing the guys how to weed the kale in the big metal planter in the center of the rooftop garden.
Gardening is much safer than talking about dogs or the fact that I can’t keep my eyes to myself.
“My grandma loves to garden. She taught me everything I know. And she won gardening prizes.”
“Mine taught me to sail. Not quite as useful,” Stefan says dryly.
Hayes laughs. “Dude, that’s so bougie.”
“Yes, that’s my grandparents for you,” he says to Hayes. “Not everyone’s grandparents teach them how to pitch a tent or build a campfire.”
“Did they teach you to play polo too?” his friend asks.
“I feel like there’s no good answer to that,” Stefan says.
I smile, relieved that their banter dispels some of the tension. “You harvest the leaves from the bottom of the plant,” I explain, running my finger across a leaf. “Like this.”
The sexy new guy on the team moves next to me. “Got it,” he says as he reaches for a leaf.
Hayes is so close I can smell his woodsy soap, mixed with sweat. The scent drifts into my nose and fills my head, lighting up my senses.
“Did you just work out?” I ask, distracted. Then his scent mingles with the equally alluring smell of clean sheets and powdery snow as Stefan steps closer, reaching for a leaf too.
“We went for a run a little while ago,” Hayes answers, and I picture the two of them pounding the pavement, looking strong and virile. I stifle a whimper.