Page 21 of Must Love Dogs… and Hockey

She shakes her head. “It’s a long story. Anyway, I think this will work out better for me than trying to find another job.”

She sounds a little defensive. “Hey, sounds reasonable to me.” Actually, it sounds kind of crazy. Does she really think she can make a living walking dogs? “Do you want me to give you the reference before you go?”

“That would be great. Since I won’t see you again.”

Okay. Way to be blunt. “I’ll do it after we eat.”

“So when you were away…I thought it was business.”

My lips quirk. “It was.”

“But you were playing hockey.”

“Yeah. That’s my business.” She’s still not clapping. Dammit. Why do I want to impress her? “We were on a road trip. Two games, Miami and Tampa Bay.”

“Did you win?”

“Of course.” There’s no of course about it; things haven’t been going that great lately.

“How long have you played for the Bears?”

“This is only my second season, and last year I got traded here in February, so I haven’t actually played here that long.”

“Where did you get traded from?”

“Vancouver. We sucked last year and had no hope of making the playoffs, so they sold off a bunch of players at the trade deadline, me included.” I don’t mention that they were happy to get rid of me.

“Sold off!” Her eyes widen. “You make it sound like you’re a…an object.”

“We kind of are.” I shrug. “It’s a business.”

Her lips purse. “That sounds so cynical.”

“That’s me.” I lift my hands.

Yeah, I’m cynical. Life is hard and then you die. Unless you die before you’ve even had a life.

When I first got traded, I thought it was a good thing. A chance to start over, new teammates, new coach, a chance to rehab my somewhat tarnished reputation.

I should have known better than to let my guard down and be happy about something.

She nods slowly. For once, my determined cynicism feels…out of place. She has such a cheerful optimism about her. She just lost her job, but she’s going to try to make money dog walking. That’s really…messed up. And yet, it affects me in a weird way, giving me a soft feeling in my chest.

She’s too happy. Too enthusiastic. Too…likeable. Dammit.

“I have a day off today. I’m going to try to find Otis’s owner. If I can’t, I’ll maybe call a shelter.”

Lilly’s bottom lip pushes out a bit, giving her a sad look.

“I can’t keep him,” I remind her, reading her thoughts.

“I know. I just feel bad for him.”

Hell. I do too. But I need to be practical here.

“I’d take him,” she says. “But since I’m not sure I’ll have enough money to buymyselffood, I probably shouldn’t take on another mouth to feed.”

Shit. She says it in a joking, lighthearted way. I’m sure she’s exaggerating her predicament. I hope she is.

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