The sun is starting to go down now; there’s a chill in the air, but it’s the best time of day. Golden hour, when the light plays on the streets and all is calm. In the few days I’ve had Becks, I’ve discovered that I like sneaking out for a walk with him at this time of day so we both get a little solitude. As he becomes one with every tree, bush, and fire hydrant (dropping off what I like to call “pee-mail”), I just clear my mind and go over what I’m grateful for. Today, it’s moments like the one we’re having now.
“Hey.” I stand up and hold my hand out. “Let’s take Becks for a walk.”
“Yeah?” His eyes light up. “What about if we go and grab Posh from your parents’ house?”
“Hang on.” I hold up a hand in the air. For the first time, I hear their names said together and I pause. “Posh and Becks. What the…?”
“I know, right? I put it together earlier, too.” He takes my hand and stands, wrapping an arm around me. “I mean, what are the chances our dogs would be suited to meet?”
“Well, who are we to keep them from one another?” Cracking up, I open the hall closet and grab Becks’s leash and snap it on his collar. “It’ll be good for Becks to meet Posh. He needs more socializing anyway.”
Jake zips his hoodie back up as I grab my keys. When I turn around, he’s holding the door open for me. There’s a sense of vulnerability in his gaze this time, as if he’s allowing me to see into him. Like, really see into who he is.
When I catch his eyes, he looks away shyly, his cheeks tinged with a subtle blush. But when he turns back to me, it’s like a switch has flipped. He holds my gaze with unwavering intensity and its impact slams against my heart and soul, wrapping itself around me.
It’s at this moment that I realize I could be in trouble. Because I’m pretty much certain I’m starting to fall in love, and fall hard, for Jake December.
And there’s no going back.
FIFTEEN
Jake
The dog park seems to be quiet when we pull into the parking lot. There’s only two other cars, and a quick glance around the space tells me there’s only four other dogs running around with their owners.
Riley hops out of the car, opening the back door and clipping the leash on Becks while I get out with Posh in my arms. The sound of bells rings out from the driver’s seat, causing Riley to duck back inside and grab her phone. She takes one look at the screen and cracks up.
“So, while you were grabbing Posh, I texted Levi,” she says. “I had to know why he named him Becks.”
“After David Beckham, right?”
She nods. “Totally. He said he’s been obsessed with him forever, which is pretty funny.” She walks a few steps ahead of us, opening the gate to the secured fenced area where we can set these hounds free. As she unclips Becks’s leash, I put Posh down, and then we watch like happy parents as our kids take off down the hill, racing side by side. “Is that why you picked the name Posh?”
I shake my head. “I like fashion,” I say with a shrug.
If my comment bumps her, she doesn’t show it. “They were so good when they met in the yard,” she murmurs.
“Neutral territory.” This comes out so matter of fact, I have to go with it.
“You think?”
“That place isn’t Posh’s nor Becks’s, so it was a totally random meeting in their eyes.” Taking her elbow, I steer us to a bench nearby. It’s on top of the hill, so we can look down on the whole of the park and keep an eye on these two as they run around.
“Maybe you should talk to your coach on neutral turf,” she suggests, turning her body so she’s facing me but keeping one eye on Becks, too.
“Don’t make me regret telling you all of my secrets,” I cajole, but I like hearing her opinion about what I can or can’t do. On the ride over, I’d touched on the last conversation I needed to have before I could feel good about returning to the Renegades, and it seems Riley was listening.
“I like that you trust me enough to share that with me. It’s a big deal,” she acknowledges, shivering. “Is it cold out here, or is it just me?”
In a flash, I’ve unzipped my hoodie and am throwing it around her shoulders. She doesn’t have time to react before I’ve got her snug inside it and I’m zipping it up to her chin.
“There,” I say, patting her on the head in faux condescension.
“Stop it.” She laughs, pushing my hand away. I turn the tables, though, and grab hers in midair, pulling it up to my lips and kissing the back of it.
“You look good in Renegades gear.”
“Why, thank you.” A soft blush spreads across her cheeks. “Surely that trucker hat was some kind of slight turn-on for you the other day?”
