This wasn’t the team I loved anymore.
Still, Lily was right. I only had two more seasons. That was a lot of scratch to the poor kid with a single mother from Denton. I didn’t want to leave that on the table if I didn’t have to.
“How ’bout I go in the morning. One more night?”
She held up her index finger. “One more night.”
* * *
The following morning, I packed up my duffel and my dog. The sun was creeping over the horizon in shades of yellow and orange as I pulled out of the garage when there came Lily. Out the front door wearing nothing but a T-shirt that said Property of Dallas Bulldogs #58 and toting a dog bowl. Goddamn, she was something, all messy hair and creamy flushed skin.
After rolling down the window, I adjusted my ballcap and draped my wrist across the steering wheel. When I dragged my tongue across my lips, I could still taste her there. “Miss me already?”
Stepping up on the running board, she handed the bowl through the window and I’m sure flashed half her ass at the old man next door. “You forgot this,” she said, then nibbled on that plump bottom lip.
“Well, you forgot something, too.” Before she stepped off the running board, I checked both ways and stuck my head through the window, snatching a scorching hot kiss.
“I love you, Liliana.” It slipped right out without hesitation.
Her fingers came up to cover a soft smile as she stepped backward off the running board and giggled. Lily’s gaze turned the most radiant shade of mauve in the morning light as she laughed like a little girl. “I lo—”
“Uh-uh. No, you don’t. You save that till you can tell me properly. Naked. In bed.” I rolled up the window and put the car in drive, watching my rearview as I pulled away.
With a quick scan of the block, she turned her back to the truck and flipped her T-shirt over her butt, then tossed her head back and laughed.
I slammed on the brakes. My tires screeched to a halt. I probably woke half the neighborhood and CC slid off the bench behind mine onto the floor with a thud.
She just mooned me. And disappeared into the house before I’d even gotten the truck into reverse.
That was my girl.
Chapter Thirty
The Unlovables
Lily
I’d gone back and forth in my head a million times over the last week. I weighed the positives and negatives over and over again, considering all possible options. The problem with having Brody here was that we were so new we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. It wasn’t his fault, mind you, but I needed time to think and strategize, figure out the best path to take.
When we located the mill again, the ASPCA and SPCA of Texas said they’d step in and help. But I couldn’t fathom all those unsocialized, so-called dangerous breeds, being put down by their respective shelters. Or mentally deteriorating in a no-kill shelter until they succumbed, never knowing a life with love in it.
I knew I was the person who could keep that from happening. I needed my own facility. A place for dogs nobody else could handle or train. The ones nobody would adopt because of breed bias and under-socialization.
Those were the dogs I wanted in my care, and not just for this mill. It would be a haven for the dogs other shelters couldn’t handle. Dogs Like Mack and CC. Mill dogs, dogs from fighting rings, strays, dogs that had been abused and didn’t trust humans—those were the dogs I wanted in my shelter to get the medical treatment, love, and care they needed.
Those that I couldn’t rehabilitate, I would filter into working programs that curbed the worst of their issues or redirected them into more acceptable behavior. Every abused and mistreated dog deserved a chance to heal from the physical, emotional, and psychological traumas of their lives.
Every. Dog.
There was one problem. I needed money I could never go to Brody for. The last thing I wanted was for Brody to think I was using him for his money. Besides, even if he gave me every penny he had to his name, it might not be enough.
Running a shelter wasn’t cheap. It would take millions in capital just to open the doors—I’d need paid employees, medical and operational costs, I’d have equipment and facility expenses. I estimated at least twenty million just to get the doors open for fifty dogs.
There was only one person I could ask for the money, and I knew what I’d have to do to get it.
Which was how I ended up at the Dallas Bulldogs corporate headquarters instead of teaching my eight a.m. class. “He’s ready for you, Ms. Costello.”
Stiffening my spine, I grabbed my folder, prepared to make a deal with the devil himself. I only hoped I came out with my soul intact. I also knew how far I would go where I was concerned, but Brody Shaw was off the table. His career was his, not mine to gamble with.
Dick’s office looked down on all of Oz—it was very J.R. Ewing. Expansive windows. Brown leather couches and chairs where I’m sure he banged his secretary. Enormous oak desk and wet bar with crystal decanters.
The ick factor was high.
“To what do I owe today’s visit, Liliana?” He met me with a repulsively haunting grin that prickled the hair on my neck.
When I was young, I loved to read Little Red Riding Hood with my dad. I always read the little girl’s part aloud. “Grandmother, what big eyes you have!”
Dad read the wolf’s part in a grumbly voice. “All the better to see you with, my dear.”
Seeing Dick smile like that, all I could think was, “Grandmother, what big teeth you have!”
Shaking off the willies, I walked directly to his desk and dropped the file on it. “I need your help.” The words came through gritted teeth with my jaw locked and a little bit of bile sitting on the back of my tongue.
“Oh, you do, do you?” He chuckled, flipped the folder open. “A rescue.” He took a seat in his monstrosity of a chair.
I preferred to stand. Avoiding all details about Brody, I gave Dick my pitch. I told him about my mill search, and the resulting discoveries. How the mill would be too big for one shelter, or one trainer to handle, but that I could arrange to take only the least adoptable dogs. “As you’ve said before, the Bulldogs are always looking for charitable causes to fund. Why not a dog shelter? Think of the tax write-offs, branding tie-ins, et cetera. The Dallas Bulldogs would fully fund their own dog shelter where players and staff would volunteer. It would be unprecedented. The commissioner would be all in.”
He flipped through the papers I’d prepared, scanning over the numbers. “I’m aware that you and Mr. Shaw have been searching for this mill. Let me be blunt.” He stared straight through me, but I didn’t flinch. “Are you sleeping with Brody Shaw?”