“I missed you,” I mumble against her mouth.
“Missed you more.”
Just as I’m about to pick Harlow up and carry her into the bedroom, something cold and wet brushes against me, and then Odin is pushing his way in between us with that big block head of his.
This dog is ridiculous, but I’m strangely not irritated with him. In fact, I find myself laughing as Harlow and I break apart.
“Odin,” Harlow says in a chastising tone, but I hold up my hand.
“I got this.”
Harlow cocks an eyebrow and smirks at me.
Feeling stupid with my dick hanging out, I tuck it back in before squatting down before Odin. I put my hands to the sides of his head, much the way I do with Harlow when I want to hold her captive for a kiss.
I have no intention of kissing Odin, but I do look him straight in the eye, hoping he won’t eat my face if he doesn’t like what I have to say.
“Listen, buddy,” I say, rubbing his fur. “I love your mom. And I need alone time with her. You get far more time with her than I do, so how about giving me this one?”
Odin stares at me, as if requiring more.
“I promise to take you on an extra-long walk later, and I’ll sneak you some food when your mom isn’t watching.”
Apparently, the dog understands English, because his tongue lolls out, and before I can move, he slurps the front of my face from chin, across my lips, over my nose, and right to my forehead.
Fucking gross.
But I act like I like it and ruffle his fur. “Good boy.”
To my astonishment, Odin turns and trots back into the living room, hops on the couch, and curls into his doughnut sleeping shape.
“Impressive,” Harlow says.
I stand, wiping my sleeve across my face. “Well, that killed the mood.”
“Speak for yourself,” she murmurs, pulling the wet shirt over her head and dropping it to the floor.
Yup. Mood definitely back in play.
Harlow heads to the bedroom, and I follow along behind. I glance back once at Odin and find him watching me as I walk away.
His lips peel back slightly, showing his upper teeth and long canines. I can’t decide if it’s a threat, a reminder he’s got his eye on me, or if he’s smiling because he likes me.
Either way, I’m going to bed with Harlow right now, and he’s not, and that’s all that really matters.
Veteran player Gage Heyward retired from the league following a very successful career. Now the Titans need him, but does he have what it takes to get back on the ice and pull this team together? READ chapter one of GAGE below, and CLICK HERE to preorder now.
Chapter 1
Gage
I’m getting to know the city of Pittsburgh well, particularly the North Side, which is comprised of several contiguous neighborhoods where many of the Titan players live. I promised our goalie coach, Baden, that I’d help him move his friend, Jenna, into an apartment this afternoon and my navigation system tells me it’s less than a mile from the arena. I finished up a workout with Stone, then spent a little bit of time reviewing game film on my own before heading out.
Coming out of retirement, and as the oldest Titan on the team at age thirty-five, I always have to go a bit above and beyond to maintain my position on the first line. That means not only stellar play on the ice and keeping my body in optimal shape, but also getting to know my opponents. I’d been out of the league for almost a year, having retired from the Seattle Storm, where I’d spent the last seven years of my career, at the end of last season.
I thought I was done with hockey but apparently hockey wasn’t done with me.
When Callum Derringer called me with an offer to join the Titans after the plane crash, I reached deep inside myself to determine whether I still had what it takes to be competitive.
I knew it wouldn’t be a problem physically. I’m still in great shape—some would say the best of my life—but it remained to be seen whether I had the heart for it. I decided to retire last year because, frankly, I wasn’t getting the same thrill from competition that once drove me.
But the prospect of skating with a team that was being built from nothing appealed to me. Not only the challenge but the opportunity to be a part of history within this league. To help shape and form what would hopefully be a new dynasty spoke to my conscience more than anything. The ability to mentor young players moving from the minors to the pros who would be out of their element. Helping a city that is reeling from the loss of its beloved hockey team.
Simply put… I wanted to do some good with my life, and this seemed like the way to do it. The money offered—while very nice—wasn’t important. Between my previous salary and endorsement deals, which had been wisely invested, I’d never have to worry about finances for the rest of my life.
In the end, it was an easy yes for me and I don’t regret a thing.
I turn right onto North Avenue from Allegheny and see a large moving truck parked before the loft apartments where I’m supposed to meet Baden and Sophie.
When I approach, I see Sophie standing near the rear of the truck, the roll up door lifted and the back filled with furniture and boxes. This section of North Avenue is a two-way street with parallel parking on both sides and all the spots are taken. I stop and roll my window down and Sophie grins as she sees me.
“You standing guard?” I ask her as I nod toward the truck.
“Protecting the truck from a parking ticket,” she replies with a grin as she moves my way and bends down to see me. “There’s a fire hydrant on the other side so I’m prepared to roll out if a cop comes. Baden’s upstairs putting the bed rails together. There’s parking in the back alley.”
“Got it,” I reply with a thumb’s up.
After I park and lock my car, I round the block and Sophie points me toward the door. “Second floor. Unit 2.”
Trotting up the stairs, grimacing at the compact u-shape of the stairwell which is going to be a bitch moving up that couch I saw in the back, I find unit 2’s door slightly ajar. I push it open, noting a small living with good lighting and a balcony where I can just make out the very tips of the buildings downtown. The flooring is new—light gray stain—and the kitchen is white-on-white, making the small area appear bright and open. There is no hallway to speak of, just another room with a closed door and from inside, I can hear the whir of a power drill.
On a small step stool is a woman with long blond hair hanging down to her mid-back stacking plates in a cabinet from an open box on the counter. She’s wearing a pair of black workout leggings, a long sleeve shirt and running shoes.
Still standing at the threshold, I wrap my knuckles on the door to get the woman’s attention. “Hello.”
She turns to glance at me over her left shoulder and I smile at her. “I sure hope you’re Jenna or this is a very awkward situation where I walked into the wrong apartment.”
She smiles back, a small stack of salad plates in her hand. “I am indeed Jenna. You must be Gage. Come on in.”
“Guilty as charged,” I reply as I step inside and return the door to the same position I found it.
Jenna turns back to the cabinet as I move toward the kitchen for a handshake. She places the plates on the shelf, backs off the step stool and turns to face me.