Page 43 of Must Love Dogs… and Hockey

“Okay, not really. I might have taught him to sit. That’s about it so far.”

I pull the bag of treats from Otis’s bag and he gambols right over. With one in my hand, I hold it out and say, “Sit.”

He doesn’t sit. His stubby tail is quivering.

“Sit,” I repeat. “Remember? Bum down. Sit.”

Miracle! He sits!

I feed him the treat. “Good boy!”

“Otis! You the man!” Easton grins.

His pleasure makes warmth bloom in my chest.

He helps me work on a few other simple commands with Otis and we give him lots of praise and treats. Easton is surprisingly patient. Why is that surprising? Maybe because he’s always bursting with energy, so alive with a masculine vitality and strength, always moving.

Sitting on his living room floor, I lean back against the couch and lift my coffee cup to my mouth to finish it. “He’s getting it. He’s smart.”

“He is. With his, er, issues, I was wondering.”

“Many of us have ‘issues,’ ” I say dryly. “Doesn’t mean we’re not intelligent.”

“What are your issues, Lilly Evans?” He too leans back against a chair, his knees bent, bare feet on the carpet. His feet are big. Long and lean, dusted with dark hair.

I drag my attention away from them.

“I’m not going to tell you all my issues,” I drawl, with a casual smile. “You’re a client.”

He smiles. “Oh, come on. We can be friends.”

“Hmmm.”

“Is it business problems?” he asks.

“No. And thank you for the referral. I met with your friend and I’ll be walking Loki.”

“Great.”

“My friends and family think I’m crazy to be doing this.” Oh hell. Why did I blurt that out?

“Doing this? Starting a business?” He lifts one thick eyebrow.

“Yes.” I peer into my coffee mug. “They think I should be trying to find a job with a steady paycheck.”

“Well, there’s something to be said for that, I suppose.”

I roll my eyes. “As if you have to worry about money.”

He shrugs. “I know I’m lucky that way. There’s also something to be said for doing what you want. Following your dream. That, Idoknow something about.”

He sounds serious. I eye him. “Was it hard? Following your dream?”

“Yeah. Not in the ways you might think, though.”

I tilt my head. “I guess you have to be really dedicated to get to play in the NHL.”

“Oh yeah. It consumed my life since I was about twelve years old. Then…” He stops. “Then it was all I had left, so it was even more important.”

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