CHAPTER 16 Everleigh Bradley
Secret Appointment
I glance through the calendar and see a time slot blocked off tomorrow morning bright and early before Maverick’s four-week checkup with Dr. Baker at the Complex.
It doesn’t say what the activity is, but since I’m supposed to shadow him everywhere, it looks like I’ll be getting up before the sun tomorrow.
When I meet with him in the evening, I ask him about it. “What’s this?” I point to the digital calendar I have pulled up with the five thirty to six thirty time block.
“A weekly appointment,” he grunts.
I thought we were getting past the grunting after he punched some guy who dared to look in my direction, but apparently I stand corrected.
“For what?”
He tilts his head and studies me, and he looks away when he answers. “Something I do weekly when I can.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.” I purse my lips.
“Is there any chance I’ll get to do this myself?”
I shake my head.
“Right, then I guess you’ll find out in the morning.”
“What time are we leaving?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes. “Five fifteen.”
“What should I wear?”
“Whatever you want.” He’s really giving me nothing here.
“I’ll meet you in the lobby at five fifteen.” That’s what I tell him. In truth, I’ll be down there at five so he doesn’t escape without me.
Once we go our separate ways, I spend the rest of the evening wondering what the hell a grumpy pro football star does bright and early on Friday mornings before practice.
Does he go get a massage?
Meet with his bookie?
Get in an early workout?
Rehab? Watch film? Meet with someone at the Complex?
A million thoughts run through my mind, but not a single one comes close to being correct. He’s only shown me his tough guy side, the side that’s all grumpy asshole and attitude.
I dress in my usual business professional attire, line my lips with my badass red lipstick, and click my heels to get down to the lobby by five. He emerges at five ten—a little early, as I suspected, and he’s in the clothes he’ll wear to practice. Shorts, a tee, and sneakers.
“Are you going to tell me where I’m going so I can drive separately, or am I riding as your passenger?” I ask, bypassing the usual morning greetings since they’ll go underappreciated by him anyway.
“Get in the truck,” he mutters.
“Okay, I’ve been through every possible scenario,” I say once he pulls out of the parking garage.
“And I’m thinking it’s either an early appointment with someone at the Complex, a therapist perhaps, or you’re going to drive me out to the middle of the desert and leave me there since you see no other way out of this.
” I glance over at him, and he’s not smiling, exactly, but I think I spot the tiniest hint of amusement near his eyes as they look out over the road that’s just starting to brighten with the light of dawn.
He shakes his head. “Neither.”
A huff of irritation rises out of my chest, but I leave it be.
Shortly before the time his appointment starts, we pull into a parking lot, and I read the sign over the old building. Sunny Acres Animal Shelter.
An animal shelter?
Maverick’s big, secret appointment is at…an animal shelter?
I glance over at him with my brows furrowed. “What are we doing here?”
“I volunteer here once a week. Friday mornings before practice.”
“You volunteer here?” This big, strong, gruff—and yes, sexy as hell—superstar who refuses to let anyone close enough to get to know him at all volunteers weekly helping animals?
Why does my heart squeeze at that? Why does he suddenly seem less like a total asshole? And why, for the love of all things holy, does he not show anyone this side of him?
All questions I intend to answer…eventually.
But for now, I’m bracing myself for the unexpected.
We head inside, and it’s clear I chose the wrong shoes for this morning’s activity.
“Good morning, Mav,” a woman behind a reception desk says as soon as the door shuts behind us. “You brought a guest today, I see.”
“She works for the team,” he says thickly.
“We just have a quick application and liability waiver for you to complete,” she says to me.
“Of course.” She hands me a clipboard, and I scribble out my information while she tells Maverick about what he’ll be doing today. I half-listen as I fill out the forms.
“We have two big boys who came in this week, and they need some one-on-one attention. Maybe you could take one, and your associate could handle the other? We’ll keep them both leashed if you’d like to walk together. Your favorite girl also needs some love. She misses her favorite paw pal.”
Paw pal? Maverick Jennings is a paw pal? Friggin’ adorable. Hot and cute. Lethal. This man is freaking lethal.
I blow out a breath and push the clipboard back to the woman, who thanks me profusely for being here, and then the two of us head back to tackle our assignments.
Maverick doesn’t say a word as he leads me toward a set of cages, and he starts with the one that says “Bruno” above it, an older German Shepherd. He opens the cage, and Bruno walks tentatively out.
“Do they come in with names?” I ask.
“Some,” he grunts as he bends down to his knees and holds out a hand. Bruno walks toward him, his tail wagging but down low, as if he’s a little unsure, a little nervous, but at the same time, he knows he likes this guy, and he wants to trust him.
Gracious. I know the feeling, bud.
“Who names them if they don’t?” I ask, pushing away that thought.
“I don’t know,” he mutters. Bruno slowly walks to him, and Maverick doesn’t rush the dog. He just waits patiently there on his knees, sitting back on his feet, holding out a gentle hand.
If only he had the sort of patience for people that he seems to have for animals.
Bruno closes the gap, and when he gets close enough, he sniffs Maverick.
The tail wagging picks up a bit, and Maverick shifts his hand slowly to scratch the dog under his chin.
The wagging picks up even more, and then Bruno moves closer to Maverick, nuzzling his neck.
Maverick doesn’t crack a smile. I don’t think he ever smiles or laughs or feels any sense of joy whatsoever, but I see something change as the dog snuggles into him.
He seems somehow lighter. The storm cloud that seems to follow above him lifts. The clouds part, if only for a moment. I see a different side to him as he strokes the animal’s fur, a softer, sweeter side that he keeps hidden away.
“That’s a good girl,” he croons.
My thighs clench at his soft words. My stomach clenches, too. I’m pretty sure my vagina even clenches.
I imagine him saying those same words as he slides into me. It’s just a flash of an image, one I immediately push out of my head, but my good God, what in the hell is this man doing to me right now?
“Bruno’s a girl?” I ask, my voice too loud in the small room as I try to pull myself together, and both the dog and the man jump a little, startled, as if they forgot I was in the room with them.
He lifts a shoulder. “Someone named her Brunhilda, and the staff took to calling her Bruno for short.”
So Bruno the girl is apparently a good girl, Maverick Jennings has a soft side, and I’m supposed to try to work with this man and whip him into shape when my usual badass self is suddenly turned all the way on as I see him cuddle a poor animal down on its luck. Great. Right. Okay.
I force the ridiculous thoughts away and pull that badass cape a little tighter.
“How long has Bruno been here?” I ask.
“A few months. She was found walking by the road. No chip, no tags. Nobody knows where she came from or what she went through, but she’s quiet and sweet. Everybody wants pups. It’s harder to find a forever home for these older dogs.”
I kneel down beside them, staying far enough away so as not to disrupt their moment. “How do you not take them all home?”
“It’s hard, to be honest. But then I think of my lifestyle, in and out, gone for long stretches, and I know I’m not the right fit. Someday I’ll figure out some way to connect these animals with their forever homes, but for now, I’m giving what I can.”
“A little bit of time goes a long way, I’m sure,” I say softly. “You’re doing a good thing here, Maverick.”
He grimaces a little. “Yeah, well, don’t tell anybody. Wouldn’t want to ruin my reputation.”
I chuckle a bit at that. He tosses a ball a few times for Bruno, and then we head toward our next assignment with the two big boys brought in this week—two mastiffs that weigh more than I do.
I’m a little afraid of mine, to be honest, but Maverick walks in front of me, and I have the gentler of the two on a leash behind.
He mutters to his dog, little phrases I can’t quite catch from up here, but one thing is clear.
There’s more to Maverick Jennings than I first thought, and I’m ready to figure out how I can use this other side of his to my advantage.