“Not enough adoptions going on?”
“We survive off donations. Our adoptions don’t cost much because we don’t want to deter people from adopting. But even so, I don’t think many people know this little building is even here. Or if they do, it seems like they’d still rather buy a puppy than bring an older pup home.”
A big yellow lab mix comes over, licking my ear. It’s pretty gross, but instead of wiping it away, I scratch his wiry hair under his collar, pulling a content groan from the big guy.
“That’s Gus. Cheryl, the woman who was in here earlier, she’s the owner of the shelter, and that’s her dog.”
“He’s a big guy.”
“He’s a lazy guy,” Stevie laughs.
“How many do you have at home?”
Her pretty smile falls slightly. “None. My brother, the one I live with, he’s allergic.”
“Well, that’s a shame. I figured the only reason you keep wearing those disgusting sweatpants is because you’re at home cuddling with dogs all day.”
“Ha ha.” Stevie’s forced laugh is followed by a small genuine one.
Her cute giggle draws the attention of a black and tan Doberman who was sleeping in their crate. The giant dog, which admittedly looks a bit scary even to me, exits their crate, pulling a deep stretch, ass in the air.
The Doberman’s pointy ears and piercing eyes fixate right on me, and I’m not going to lie, for a moment, it looks aggressive as hell, like it wants to bite my head off. And I’m not sure being on the ground, face level, is the best idea.
Stevie follows my line of sight. “That’s Rosie. Don’t let her fool you. She’s the sweetest thing in the world. She just looks intimidating, but she’s not. She’s a marshmallow.”
Rosie takes two small steps, her head slightly surveying the room.
“And I’m her favorite.” Stevie opens her arms for Rosie to come greet her.
Instead of going to her, Rosie takes a few slow intimidating strides towards me.
She walks right between my open legs. Her yellow-brown eyes are determined and focused, staring lasers at my own. I don’t care what Stevie said about her not being intimidating. Rosie is intimidating.
That is, until she falls into my lap, burying her head into my thigh before flipping over onto her back, legs flailing in the air, asking for belly rubs.
I can’t help but laugh as both my hands massage her belly. “You’re her favorite, huh?”
“I hate you.”
Rosie’s big head turns to look up at me, her intimidation tactic wholly gone. She looks a little in love, and I think I might be too.
“How long has she been here?”
“Almost a year. Last Christmas, she was dropped off when her owners had a baby, and they decided to give Rosie up. Said they were worried about her being around kids, which is total bullshit. She would never even hurt a fly.”
Snaking my arm under her, I wrap Rosie up like a baby. She uses my bicep as a pillow while I give her scratches until she eventually falls asleep.
Big softie. Her previous owners are assholes.
“She is a marshmallow.”
“She’s kind of like you,” Stevie notes, pulling my attention back to the curly-haired flight attendant. “You’re pretty soft on the inside too, Mr. Zanders.”
“Please. I’m scary as fuck.”
“Sure thing, Elsa.”
Looking back at the giant Doberman sleeping in my arms, I can’t help but wonder who the hell wouldn’t want this dog and why the fuck she’s at a shelter. She’s perfect.
“Hey, Zanders?”
“Hmm?”
“That’s what it feels like to be loved.”
21
STEVIE
I only had a few quick work trips between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Those were spent avoiding the exit row as much as possible and locking myself in my hotel room in an attempt to avoid Evan Zanders. Spending time with him isn’t the problem per se, but every time I’m around him, I feel like a dog in heat, wanting to jump his bones.
Somehow though, I successfully evaded him.
However, if I would’ve seen Zanders at the shelter with Rosie before those works trips, I’d be telling a different story. That day last week, seeing him around all my favorite pups, I had never been more attracted to him than I was at that moment.
And for the second time since I’ve known him, my attraction had nothing to do with the way he looks and everything to do with the sliver of his heart he showed.
“Vee, you ready to go?” My dad’s voice pulls me out of my daydream.
Looking around the family box at the United Center, I hadn’t noticed that the previously crowded space had essentially cleared out in the final minutes of the game. The Devils are about to pull off a dominant home win, and I’m sure most family members are eager to see their players outside of the locker room on this Christmas Day.
Slinging my cross-body bag over my shoulder, I follow my dad out of the suite and down the hall to the locker room’s private back entrance for family members. My mom is at least ten feet ahead of us, eager to see her beloved son, but I’m trying to ignore the fact she’s never been that excited to see me.
It’s been years since I spent Christmas with my family. It’s a basketball holiday, so when I was flying for the NBA, I was on the road, my work being the perfect excuse to avoid a get-together with my mother. But the NHL takes the day off, so here I am.
“Do you know any of these guys?” My dad wraps his arm over my shoulders as we walk down the long private hallway in the United Center, the walls plastered with photos of the two professional sports teams who play in this building—the Devils and the Raptors.
“Some of them.”
My dad stops us in front of this year’s team photo. “Who is that?” He points to the curly-haired, green-eyed goofball.
“That’s Rio,” I laugh. “He’s kind of like the class clown. He’s a defenseman, and he carries this old school 90s boom box around with him everywhere he goes.”
“And this one?” He points to number thirteen.
“That’s Maddison. Team captain. Star forward and really nice guy. His family lives a few floors above Ryan, actually.”
“And him?”
My dad’s finger taps on the one player I’m trying not to look at. In fact, I’ve tried to avoid looking at him all day, but as the alternate captain, his face is plastered all over this arena. Not that he minds. Knowing Zanders, he probably volunteered for the photoshoot.
Clearing my throat, I pull my gaze away from number eleven. “That’s Evan Zanders.”
“Well, what’s he like?”
“Arrogant. Show-off. In love with himself. Takes more time getting ready than most women. Gets in a lot of fights on the ice.”
Loves his niece. Softer than he lets people know. Makes me feel good in more ways than one.
“Mm-hmm, I see.”
“See what?”
“You like him.”
“No, I don’t.” Snapping my head around, my dad looks down at me with a knowing smile. “I can’t stand him, actually.”
A deep laugh rumbles in his chest. “Vee, I love you, but you’re a terrible liar. You have a crush.”