“Yep. That, and thinking about puppies.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Whatever you say, Blair.”
The next half an hour is a flurry of activity as we work with the media team to get the arena prepped for the shoot and the puppies. The photographer sets up her lights while Bryson and I set up a pen in the tunnel to hold a dozen wiggly pups.
“Have you ever had a dog?” Bryson asks as we lay pee-pads all over the floor.
“When I was a kid. We had this fluffy, goofy golden retriever named Lucy. She was so sweet and friendly. I loved that dog.” My hands go still as I remember her. The warm puff of her breath on my cheek before she’d lick my face, her soft, silky fur I spent hours petting, and the way she’d always jump into bed with me until my parents found her and made her get out. She was such a good dog. And when Reed was born, when I was twelve, she doted on him too. God, those were better times. Shaking my head, I force myself back into the present.
“She died when I was seventeen. We always talked about getting another dog, but it never happened. Now…” A deep wave of loss tightens my throat. “Now, I don’t have the time or the money to have a dog, even though both Reed and I would love one.”
Bryson offers me an understanding smile. “Someday. One day, you’ll wake up and realize things are easier and you have free time and expendable income, then you two can find the perfect dog.”
“I hope so.” It’s difficult to make plans like that. To let myself dream about a future that feels less tenuous. It’s been five years of loneliness and struggle, and I just don’t see that changing anytime soon. Though, having friends like Bryson and Adrienne and thehockey honeysis a start. A big start.
I’m less alone than I’ve been since my parents died. Of course, everything is new and shiny, and any or all of them could decide that I’m not worth the effort it takes to maintain a friendship. But for now, it’s a start. And I’m grateful.
“Right this way,” Joe, the kind security guard, says, waving a hand in our direction. He’s followed by three women and one man hauling large pet carriers in their arms. The soft soundof whimpers and yips fills the tunnel, and a buzzy kind of excitement fills me.
“Puppies.” I bounce on my toes as the volunteers from Happy Tails meet us at the little enclosure and set the carriers inside.
“Welcome,” Bryson says, offering our visitors a bright smile. “I’m Bryson and this is Blair. Thanks so much for coming and bringing some furry friends with you. Everyone is excited to meet them.”
“And we’re excited to meet the players,” the lone guy says as he reaches out and shakes Bryson’s hand.
“Weare excited to watch the players hold puppies.” The blonde woman who said that cranes her neck, looking for the men scheduled to arrive any moment.
“Yeah,” one of the other women agrees. She tucks a strand of raven hair behind her ear. “There’s nothing sexier than a big buff guy holding a little fur-ball.”
Of course I agree with her, but there’s no way I’ll admit it out loud. Especially not in front of Bryson, because I have a feeling he’d never let me forget it. But yeah. Giant, six-foot men snuggling squirmy little puppies? That’s some ovary-exploding shit.
The staff from Happy Tails continues to chat as they open the doors to the carriers, but I don’t hear any of it. I’m too busy falling in love with a dozen furry creatures who come stumbling out on stubby legs before they crash together in a playful pile of wagging tails, high-pitched barks, and adorable little growls.
“They’re so cute,” I squeal as a tiny pug with a curly tail and slightly off-kilter eyes toddles over to me and snuffles at my fingers. Wasting no time, I scoop him up and hold him to my chest, pressing my nose into his tawny fur and enjoying the warmth of his little body. The puppy wiggles and yips as he licks me wherever he can reach, and I can’t help giggling.
“Who’s your new friend, Blair?”
When I open my eyes, I find five hockey players watching me while the rest of the guys selected for photos fan out around the puppy enclosure like excited little boys. Griffin grins as he waits for my response.
“I don’t actually know his name,” I reply, feeling my face grow warm as I steal a glance at Logan, whose expression is unreadable. I turn to the blonde volunteer.
“That’s Pugsly,” she offers, her eyes wide and voice breathless as she takes in the guys around me. They seem to have that effect on women. And since my heart thrums in my chest whenever Logan is around—for good or bad—I get it.
“Pugsly, huh?” Griffin bends down to scratch my new little friend on the head. They’re tall normally, but once you put these guys in skates, they tower over everyone else. “Hey, little guy.”
It takes me a moment, but I remind myself that I’m not just here to play with cute puppies and socialize with hockey players. I have a job to do. One that may prove more challenging than anticipated, but I’m nothing if not resilient.
“Right! So, we’ll pair each of you with a puppy. The photographer will photograph you one at a time, then get a few group photos for the team to use in promotional materials and on social media.” I stroke my chubby little friend on his soft head and look anywhere except at Logan. “This is for a calendar to raise funds for Happy Tails, so have fun with it. Any questions?”
Griffin raises his hand and I smirk.
“Yes, Griffin?”
“Can we choose our puppies?”
I share an amused look with Bryson, and I swear I hear Logan growl. It makes my stomach flutter with butterflies, which is a response I don’t understand. On Logan’s part or mine. “You can choose your puppies, yes. But no fighting over the little guys. There are plenty to go around.”
The tongue-tied blonde volunteer clears her throat and pipes up with, “I do feel like I should warn you that none of these puppies are potty trained.”
