Talk Hockey to Me (Bears Hockey #3) - Kelly Jamieson Page 0,86
my dog.”
He frowns. “Whatever.”
“You should have better control of him!”
“He’s not dangerous! He’s just a puppy. Your dog attacked him!”
“He attacked her!” I run my hands over her and bend my head to hers. “Are you okay?”
I know she can’t answer, but I talk to her like this all the time. Please, please be okay. Not only do I kind of love her, but Kent will kill me if I let something happen to his precious pup.
The man crouches down and lays his hands on his dog. “You okay, Otis?”
I scowl at him. “I’m sure he’s fine. Lola’s not an attack dog. She was defending herself.”
I watch him check out his dog and I’m even more annoyed. He’s very attractive. Very attractive. Dressed in worn jeans and an old hoodie, his dark hair falls over his forehead in a defiant tumble but is neatly trimmed around his ears and neck. Stubble darkens his square jaw, and his eyes make me think of the syrup I pour over my pancakes—warm, liquid brown but with a cheeky glint in them. He’s also got amazing shoulders and long legs, and I’m fascinated by his hands, which are a bit rough but with neat nails. Everything about him screams danger. Hot, sexy danger.
Too bad he’s a jerk.
I drag my attention away from him, which is definitely not easy, and push myself to stand. He rises too and holds out a hand to help me, but I ignore it. I take a few steps to a nearby bench and sit there. Lola jumps up onto my lap and licks my chin.
The man and his dog follow us. The dog looks more worried than the man, with his furrowed forehead. Goddammit, even the dog is cute.
“I’m Easton,” the man says. “This is Otis.”
“I don’t care who you are,” I snap. I’m shaking a bit now, the adrenaline rush in my veins dissipating. God, I was so scared there for a few minutes.
Otis plants his butt in front of me and Lola, staring at us with sad but hopeful eyes. Shit.
Easton sighs. “I’m sorry. He caught me off guard and pulled the leash out of my hand.”
I purse my lips, looking at Otis, not Easton. “He does look apologetic.”
“He always looks like that. But I’m sure he is. He gets in trouble a lot.”
“Maybe you need to take him for some obedience training.”
“I would, if he was my dog.”
“He’s not yours?”
“It’s a long story.” He sits on the bench too and rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know how I ended up with him and I can’t get hold of his owner so I’m kind of stuck with him.”
“Oh.”
“And I have to go out of town tomorrow.” He shakes his head. “He’ll destroy my apartment while I’m gone.”
“You can’t leave him alone while you go out of town!” I turn alarmed eyes on Easton.
“I know, I know,” he says hastily. “What am I gonna do, though?”
I don’t know. Not my problem. I slump back onto the bench and rub my hip where I landed on the ground.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I might have a bruise. But that’s okay.” I sigh. “It’ll just match my bruised spirit.”
His lips twitch and his eyebrow lifts into a slightly wicked arch. “Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good.”
“I haven’t been having the best luck lately. You could say my life is like the love child of a train wreck and a dumpster fire.”
Easton chokes on a laugh.
I focus on Otis again. He’s gazing longingly at Lola. Clearly he just wants to be friends. I cautiously set Lola on the ground and watch as Otis sniffs around her.
“He is hard to resist,” Easton says, watching them too. “He seems to like women. What else is going wrong in your life?”
I’m not about to share all my woes with a douche stranger. “Nothing.”
He shrugs. “You’re too pretty to have a dumpster fire of a life.”
I roll my eyes, even though my heart quivers at the compliment. Because, yeah . . . he’s gorgeous. “This isn’t the time for flirting. Read the room, dude.”
He laughs, and it’s a fantastic laugh—low and deep and rumbly. “I’m not flirting. I’m just being extra friendly to someone who’s extra attractive.”
“Oh my God.”
Lola is now checking out Otis, sniffing his butt. Otis responds by checking hers out, and they do the canine version of shaking hands and introducing themselves.
“I admire how you jumped in to save your dog—er, your friend’s dog—when she was being attacked. That takes guts.”