Everyone but Haddy calls Princess Petunia “Peepee.”
“Is that a deal breaker?” Her brow furrows. “The only player so far with a hound is Owen.”
My insides squeeze at the mention of his name.
Owen Stone is the newest member of the Champions, a forward who moved up from the minor leagues at the end of last season.
He’s older than most of the other guys, but he still has that killer, hockey-player bod. He also has shaggy dark hair, a square jaw, and blue eyes that make my stomach dip…
Not that I’m looking for a love connectionat all.
I learned the hard way that Frenchie from the classic, blockbuster movie-musicalGreaseis right: “The only man a girl can depend on is her daddy.”
My dad, Garrett Bradford, happens to be the best dad in the whole wide world, and it’ll take a lot for me to get back on the romance merry-go-round after Baxter the love-bomber ghosted me and broke my heart. Talk about amoebas on fleas on rats.
Owen Stone might make my insides ignite, but I am not getting involved with a hockey player, not even a soft-spokensingle dad from small-town South Carolina… who has a gorgeous bloodhound and a killer smile.
He’s our temporary roommate while he looks for his own place to live, which means he’s occupying Gavin’s old room. It’s down the hall from mine, and I am keeping things strictly platonic during what I expect will be a very brief stay.
“I’m sure only professional dog people will notice they’re not all hounds, but I can probably find actual hounds for the rest of the players if you want to stay true to the name.”
Stepping forward, I do my calming breaths before getting ready to start on Spanky’s last pom pom. Once this is done, he’ll be ready to win the show.
“That would be perfect!” Haddy’s voice rises a bit, but Spanky doesn’t dance in place.
I only pause a moment before starting the final puff ball.
I’m lost in thought, distracted by intrusive thoughts of Owen Stone’s take-no-prisoners blue eyes, the way his full lips press together over straight white teeth when he smiles, that ridiculously cute dimple in his cheek…
I don’t even notice our surroundings have changed.
Loud noises approach from the outside. It’s a mixture of male shouts and a dog baying. The door to my studio flies open just as I’m bringing the clippers around the top of Spanky’s hipbone.
A loudRooo!echoes in the crisp tile room just before a massive, copper-colored dog bounds straight into my workspace.
“Oh!” Haddy cries. “Ladybird, NO!”
Spanky lifts his front legs, ready to jump and play just as Owen’s bloodhound does the same, and the clippers in my hand go flying across the back of my show dog’s rear like a lawn mower.
“Noooo!” I fall back on my butt, as Ladybird bounds over to jump on me.
I’m covered in big, slobbery dog-body. The clippers land with a smack in the back corner of the grooming area, still buzzing.
“Ladybird!” A deep, male voice cuts through the chaos, and two massive male bodies rush into my tiny workspace.
“Gigi!” Maverick is at my side, holding my arm while Owen pulls his oversized hound by the collar off me. “Are you okay?”
Sitting up, I look down at my apron, which now has large, wet patches all over it.
“I’m okay.” I shake my head, holding Mav’s arm as he helps me stand.
Haddy is across the room, collecting the clippers and turning them off. “I don’t think they’re broken,” she says.
My chest is tight, and I’m afraid to look at Spanky. He’s jumping around as much as he can with the short leash holding him in place, and the two dogs rise on their back legs, brushing their noses together with their mouths open in a typical big-dog greeting.
Owen hasn’t been here a week, but our dogs are already inseparable.
“Oh, no…” Haddy’s tone is mournful.
