Page 13 of Must Love Dogs… and Hockey

I’m actually nervous about leaving the damn pooch.

As if sensing that, Lilly says, “He’ll be fine.”

“I’ll walk out with you.”

Lilly attaches the leash to Otis’s collar and we head out.

When Otis balks at the elevator, I pick him up. “He doesn’t like elevators.”

“Oh. Okay, good to know.”

Outside, Otis heads straight to a fire hydrant to sniff around and lift his leg. Lilly starts down the sidewalk in the direction of the park where we “met” yesterday. Otis plants his paws on the sidewalk, not wanting to leave.

“You should go back in,” Lilly says with a sympathetic rub of Otis’s ears. “It’s okay, Otis. I’ll take good care of you.”

“He barely knows me,” I mutter. How can he be so attached in a matter of days? This is nuts. I crouch down to rub his head. “I’ll be back soon, buddy. Lilly will take good care of you.”

What has my life become? I smother an eye roll as I straighten, ignoring Otis’s sad whining.

Lilly flashes a breezy smile. “Don’t worry about him! We’ll be fine. You go do your business, or whatever.” She waves me off.

Business. Right. “Okay, thanks. I may text you to check in.”

“Any time!”

I turn and walk back into my building just as Otis throws back his head to howl.

I stop and close my eyes. I can’t handle this.Don’t go back out.

I head to the elevators, the door closing out the sounds of Otis’s displeasure. Jesus.

Our road trip is a short one, first Tampa Bay then Miami. We get there in time for a nap for those of us who still do that. I’m one of them, so I head to my room to crash.

I spot a woman walking a poodle in the hotel lobby. Huh.

“I could’ve brought Otis,” I say in the elevator. Luckily, there’s no one else there. I’m talking to Bryce.

He was my big brother, the one I talked to all the time, about everything. We were barely two years apart in age and we’d done everything together our whole lives, including playing hockey. After he died, I found myself talking to him in my head, and then sometimes out loud, when I was alone in a hotel room on a road trip or when I’d pissed off one of my teammates or when I’d screwed up a play.

I walk down the hall to my room and let myself in, tossing my bag on the bed.

He’s dead. I know it. But for some reason, believing he hears what I’m saying helps. It’s helped from the day I sat there holding him in my arms, praying someone would get there to help us before he died, telling him everything was going to be okay when I was fucking terrified out of my mind that it wasn’t. That it would never be okay again. I kept talking to him when they finally got him into an ambulance, but I couldn’t go with him because too many other guys were hurt. So I talked to him in my head until I got to the hospital myself and found out I’d never talk to him again. And I keep talking to him.

Now, I laugh thinking about bringing Otis on the plane. “Coach hates me enough already, I can only imagine what a meltdown he’d have if I tried to bring a dog on a road trip.”

Yeah, I’m kind of nuts, but the idea of giving Coach a heart attack over a dog strangely appeals to me.

“We’ve had dad trips,” I say, still talking aloud as I pull some clothes out of my bag. “Guys got to bring their dads, and later this year we’re having a mom trip for the first time ever. I don’t have a dad and can’t bring my mom. I should be able to bring my dog. Why not? It’d be cool.”

I discover that the hotel actually has a gourmet room service menu for pets, which cracks me up, as well as special treats like rawhide bones, beds, doggie pick up bags and a pet-walking service. Jeez. Maybe I should move into a hotel in New York.

What am I thinking? I’m not keeping Otis. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with him if I can’t find his owner, but I definitely can’t keep him. I don’t know anything about dogs.

I hope he’s okay.

I resist the urge to text Lilly already, and I crawl into the king-size bed with silky-soft sheets and close my eyes for my game day nap.

Now I’m thinking about Lilly. Hell yeah, I noticed how attractive she is when we met in the park yesterday, but I was more concerned about whether she or her dog were hurt. As she walked away, sure I watched her long, lean legs and tight little ass, her ponytail swinging briskly. But after seeing her this morning, now I’m thinking about her full, soft mouth and big dark blue eyes with that amazing fringe of lashes. I’m thinking about the smile she gave Otis—sweet, warm, and so goddamn appealing.

---