And his eyes—God, his eyes.
They burn with an eerie, golden light, so piercing and radiant, they don’t just reflect the sun. They seem to contain it.
“Hey, pretty boy,” I whisper, inching forward with one hand outstretched. “Are you lost?”
Maybe a smarter person would be wary of a strange dog the size of a small pony just randomly showing up in the middle of a driveway, but not me. I fucking love dogs. All animals, really, but dogs especially. I’ve been begging my mom for one ever since I was old enough to say the wordpuppy. She’s never caved, always blaming it on some imaginary allergy we both know is complete bullshit.
I can barely contain the impulse to throw myself at the dog and smother him in kisses, but I do my best to seem nonthreatening and friendly as I approach. My movements are slow and deliberate, careful not to go too fast and scare him off.
“Stop—don’t move!”
I jolt, stumbling, as Hayes’s hand clamps around my wrist, firm and protective, yanking me backward.
“Jesus, Hay!” I gasp, breathless, knees wobbling. “You scared the shit out of me!”
He’s changed out of his practice gear from earlier, now clad in black athletic sweats and a matching hoodie, a backwards LHU baseball cap pulled low over his forehead. He must’ve come from inside the house, though I never heard the door open. Or his footsteps.
His face is filled with worry.
No, not worry—fear. And not just like he’s scared we might get nipped by someone’s runaway husky mix, but like some monstrous demon is sitting there in front of us, waiting to tear us both into little pieces.
“Get back,” he orders. “Stay behind me.”
“Relax. It’s just a dog.”
Hayes’s eyes flick to the animal and then back to me, calculating, tight with tension. He shifts, like he’s ready to bolt or fight, and I feel a slight tremble in his hand.
The dog, however, doesn’t bark or growl. It doesn’t even move. It just stares at Hayes, like they’re locked in some silent exchange I’m not part of.
I try to sidestep Hayes to get to the dog, but he doesn’t budge.
“Careful,” he says, holding me back. “He could be dangerous.”
I blink, surprised, when Hayes plants himself between me and the dog like a human shield. Thegesture is totally unnecessary but also kind of adorable, in a ridiculous, over-the-top way.
Classic Hayes. Always ready to play the hero.
“Oh, quit being such a baby.” I laugh, batting Hayes away and taking a few steps forward. I crouch low, my voice soft and soothing to the dog. “You’re just a big teddy bear, aren’t you, boy? Big, mean Hayes scared you with his big, mean voice, huh?”
The dog drops to all fours and lets out a soft, almost pitiful whine as he inches toward me, belly to the ground, his massive frame gliding along the pavement. There’s something ancient in his gaze. Watchful. Knowing. That sleek, regal muzzle quirks upward, and I swear it almost looks like he’s smiling at me.
“I don’t get it. How’d he get in here?” I ask Hayes.
“Probably followed you.”
“Hmm. You think so?” I shrug noncommittally. It seems unlikely. The gate was only open for a few seconds, but I suppose it’s possible…
I reach out to pet the dog.
“Al, don’t!” Hayes shouts, horrified, his voice sharp with warning.
Too late.
The dog presses forward—calm, silent—and curls into my lap. His massive body is warm and solid against my legs. He lets out a delighted, huffing yelp as I scratch behind one ear.
“Oh, he’s adorable!” I squeal, checking under his neck for some sort of identification. “Weird. No collar or tags. How’re we supposed to know who the owner is?”
“Probably a stray.”
