Page 19 of Must Love Dogs… and Hockey

“You’re still trying to get rid of him?”

I frown. “You don’t have to put it like that.”

“Sorry.” She bites her lip.

Ah hell. That incites a stirring in my southern region. Her bottom lip is very sexy. So is the way she looks up at me through her long eyelashes.

“I mean, I didn’t want a dog,” I add. “I don’t know anything about dogs. And like I said, I travel a lot and have weird hours, so it’s really not convenient.”

She nods. “I understand. What is it you do for a living?”

I didn’t think she recognized me. “I’m a hockey player.”

Those long eyelashes flutter up and down a few times. “Oh. Like a professional hockey player?”

“Yeah. For the Bears.”

“Well, that explains it.”

Still smiling, I say, “Explains what?”

“The big-dick cocky attitude.”

My smile disappears. “What?”

She shrugs. “You seem full of yourself.”

Now my forehead tightens as my eyebrows pull down. “Full of myself? What?”

“Just my impression.” Then she bites her plump bottom lip. “Er…will you still give me that reference?”

I stare at her. I shake my head. “Yeah, sure. Uh, people are usually more impressed when I tell them what I do for a living.”

She snorts. “I’ll clap when I’m impressed.”

The laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. Jesus. She’s…amazing. “How do you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled?”

“You bet.”

Lilly eyes Otis, slides off the stool, and steps over to the bag with his belongings. I watch her unpack things, her silky hair sliding over her shoulders. She’s wearing black leggings and a long white T-shirt with a loose gray sweater over it, her sunglasses tucked into the V-neck of the sweater. Nothing sexy or revealing, but goddammit, she’s incredibly fuckalicious.

Eventually she brings the food and water dishes to the kitchen and makes herself at home filling Otis’s dish from the tap, then setting the bowl on the floor. Otis immediately slurps it up.

Yeah, he was in good hands with her.

I’d like to be in her good hands.

Jesus, that’s inappropriate. I gotta shut that down. Sadly, my dick has roused again.

“Orange juice?” I ask her roughly, keeping my back to her as I open the fridge.

“Yes, please.”

I take my time carrying the jug of juice and a couple of glasses to the counter since these sweatpants don’t hide much. She’s sitting again, holding her coffee mug in both hands. She sets the cup down and reaches for the jug to pour juice for us while I load up two plates and set them on the counter.

“Wow, this is amazing.” She gazes down at the plate.

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