I stare at her.
Then at the dog, who scowls at me.
“For real?” I ask.
“I’m nearly positive. I started noticing a pattern a little bit ago. In any case, you’re definitely not the only person she doesn’t like. Remember how she reacted to the plumber?”
I stare at the dog again. “Did some fucker hurt you?”
She stares back inas if I’d tell you, you punk.
“Very likely,” Ziggy says. “She likes you more than most men. For whatever that’s worth.”
“Huh.”
She rises. “Time to go if you’re going to Grandma’s house, Jessica. Otherwise, I’ll be late for work.”
The dog stretches out her barrel body, yawns like she doesn’t care, snorts in my direction, then trots to the front door.
I rub my breastbone.
It’s not me.
The dog’s problem isn’tme.
Didn’t realize I needed to know that.
I snag Ziggy’s wrist as she walks past, and electricity shoots up my arm.
Her eyes flare as they meet mine.
I drop her hand. “Sorry. I—thank you. The dog— I felt like an asshole.”
She smiles at me. “You’re not an asshole. Most of the time.”
I’m in so much trouble.
This woman is making me feel alive in ways I haven’t evenwantedto be for months. “I’ll get tickets.”
She blushes. Again. “Can’t wait.”
Me either.
Me fucking either.
19
Ziggy
Ohhh,this is bad.
Every time I start to think maybe it’s notthatbad, I hear Miranda in my head again.The guys all know Dad would murder them if they look at me wrong. Or at least trade them to a less desirable team.
And here I am, literallyliving with the team captain.
Lacrosse, my ass.
Holt’s the freaking captain of the Pounders.
