Page 92 of Must Love Dogs… and Hockey

He’s right. That is how I would have played this. In fact, that’s how Iwasplaying it, up in the press box surrounded by media and knowing cameras could be on me. But here, now…with these guys…I can be real. “Yeah.” I lift my glass in a small toast. “Thanks for being here for me.”

“Sure.”

“This fucking sucks,” JBo says.

“Excuse me.” A voice speaks beside me and I turn to see a woman smiling at me. She’s cute and blond with shiny pink lips, and a couple of women behind her must be friends. “You look familiar…”

I lift an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Well, I used to do porn.”

She blinks. Blinks again. Her smile evaporates. “Oh. Um. Sorry to bother you.”

She disappears.

JBo and Cookie cover their smiles with their hands.

“Savage,” JBo says.

“That was kind of assholish,” Cookie adds mildly.

“I don’t have the patience for that shit right now.” Guilt twangs in my chest, but I ignore it.

As I order another drink, I also ignore the fact that Lilly is waiting for me at my place. I’d probably be better off going home to her and spilling my guts, but right now I just want to get trashed.

Lilly

As is becoming usual, I stay at Easton’s place after I walk Otis. It’s nice to keep Otis company, and I like seeing Easton, and yes, I like spending the night with him and waking up with him, even on days he has to get up to go to the practice facility for a practice and team meetings, or days I have to get up to walk my doggo clients.

I’m confused when they announce that Easton is a healthy scratch tonight. I’m not even sure what that means, and the announcers seem mystified by it too, citing his great play in the last few games and saying this is a “head-scratcher.” Then they show a shot of him in the press box area, leaning over the wall to watch the action on the ice below. He looks so handsome in his suit and tie, holding a water bottle in one hand. But…he’s not playing.

Then it crashes into me. His coach is punishing him.

My heart thumps hard against my breastbone and my breathing quickens as I sit there watching, thinking about this. My entire body tenses, including the hand on Otis’s back, which I have to relax.

Sweet baby Jesus and his tiny toes.

I cannot believe the coach is doing this. My impotent fury swells up inside me, hot and huge.

I keep the game on, but I can’t focus on it. Thoughts race through my head. I’m so pissed on Easton’s behalf, I can’t even think straight. Goddammit.

I shouldn’t be, but I’m a little bit glad they lose. Not for the team, they don’t deserve it, but the coach…hedeserves to lose.

After the game, I get ready for bed and crawl under the covers. Otis curls up at the foot of the bed. I pick up my e-reader, but I have a hard time focusing on that too.

I check the time. It’s late. Easton should have been home by now. I hope he’s okay. I get up and find my phone to see if he texted me. Nope.

I turn out the light in the bedroom and try to sleep, but that doesn’t happen. I’ve turned over and flipped my pillow and changed position about twenty times when I finally hear the sound of the door opening. Otis leaps off the bed and scampers to greet Easton.

I take a moment, relieved he’s home safe, but also a little annoyed that he knew I was here waiting for him. But I know he likely had a rough night.

A rough night and a lot of alcohol, judging from the fumes I can smell on him as I walk down the hall toward him.

He’s crouched, greeting Otis, who is stretched on his back with a big smile on his face. He looks up, a little bleary-eyed, his smile crooked. “Hey. You’re awake.”

“Yeah.” I lean against the wall. “I couldn’t sleep.” I pause. “Are you okay?”

“I’m wasted.” He straightens, wobbling a bit, and tosses his coat into the closet without hanging it up.

I repress my eye roll. “I see that.” I move toward him. “What do you need? Food? Water? Advil?”

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