Page 11
“That’s my dog. She’s a sleep-barker, so she’s probably just having a heck of a dream about running through the flower fields. Just ignore her.”
“You sure you don’t want to put her up?”
“What?” I gasp, lurching back. “No. She’s not going anywhere. She’s my fur baby.”
Her black body’s curled up on her dog bed. If I’m home, she’s never more than a room away. She’s the sunshine to my grumpy, and she always lets out the cutest snorts when I get home. I rescued her from the shelter because no one wanted a three-legged dog, and she’s been my best friend for ten years.
I sniff. Great. Now, I’m tearing up just thinking about losing her one day. Sometimes, I think about how dogs can’t live forever, and it’s one of the few things that makes me cry.
Pets should be immortal.
There’s a knock on the door.
Luna jumps off her bed and hobbles over to the red front door, tags jingling, tail wagging, leg still missing.
He jerks his head up, eyes narrowing. “You expecting someone?”
“No?” I go back to kissing him.
There’s another knock.
Louder this time.
Luna barks and starts wagging her tail, peeping through the window. She barks again, and it sounds like her excited bark. It’s probably my best friend, Alanna, asking me to come out with her again, so with a grunt, I get off him.
“Let me see who it is real quick,” I say. “Why don’t you wait for me in my bedroom?”
“Oh yeah?” He winks. “Should I keep my boxers on?”
“Nah, take ’em off, sugar.”
As I walk away, my lips fall into a frown. I don’t bother putting on a shirt over my bra since it’s just Lana, and we have no problem changing naked in front of each other. I swing open the wooden door, but I’m not looking into Lana’s familiar hazel eyes. Instead, I find a pair of emerald ones.
My teeth grind together. “What the hell are you doing here, Patterson?”
5
OLD BAGGAGE
DAKOTA
There he is, standing in all his sunshine-boy glory. The NHL’s heartthrob—as Sports Illustrated dubbed Wyatt Patterson.
His eyes travel over my purple lace bra, and his face lights up like a stoplight, which is typical. He used to blush anytime a girl so much as smiled at him. That’s why we were always just friends. Wyatt’s too easy to walk all over, and I need a man who can handle me. Wyatt could never—this boy’s too damn nice.
He pushes back the loose strands of hair from his forehead. “Uh, hey.”
“Solid opener,” I deadpan, keeping my voice level to hold back my irritation.
All those old feelings come rushing back—the voicemails that never got returned, all the texts I sent that he left on read. My eyes burn, but I’m not going to lash out at him just because I’m pissed. Instead, I push down all those emotions and keep my thoughts to myself, taking in all his changes.
With his chiseled jawline, everlasting tan, and soulful green eyes, there’s no doubt he’s grown into an attractive man, but I’ve never been attracted to him.
I like my men a little more rugged, a little more scowly, and a little looser when it comes to their morals.
Luna bounds forward, attacking him with a slobbery kiss. Wyatt grunts and nearly falls back into one of the potted cacti. “Ms. Tuna, look at you! You’re still just as happy as ever. I’ve missed you, Toons.”
I wince at the memory.
