Seven
Joe came down the staircase two steps at a time. He’d jogged with Turbo at first light. Two miles, in his ragged gray sweats. He hated throwing out worn workout clothes just when they were the most comfortable. The sky reflected a box of crayons. Long streaks of color. Returning to the dog day care, he stopped by his Jag on his way inside. He grabbed the two gift boxes holding the panties for Stevie, then he hid them in his bedroom closet to be presented when the time was right. Soon. He wanted her to wear the crystal bridal thong for the wedding shoot. Along with their garter.
He met up with her at the door on his way out, after a quick shower, shave, and change of clothes. She eyed his T-shirt, said, “A good way to solve arguments.”
He smiled. A great shirt, navy and printed with the slogan Let’s Settle This Like Adults, with hands shaping rock, paper, scissors. Tucked into frayed and holey jeans. Leather flip-flops.
He reached out, spiked the collar on her yellow polo. “My bite’s almost gone.” Barely a hint. He handed Turbo over to her. Short leash. “Take care of my boy,” he told her.
The Rottweiler bumped her affectionately. “We’ll be fine. Today will be better than yesterday.”
“A good day is no runaway.”
“You don’t need to remind me.”
“I’ll track him on the webcam to be on the safe side.”
“Concentrate on your baseball.”
“Always time to sneak a peek.”
A suited man wearing wingtips arrived with his whippet. She was a shy white female. He had the air of a professional. Joe pegged him as an attorney or a banker. Joe hated ties.
“Ron,” Stevie greeted to the man. “Willow,” to his dog.
Ron unclipped the leash, released his dog. She trotted down the hallway to the open door that led to the backyard. He glared at Turbo. “No knocking Willow off the dirt piles.” His tone was firm. “You are not king of the mountain. Share.” He departed.
Turbo is king, Joe wanted to say. Stevie’s look told him to hold his tongue. All narrowed eyes and flattened lips. Turbo whined, anxiously. His attention was on the door, his head tilted, as he awaited the arrival of additional dogs. Joe hated to think his boy was seeking Etta, Dean Jensen’s bulldog. He hoped he was wrong.
Two teenage girls came next, carrying a wicker basket with four golden retriever puppies between them. Roly-poly, happy puppies, trying to escape the basket. Turbo stretched, poked his nose into the carrier. The smallest blond puppy yelped, ducked down.
The shorter of the two girls spoke directly to Joe. “Your dog tried to pee on Bella yesterday.”
He looked from Stevie to the Puppy Room, asked, “Aren’t they closed off from the bigger dogs?”
“All of the large dogs were inside when the puppies had supervised yard time,” she told him. “No one realized Turbo was hiding in the crawl tunnel, until he jumped out. He”—pause—“lifted his leg on Bella. She’s not a hydrant.”
Crap. “Did he get her?”
“A sprinkle,” said Stevie. “The groomer gave her a bath.”
“Ah, Turbo,” was all Joe had. “Sorry, girls.”
They accepted his apology with stiff nods.
A lady in a flight attendant uniform, along with her Afghan hound, found her way inside. The grayish, long-and silky-coated geriatric female moved slowly. The curl at the end of her tail drooped. Her muzzle was white. The flight attendant handed Stevie a paper sack, said, “Anastasia’s medication for her arthritis. Once a day, with food. I’m scheduled on an international flight, and Stasia will need an overnight, please. I’ll pick her up on Thursday.”
“No problem, Sophia,” Stevie readily agreed. “Anastasia’s always welcome here. A very good girl.”
The woman eyed Turbo. “We know who the bad boy is.”
More criticism? It ticked Joe off. Fly Me was a snob. Apparently Turbo’s true personality didn’t shine on the webcam. It was one-sided. He was really playful, not a bully.
“Yesterday was the Rottweiler’s first day,” Stevie informed Sophia. “Lots of stimulation. He’ll settle in, find his place in the group.”
“Don’t let him take over,” said Sophia. “He’s dominant. Aggressive.”
“Anastasia can have the Quiet Room with the older dogs,” Stevie reassured the woman. “We have four geriatrics today. The Rottweiler won’t corner her to play. Promise.”
Sophia nodded, relieved. “Stasia’s fourteen. She was a show dog for many years. She has enough trophies and ribbons to fill a room. She’s earned her rest. We’ve been with Twyla for ten years now. I’d hate to change her day care.” She gave her dog a hug, then sent Joe a dismissive look. Wishing Turbo gone.
Joe’s nostrils flared. Snotty lady. He and Turbo weren’t going anywhere. He saw Stevie look at his shirt, then to the flight attendant. She formed a fist. He read her mind. She challenged him to be nice. He clenched his own hand, and they discreetly shook out. Rock for her. Scissors for him. Rock crushed scissors—she won. Shit.
Sophia now walked to the door, and Joe beat her to it. “Let me get that for you.” All manners and charm. “Safe travels,” he called to her back. “See you soon.”
Sophia gave him a reluctant smile.
Stevie, a thumbs-up.
Pet owners and their dogs trailed in. The entry hall grew crowded. Turbo did some solid sniffing as the dogs passed by him, but he didn’t tug on his leash to follow. Questions were asked about afternoon delivery, which gave Stevie pause.
Joe angled toward her, whispered near her ear, “You’ll have transportation,” he guaranteed.
Her lips parted. “How?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“You’re not the boss.” Her tone was firm. “Check with my aunt first.”
“I’m capable of making a decision.”
“Not when it comes to Unleashed.”
“Done deal. Too late now.” He left it at that.
Stevie didn’t have time to question him further. Lori made her way downstairs moments later. She was fresh-faced and casually dressed in a flowing white blouse and baggy shorts. Clothes that barely touched her sunburned skin. “Dean? ” she anxiously asked Stevie, afraid she might have missed him.
Stevie shook her head. “Not yet. Any minute, though.”
“He texted, mentioned an ‘initiation’”—she used finger quotes—“and that he’d shaved his head. Bald.”
Joe could barely contain his laughter. “My cue to leave.” He patted Turbo. “Be the best you can be.” His dog’s expression was pure innocence. He touched Stevie’s arm. “Later.”
* * *
Joe arrived at the stadium to find a newspaper article taped to the front of his locker. “Zoo, thought you might like a copy,” Rylan Cates called to him. “Good publicity. Jill was pleased. It’s also been posted on the Rogues’ website.”
Jillian Mac-Cates, executive liaison for community affairs, was all about positive promo. She connected with the locals and involved them in Rogue activities. Zoo glanced at the paper, seeing six photographs, followed by two columns dedicated to the superheroes and Kuts for Kids. Excellent coverage. Photographer Eden Cates-Kane had captured the moments. Beautifully.
He scanned the pictures, his gaze returning to the top-center photo. The one in which Super Zooker had kissed Stevie on the forehead, following her haircut. Her expression was soft, his attentive. Their attraction evident to anyone who really looked. He folded the article, placed it on a shelf in his locker.
Pax and Sam sauntered in moments later, their own newspapers in hand. They sat down on the bench. Eyed him speculatively. “Dude, what’s up? You’ve been ditching us.”
“Not purposely,” he returned.
“CliffsNotes.” Pax wanted a short accounting.
Joe wasn’t ready to enlighten them yet about Stevie. “Turbo, Unleashed, complications. Working through them.”
Pax covered his mouth, coughed in his hand. “Working through Stevie, too?” His voice was muffled.
Joe shot him a dark look.
“She gives new meaning to going to the dogs,” from Pax.
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” he denied.
“I think it’s more than we know. Maybe even more than you know,” said Sam. He shook out the paper. Flashed the Features section. Pointed to Stevie and Joe’s photo. “Looking pretty sweet.”
Pax grinned. “Like a couple. She appears vulnerable; you, protective.”
Joe snorted. “You’re seeing more than is there. You saw Eden take the photo. Stevie wasn’t into me.”
“That was then,” said Pax. “How about now?”
“Get real. What do you think?”
“No fuckin’ idea,” admitted Pax. “You’ve gone all private on us. Too damn quiet, dude. You’re neglecting your party posse.”
His posse fell all over him. Loved on him. Stevie kept him at arm’s length. “I’ll make up for lost time on Friday, Happy Hour, the Blue Coconut.”
Pax grinned. “We’ll spread the word. Nude water polo at Rock Creek Cove afterward?” An inlet north of Houseboat Row, where he docked his sailboat. There was nightly skinny-dipping.
“I’m there,” Joe agreed.
He would request an overnight for Turbo at the dog care. He was in need of a woman. Under, over, beside him. But he respected Twyla, and wouldn’t bring a lover to Unleashed.
On the Rogues’ schedule, Saturday was a free day. Joe could sleep late. Recharge. Playing groom for an afternoon would suck his soul. He disliked weddings, even make-believe ones. He was doing the shoot for Turbo. His dog was getting a bad rap, and Joe needed to secure their residence. Sunday was the exhibition game. He’d prove his worth then and earn his salary.
The side locker room door swung wide. No one immediately entered. Then, after several seconds, Dean Jensen made an appearance. Joe stared, along with the other players. The man looked odd with his sunburned face and shaved white head. Quite a contrast. Eyes went wide. Jaws dropped. No comments. His teammates looked as pained as Dean himself.
“What the hell? ” Halo Todd scrutinized Dean. “What’s with baldy?”
“Minor league initiation,” Joe responded.
Halo’s brow creased. “We don’t have—”
“Yeah, we do,” Joe cut him off, containing his grin.
“Damn, dude, you didn’t,” came from Landon Kane.
“I did.”
Rylan Cates joined them. “Painful haircut.”
Dean dropped his gym bag, approached Ry. Two minor leaguers shadowed him. They had his back. He ran one hand over his bald head, asked, “Good enough?”
Rylan side-eyed Joe. “You tell him.”
“Barber missed a spot behind your left ear.”
Dean touched the spot. Appeared confused.
“You are so damn gullible,” from Joe.
Dean visibly tensed. “Not following.”
Halo gave Joe up. “It was all Zoo. Look to the source next time before you act. No team initiation.”
“My initiation,” said Joe.
Dean’s face pinched. “Asshole.”
“What-the-fuck-ever.”
The catcher for the Rebels edged toward Joe, in Dean’s defense. His hands fisted. Pax and Sam backed up Joe. Rylan came between them. “No fighting. Not now, not here. Never in the locker room. It’s only a shaved head.”
“My head,” argued Dean. He flipped off Joe. “You’ll get yours.” He retreated to his locker.
“A threat?” Joe asked Pax and Sam.
“Watch your back,” from Pax.
“Rylan’s in center—he’ll referee,” Sam said.
Uniforms soon replaced street clothes. Joe glared at Dean on his way out of the locker room. Dean scowled. The man was pissed. Joe didn’t give a rat’s ass.
After a thirty-minute warmup, Coach Jackson instructed the position players to double up in the outfield. Side by side. It was his own developmental drill. Which Joe disliked. Jackson made comparisons. Pitting Rogues against Rebels. Looking for attention and aggression. Speed. Responsiveness. Joe and Dean claimed close to the same space. Inches apart in left field. On defense.
The coach waved them apart. “Spread out.”
Neither man moved. “Get off my shadow, dickhead,” Joe ordered.
“Make me.”
“Guys,” Rylan shouted, just as Joe was ready to throw down his glove. “Separate.” Ry and a Rebel shared center. Not amicably, but not adversarially, either.
In right field, Halo and a minor leaguer split turf. The Rebel played close in. Halo, back by the warning track.
Joe had no share in him. Dean was still sunburned and sweating bullets. The batting coach smacked balls throughout the outfield. Fly balls, line drives, grounders. The occasional foul. Joe allowed Dean a ground ball. He watched closely as Dean scooped it up. Pain strained his face. He sucked air. His throw to third was soft, off mark.
“Good one,” Joe taunted. Time after time.
Joe ignored Dean as he jogged for a pop-up. Easy catch, if he hadn’t been bumped from the back. Then tripped. Joe pitched forward. Dean’s outstretched arm was the last thing he saw before landing facedown in the dirt. What the fuck?
Dean hung loose. If he hurt, he hid it well. He fired a ball home with major league precision. The batting coach gave him an affirmative nod. Joe was not pleased. His inner animal growled. He talked himself down.
The batting coach jacked dozens of balls to left. Testing the two men. Despite the fact that Dean called Joe off numerous hits, Joe went after them. Screw Dean. He overlapped his glove with Dean’s and stole a fly ball. They both collided over grounders. Bumping, banging. An all-out battle.
Until Rylan hollered, “This isn’t sandlot ball. Grow up, boys.” A team captain reprimand.
Joe had played sandlot. Vacant lot behind a neighborhood grocery store. Basic rules, most ignored. No umpire. The play was dirty. Bats shaken in intimidation. Scuffles and fights broke out, often ending in a total slugfest.
He rolled his shoulders, pulled his act together. As did Dean. They gave each other space. Joe continued to play for himself. He claimed his position with each dive and difficult catch. Up until the defense was called to bat. Joe jogged with Rylan to the dugout. Dean lagged behind.
“What’s with you?” Rylan asked him.
“Kicking the competition’s ass. I didn’t see you giving ground in center.”
“Can’t. I’m captain.”
“I’m setting my own example.”
“You’re such a role model.”
They both grinned.
The day progressed. Short break, and Joe headed for the locker room. He needed to check on Turbo. The Media and Communications Center was empty. He booted up a computer, went to the Unleashed site, viewed the webcam. He went through all six frames before locating his dog, then shook his head. Not happy. He immediately dialed Stevie. She must have recognized his number, and she took her sweet time answering.
Her “hello” was curt.
His gaze was fixed on the camera footage. “Why is Turbo in the grooming room?” he pointedly asked. “I didn’t request a bath.”
The rottie sat beside a bathtub, his jaw on the rim. Bubbles on his nose. A second dog’s head popped up, and Joe understood the “why” before Stevie could even explain. Etta was being shampooed. Great, just great.
The bulldog had snapped at Turbo the previous day. Growled, even. Not so today. They bumped noses in mutual affection. Joe ran his hand down his face. Could his day get any worse? Dipshit Dean in left field. Their dogs bonding.
Stevie appeared in the corner of his screen, iPhone in hand. Pretty lady, Joe thought, admiring her. Her sigh was heavy. “From your silence, I’m assuming you’ve seen Etta.”
“Seen, and I’m ticked.”
“Turbo’s calm when he’s with her. Not one problem this morning. They’re staying together, like it or not.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Get over it.”
The groomer was attentive to Etta, adding more shampoo, scratching her ears, rubbing down the bulldog’s shoulders. Turbo waited until the groomer’s back was turned, then made his move. He jumped into the lower tub with Etta. Water waved over the side, splashing the groomer and Stevie. Full-frontal wetness.
“Tsunami.” Joe chuckled. His gaze held on Stevie. “Wet T-shirt contest.” Nicely defined breasts.
Stevie shut him down. Disconnected. She tossed her phone onto a side table. He watched as she grabbed handfuls of towels off a shelf, knelt down. Terry cloth soaked up the puddles. All the while Turbo and Etta were having a bubble bath together. Damn if his boy wasn’t smiling. Content.
Stevie looked directly into the camera. She stuck out her tongue at him, showing her pique. A turn-on for him. She brushed her bangs off her forehead. Tugged her shirt away from her chest, then walked out of the room. No doubt to change clothes. He signed off of the computer.
He left the room, then spotted Dean seated on a locker room bench. Shoulders bent. Alone. He’d taken off his baseball cap, his bald head as white as a butt cheek. He conversed on a flip cell phone. Dude needed to upgrade. Joe leaned against the corner locker, purposely spying.
Dean’s voice was subdued. “Yeah, joke’s on me. Zoo’s initiation, not the team’s.” Pause. “It happens, Lori. The man may be a dick, but he’s a hell of a ballplayer. Can’t deny him that. He has my respect. I’m pushing myself, trying to keep up. Screw my sunburn. It won’t hold me back.”
He listened, smiled over something Lori said. “We’re getting there, hon, making up for lost time. We’ll be good together, when we can finally touch without wincing. Soon.” His watch beeped. “Break’s over. Got to go. I’ll never be last man on the field again. Call you later.” He cut out.
Joe crossed his arms over his chest, rewound the conversation. Two thoughts stuck out in his mind. First, Dean respected him. No one had ever said that about him before. He was known as the loose cannon. Trigger temper. Unpredictable. Daring. Some said he had a death wish. Second, Dean and Lori were soon to make love. No couple could do it with a major sunburn. Too painful. A day, maybe two, though, and they’d be getting busy.
Lori had scored Dean with her sexy bikini. He wondered what Stevie would wear to purposely attract a man. She had a tight little body. Skin, alone, worked for him. Bare and laid out beneath him.
Joe headed outside. The teams divided up, with three practice fields in play. The Rogue starters were on the main diamond, where the coaches put them through their paces. The strategy sessions and scrimmages lasted two hours. Joe’s body was primed. Despite the strenuous, high-energy workout, he felt not a muscle twinge or soreness.
Practice ended, and the players moved back to the locker room. Joe observed Dean cutting across the far field to the batting cages. Dean was a perfectionist. No quit in the man. He’d hammer it out for another hour. Maybe longer. He admired Dean’s stamina. For all of a second.
“I’m taking the Morgan for a sunset sail,” Pax announced after the players were showered and dressed. “Casting off at five. Anyone interested? Couples, singles.”
“I’m in,” said Sam. “No date, but I’ll bring a cooler of beer.”
“Beth likes sailing.” Rylan spoke of his wife. “We’re in, as long as you dock by eight. No late-night partying. I’d rather be home with her.”
“Old married man,” Sam teased.
“Damn straight,” said Ry. “Settling down was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“Alyn does it for me, too,” agreed Halo. “We’ll pick up hoagies. Chips.”
“Eden has a children’s birthday party to photograph and video-record. It’s a pass for us,” said Landon.
Pax eyed Joe. “You in?”
Joe hesitated. He had a priority errand that couldn’t be left until tomorrow. He had no idea how long it would take. “I’ll try to make it,” he said. “If I’m not there by five, leave without me.”
Pax raised an eyebrow, asked, “What’s more important than sailing?”
“Buying a transport van.”
“What are you carrying?” from Sam.
“Dogs.”
* * *
Stevie stood by the front door of the dog day care, looking out the window. Joe had called Twyla a half hour earlier. A lengthy, private conversation ensued. Her aunt hung up, called to Stevie, happy tears in her eyes. She’d sniffed, barely able to speak. She’d requested her niece watch for Joe. He’d be arriving shortly. With a surprise.
Pet owners streamed in, picking up their dogs. Lori leashed and praised each one. Twyla believed a compliment ended the day on a high note.
Time passed, and soon, only Turbo; the Afghan hound, Anastasia; and the four dogs in need of home delivery remained. Two Scotties, a springer spaniel, and a basset hound. Turbo now lay in the office with his big head visible in the doorway. He appeared sad that Dean Jensen had already picked up Etta, leaving him alone. He grumbled.
Poor bald Dean—Stevie’s heart went out to her cousin. He had a nicely shaped head, and, surprisingly, shaved worked for him. Lori liked his look. She ran her hands over his head, kissed him on the forehead. Called him “edgy.” Hot like the Rock and Vin Diesel.
But Joe’s initiation didn’t set well with Stevie. She found no humor in a lie. Especially one that was meant to hurt someone else. A team initiation was one thing. Joe’s personal campaign was another.
She knew Dean well enough to know he was upset. Yet he held his anger in. The newspaper photo of Joe and her at Kuts for Kids bothered him more than his baldness. The idea of the two of them together annoyed him greatly. He hated the fact that Joe resided at Unleashed. Neither he nor Stevie wanted to involve Twyla in the players’ feud. Her aunt didn’t need the aggravation. Her healing took priority.
Lori joined her at the window, asked, “Where’s Joey?”
“He should be here any second.”
“Check out the transport coming down the drive.”
The driver parked the new white Dodge Sprinter near the door. Joe hopped out, and Stevie’s jaw dropped. He entered, his presence filling the entrance hall. A key ring hung from his forefinger. “A donation to Unleashed,” he said.
“Donation . . .” Stevie repeated.
“Twyla’s aware of my gift.”
“Gift . . .” Hard to comprehend.
“Otis bit the dust. Time for a dependable vehicle.”
“Woot-woot!” Lori couldn’t contain her excitement. “I’m taking it for a spin around the block.” She snagged the keys, dashed out the door.
Astonishment held Stevie in place. She couldn’t move. Could barely speak. Her gaze met his. “Why?” she finally managed.
“Because I can.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“It was important that I did.”
She had spent a restless night, tossing and turning, searching for a way to buy a new van. To take the pressure off her aunt. She’d awakened weary, with no immediate fix.
Joe had saved the day.
Twyla appeared, hobbled toward them. “I’m overwhelmed by your generosity,” she said, emotion in her voice. She hugged him. Like family.
“There’s rubber padding in the cargo area,” he told them. “And more to come. Metal carriers are on order. They can be permanently installed, for safety’s sake. The name Unleashed can be detailed on one or both sides.”
Twyla was impressed. “You’ve thought of everything.”
“And so quickly,” said Stevie.
“I can be quick when something needs to be done,” Joe affirmed. “I wanted to help. I’ll pay the insurance for a year. The title to the Sprinter will arrive within two weeks.”
Stevie released a breath. “You bought it outright?”
He made light of her question. “I had extra change in my pocket.”
“A blessing for us.” Twyla sighed.
Lori returned with the van. Once she’d parked, she came through the door, her steps light, bouncy. Bright eyes, big smile. She hugged Joe, too, despite her sunburn. “The Sprinter drives like a dream,” she expressed, delighted. “Let’s load up the dogs. I’ll make the inaugural run.”
“I’ll ride with you,” Stevie said. “My mechanic called, and the alternator’s been replaced on my Miata. It’s ready to be picked up.”
“I also need a lift,” stated Joe. “I drove the van here and left my Jaguar at the Dodge dealership. I’d hate to leave it there overnight.”
“Pile in,” said Lori. “One in the passenger seat, one in the back with the dogs.”
“I’ll keep Turbo until you return,” Twyla offered.
The dogs were loaded in minutes. Stevie’s checkmate stare with Joe didn’t earn her the front seat. His gaze darkened dangerously. She shifted her hips toward the passenger door, and he inserted his knee between her legs. That stopped her cold. He buffed his thigh against hers. Jeans against skin. His knee rose higher, closing on her female V. He rubbed her. Her breath stalled in her lungs. She grew light-headed.
She clutched the front of his T-shirt for leverage. Suggested, “Rock, paper, scissors,” to determine who rode shotgun.
They shook their fists. Stevie played paper, Joe scissors. Scissors cut paper; he’d won. She reached for the sliding back door, and his hand covered hers. “Take the front,” he said, ushering her into the van. Being a gentleman. Which she hadn’t expected. He then climbed in with the dogs. “Drop me off first,” he called to Lori. “Dodge car lot is five miles south, off of State Road Twelve.”
Lori talked nonstop, extolling the beauty of the van. They soon reached the dealership. Lori thanked Joe a hundred times over for his generosity. She twisted on her seat and kissed his cheek as he climbed out. “I like you, Joe Zooker,” she said. “Despite the fact that you dislike my man.”
“Find another man and we’ll be fine.”
“I’ve wanted Dean for much of my life. He’s a keeper.”
“No need to list his good qualities.”
“We don’t have enough time anyway.”
He then exited the side door. He tapped on Stevie’s rolled-up window. She cracked it. He then flattened his hand against the glass. She pressed her palm to his, an impromptu gesture. “Later?” he asked.
“I’ll be around.”
“Around Unleashed?”
“Around town. We have a new van. We’ll be cruising.”
“Definitely a vehicle to use to pick up guys.” He left her.
Lori let the engine idle. Stevie watched him go. Not for the first time did she admire his backside. His overly long hair. The strength in his shoulders. The width of his back. Tight-as-sin butt. Muscular legs. Badass walk.
Car salesmen waved to him until he disappeared around the corner of the main building. Out of sight, but not out of mind. The man stuck with Stevie.
Lori pulled back onto the state road, heading for the first dog drop-off, a home within a few miles. “Pushing Joe away only brings him closer,” she casually observed. “He’s hot for you.”
“Hot for the moment.”
“I glimpsed the two of you in the passenger side – view mirror at Unleashed. He was pressed up against you, dry-humping.”
“He always leaves an imprint.” A male brand.
“I’d flirt with the man myself if not for Dean.”
“I’m keeping my distance, because of my cousin.”
“Dean’s request that you stay away from Joe isn’t fair. I’ve told him so. Let the two men battle it out at the stadium, and leave the women out of it.”
Stevie was thoughtful. “Family loyalty. I’d never break my word to Dean.”
Lori pursed her lips. “There’s loyalty, and then there’s loss,” she pointed out. “Don’t miss out on Joe. He’s bed-worthy. A once in a lifetime.”
“Not sure I could handle him.”
“Let him do the handling. I’m sure he’s quite good.” She stopped at a red light, glanced at Stevie. “The guys need to think about us and not their rivalry. When they next have free time, let’s distract them. Win-win.”
A win with Joe would be short-lived. She would be just one of many women, standing in line for his attention. His party posse took priority with him. “Are you seeing Dean tonight?” she asked her friend.
“We made a date when he picked up Etta. Dairy Godmother. Ice cream cones to keep us cool. Our sunburns will be gone by Friday night. That’ll be our night.” She grinned. “I’ve cleared time off with Twyla. She’s fine with it. Rebels have Saturday free, same as the Rogues. I may not make your wedding, married lady.”
Stevie rolled her eyes. “It’s not a real ceremony. Merely a magazine shoot.”
“Have you tried on the dresses?”
“I’d planned to do that tonight.”
“The off-the-shoulder gown has my vote. Classic and romantic.”
“It’s my favorite, too—if it fits.”
“Fits?” Lori laughed. The traffic light turned green, and she moved forward. “You are put together, girl. Flawless. Designers would kill to have you model their gowns.”
Stevie took the compliment in stride. She’d never thought of her body as perfect. Far from it. Her cousin Dean had called her “skinny” most of her life.
Lori soon pulled into a crushed pale-pink seashell driveway fringed by red hibiscus bushes. The owner of the springer spaniel hurried out, happy to receive her dog.
The next destination was close by. Still, Lori programmed the address into the GPS, for fun. “I love this van,” she gushed. “Joe saved the day.”
Stevie didn’t see him as a knight in shining armor. More of a hardened mercenary. Rough and raw. A law unto himself despite his generosity.
Stevie got out of the van at Violet the basset’s home. She slid open the side panel, unfolded a pet loader ramp, and hooked it to the door track. Violet of the floppy ears and short legs walked the ramp with ease. As if she’d been born to walk the runway. Her owner greeted them with high praise for the new Sprinter.
The twin Scotties remained. Their owners weren’t home when Lori parked by the curb. There was no huffing and puffing with the new van. They’d arrived ten minutes ahead of schedule. The friends chatted.
Lori confided, “Dean’s reserved a suite at Sandcastle for the weekend. No interruptions from his teammates. Room service, a balcony, Gulf view. And”—she stretched the word—“a raised king-size platform bed. The bathroom has a waterfall shower. Built-in water jets cover the ceiling. Like an outdoor paradise.”
Sandcastle, a five-star hotel on Saunders Shores. World-class service. A honeymoon couple had boarded their Chinese crested several weeks ago. The purebred hairless came with a diamond collar and gourmet canine chef. The newlyweds requested transport for their dog to the hotel. Stevie had waited for them, just inside the main doors. Enormous chandelier. Terra-cotta tiles and Peruvian rugs. Original artwork. Wealth and luxury.
“Etta will be boarding,” Stevie assumed.
Lori nodded. “Both Friday and Saturday. Dean cleared it with Twyla.”
Etta’s sleepover would make Turbo happy.
Long pause from Lori. Her lips pinched. “There’s something you might want to know, or might not . . .” she began hesitantly. “Locker room talk from Dean. There’s a Rogues all-night party at Rock Creek Cove on Friday. It’s for the single players. Bonfire. Booze. Naked water polo.”
Single players would include Joe. His posse. Baring it all.
Stevie’s chest squeezed. She had difficulty breathing. Joe’s actions shouldn’t surprise her. Not one bit. She had no reason to feel hurt. To feel left out. But she did. Disappointed, too. He was done chasing her. She wondered if he’d leave her at the altar on Saturday. Depressing thought. The photo shoot meant a lot to her. She needed a backup plan.
“Thanks for letting me know,” she managed.
“I’ll be back at Unleashed Sunday morning, before the exhibition game. Want to go together? We can cheer on Dean,” Lori said.
“I want,” Stevie agreed. Her heart was not in the game.
The Scotties’ owners honked behind them. Punctual. The husband unloaded the dogs. “Much safer,” he said, admiring the van. “No exhaust trail when you leave.”
Lori next drove Stevie to pick up her red Mazda Miata. With the new alternator, it ran like a charm. Stevie was glad to have her own transportation again. She no longer had to depend on Lori for a ride. She followed her friend back to Unleashed. No cruising the main beach drag.
Lori headed upstairs the moment she entered the house to change clothes for her date with Dean. Turbo wandered toward her, looking for Joe. “Want to play in the backyard?” she offered. “I have a few free minutes.”
The rottie shot down the hallway. Stevie followed more slowly. It was early evening, and the air had cooled. The yard was clear of other dogs. Geriatric Anastasia was sleeping. Turbo had the agility equipment to himself. He climbed the piles of dirt and howled. He ran and ran, as if being chased. He brought Stevie a tennis ball. They played catch until her arm grew tired. Turbo dove into the crawl tunnel and never came out. Time to call it quits, she decided. She called to him, with no response. She could see his outline in the spy holes. Her calling “Treat!” didn’t draw him out, either.
Difficult dog. “Don’t make me come after you,” she said, issuing a warning. What could she do but push him through the tunnel? With a long-suffering sigh, she crossed the yard. Hands on her hips, she challenged, “Out, now.” No movement whatsoever.
She bent down, angled her shoulders into the tunnel. Leaned on her forearms. Glared at the Rottweiler. “Your ass is grass, buddy,” she mumbled as she wiggled deeper inside.