Chapter 13
A VISIT FROM THE DRAGON
Chase
I’ve traveled around the world. Played pro hockey in Budapest, Vienna, Toronto, New York, and Rio de Janeiro.
At twenty-seven, I’ve had a big life in five years in the NHL. But this, right here, is one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen. Trina’s pup is tearing up a seesaw, then racing down the other side, and the little guy is doing it while missing one of his back legs.
“Mind blown,” I say, cheering on Nacho under the glow of outdoor lights in the evening.
Trina too. Because look at her go. She’s guiding him through the agility course at a nearby dog park I scoped out in advance.
It’s a busy park, with families pushing strollers and joggers tearing up the path even as dusk settles in.
When Trina and Nacho arrived at my place a little while ago, I hustled them right out of there to take the little guy here for a treat.
Bonus? It’s a perfect distraction from my incessant thoughts of her all day.
From texts from my cousin, Lisette, too, telling me about every single friend she wants to set me up with at her wedding.
It’s like the singles table is her personal buffet of options for me, and I’ve run out of evasive emoticons to reply with.
Last time she set me up with someone, it petered out after a few dates, but Lisette kept asking me over and over what went wrong.
The answer? I don’t have room for romance in my life.
Most of all, though, the dog park is a distraction from all my thoughts about the possibilities of tonight.
I home in on the man of the hour. So does a jogger from many feet away, craning his neck to watch the small dog soar over a little jump. He lands gracefully, then Trina points at the weave poles a few feet ahead. “Weave, Nacho,” she says, eyes only on him.
That little tripod waggles his butt back and forth in a black and tan blur all the way to the end of the weave poles before he darts through a tunnel at Mach speed.
She runs along the side, chestnut hair flying, platform sneakers slapping the dirt, then waits for him at the end, arms thrust high in the air. “Good boy!”
Barking enthusiastically, he jumps up and down on one freaking back leg, eager for her praise.
Trina scoops him up and slathers him in kisses.
“That is officially the coolest thing I’ve ever seen,” I say as I trot over to the pair.
“And my sister said I could never do it,” Trina says proudly, a little defiantly.
“Let me guess. Big sister?”
“Yup,” Trina says, then reaches into a pocket of her jeans and hands Nacho a dog treat. He chows down while a serious-looking dog trainer type pushes open the faraway gate, escorting a pair of Border Collies into the park. “It’s peanut butter. His favorite,” she adds.
“Mine too,” I say.
“Aww. Want a dog biscuit, Chase? You’ll have to jump through a hoop though,” she teases.
Ah, that’s an opening to the big thing on my mind, and I shouldn’t take it, but impulsively, I answer with, “We already cleared the orgasm hoop.”
I’m testing the waters probably sooner than I should, even though the other part of the us isn’t here. Ryker said he had to run some errands.
“With flying colors,” Trina says, then tilts her face, looking at me with curious green eyes, maybe waiting for me to say more.
I want to. God, how I want to. But I’ve got to play it safe, since I don’t know what Ryker wants.
This morning, he took off ten minutes after Trina, saying he needed to let the contractors into his home.
I haven’t seen him all day, so I don’t have a stinking clue if he’s been thinking nonstop about Trina too.
Just like I have.
Trouble is, I don’t want to have the “I can’t stop thinking about getting you naked again” talk with her without talking to him first. Pact and all.
What if he’s not thinking about her the same way?
Maybe she’s out of his system, and then where does that leave me?
Confused. I’m not normally confused after one-night stands.
This isn’t a one-night stand you dumbass. She’s now living with you.
But what the hell is this?
My only choice for now is to skate around the problem, focusing on the dog in her arms. I scratch him under the chin and he leans forward and swipes his tongue across my face.
I grin like a fool. “That’s it. It’s official. He marked me, and I’m going to have to be his dog babysitter for the rest of time.”
With a laugh, Trina sets her hand on my cheek, wiping off the remnants of dog kiss. I let out a low rumble, meeting her gaze for a few delicious seconds that make me want to haul her over my shoulder once more.
A shuddery breath seems to ghost across her lips, then she shakes it off. “I’m glad you like your temporary roommate,” Trina says, petting Nacho too. The little dude pants harder. “I think he’s tired though.”
I glance toward the gate. “Can I walk him on the way back?” I ask, sounding like an eager kid. And I kind of am.
“Sure. What’s the deal with you and dogs? You’re kind of obsessed. Like more than I am,” she says as we leave the park and she hands me his leash.
I sure am, and there’s one reason for it. I take the leash, keeping a tight grip on my new buddy, who takes the lead on the sidewalk. “My dad was a veterinarian. He loved all animals, but especially dogs, so we always had them growing up. But our last dog passed away shortly before my dad did.”
Trina looks my way with gentle eyes. “I’m sorry about your dad, Chase,” she says, sympathy flooding her tone. “That must have been so hard on you. And on your mom.”
“Yeah, it was,” I say, downplaying that terrible year, the damage to my heart, the way I changed. The way I had to change. “And after, she decided not to get another dog. She was too busy with my little brothers and raising them solo.”
“A dog would’ve just been more work for her, she probably figured, and she was probably grieving still, adjusting to a new life she never expected,” Trina says thoughtfully, understanding my family just like that.
Maybe that’s why it’s easy for me to keep talking when I don’t usually get into the nitty-gritty.
“When I was younger, my dad and I would go on long walks together in the evening with Bandit, and I’d tell him about school and the team and practices, and well, just life and stuff while Bandit trotted ahead of us, sniffing everything. I liked those times.”
“I can tell. That’s a nice memory,” she says with obvious affection as we stroll past a thrift store with boxy army jackets in the window.
I let the fond memories roll past me for another few seconds, then say, “He was a cool one. Part Border Collie, part cheetah. Fastest dog ever. Dad loved him too and he kept us busy.”
“Sounds like you two had a lot of fun with him and got to spend some good times together because of him,” she says as we turn onto California Street while twilight wraps its arms around the city.
“Yeah. We did. Someday, it’d be nice to have another Bandit, or a Nacho,” I say, wistful, then I shake that off too.
“But it’s hard to have a dog since I’m on the road so much.
That’s why I still try to volunteer as much as I can.
It’s important to me, and it was to my dad too,” I say, and wow.
Do I sound like I’m tooting my own horn or what?
I shift my focus to her. “Why does your sister think you can’t handle a dog? ”
Trina sighs, a little resigned. “She thinks I can’t handle anything. Like, say, life. But maybe she’s not wrong. I mean, I’ve lived in three places in the last month. My douchey ex’s, my bestie’s couch, and now with a guy I met…um, last night,” she says with a wince. “She might be right.”
Nope. No way. Not gonna let her doubt herself.
“Your ex was a world-class asshole. He never deserved you, and you got the hell out the second you learned the truth. That takes guts. Hell, it takes serious ovaries, and you have them, Trina,” I say, giving her a pep talk she didn’t ask for but that I feel compelled to give.
“And you take care of this awesome dog and look out for him and hold down a cool job. All while dealing with the aftermath of a shitty breakup. That’s a lot. ”
And so is a breakup, so I add, “It’s not easy dealing with the end of a relationship. My ex was a piece of work too, and sometimes you just need to take it easy and not expect too much of yourself. Know what I mean?”
She takes a beat, then nods. “Thanks for saying that. Cassie got on my case earlier this evening, so I think I needed to hear something nice.”
“If you ever need a pep talk, I’m your guy. It takes time to get over someone—even the jerks. I mean, I wasn’t in love with my ex. Romance wasn’t my jam to start with, but still, the whole experience soured me on romance even more,” I admit.
She shoots me a sad smile. “You and me both.”
We knock fists in relationship solidarity, but that’s not the solidarity I truly want.
I’m dying to know what she thinks about another night, but I’ve already decided to wait for Ryker.
Instead, I jump over to an easier convo—the auction for the jerseys and gear Trina bought for her ex.
I had the jersey signed by my teammates today, and Ryker did the same with his jacket, so we made plans to auction them off online this week, then give the money to her favorite rescue—the place where she got Nacho from.
When we reach my home, I unlock the door and head inside. Ryker’s stretched out on the couch, phone in hand, brow furrowed, earbuds in.
And he looks…freshly showered.
Damn, he really wants to impress her. Plus, holy shit, do I smell hummus and olives and baba ganoush and falafels and lemon herb chicken?
“Did you get food?” I ask once he takes out the earbuds.
Ryker nods. “I picked up takeout on my way back. Didn’t know what you liked, Trina, so I got a little of everything.”
Well, how about that. “Look at you, showing me up with my guest,” I tease, but is there a tiny bit of irritation coming through in my tone?
Maybe there is.
“You offered her a place to stay. I just got dinner,” he says lightly. Then he adds, “And I found a bakery still open that served pound cake. It’s in the fridge.”
With an excited gasp, Trina’s eyes grow wide, and she’s staring at Ryker like he’s hung the moon.
Out of nowhere, a dragon thrashes around in my chest.
I breathe out hard, but my lungs feel like they’re sucking in a hot plume of fire. And I don’t know what to do about it, so I grumble out, “Need to return a call real quick.”
I head to my bedroom and shut the door.
Or really, I slam it.