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“Sorry,” I say quickly, looking down at Gretzky and Gordie. They whine beside me, their tails wagging as they gaze at me, hopeful. They want to greet her dog, who is hiding between her legs. I’ve never been one to be jealous of a dog, but damn, what I’d do to be between her sweet thighs.
Fucking hell, what is wrong with me?
I clear my throat. “It’s nice to meet you, Clara.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” she says, her voice reminding me of a lullaby. Soft and sweet. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Peepaw said you’ve been having issues with dog care.”
I’m lost in her voice, the way her lips move, and I know I need to get away from her. What she says, though, is true, and I find myself saying, “Yeah, my last dog sitter has moved. I’d bring these two knuckleheads with me, but I wouldn’t be able to be with them the way I want.”
She nods eagerly. “I have a mobile dog care business. I come to your home and take the dogs on a trip to my dog resort out in my mobile dog van for the day, then come back and stay with them at night in your home so they’re comfortable since that’s what Peepaw said you prefer, or they can stay with me at my resort. When I have overnight guests, I stay the night in the resort with them.”
“They don’t do well in resorts, which is why I usually get a dog sitter. They’re spoiled.”
She beams, and fuck me, the way her face lights up has me wanting to preen for her. Drop to my knees. Beg her to never stop smiling. “So is my baby,” she says, rubbing her pit bull behind the ear. “The best dogs are.” I couldn’t agree more, but I can’t say that. I need to get out of here. I need to get away from her. I cannot hire her. It won’t end well for me.
The last time my heart was beating, it was shattered, and I can’t go through that again. The reason I got Gretzky and Gordie was because their love is unconditional. They love me fully, as I do them. They don’t get distracted by other people or want to leave me. They are loyal; they are mine, and I am theirs. Women are trouble, and I can’t allow myself to get close to this one.
Not only do I want her, but she is way too young for me.
“Well, I think you two are meant to talk,” Dan says, clasping me on the shoulder. “I know this is a good fit for the pups.”
Yes, the pups. Not us.
Not that there is an us.
He walks away with an encouraging smile for Clara, but she’s not looking at him. She’s looking at me. With that blinding smile and those navy eyes shining just for me, she says, “I’d love to discuss this more and throw my hat in the ring to take care of your babies.”
My chest warms, and I know I should say no. I know I should run the other direction or let the dogs loose and chase them to get away. Problem is, my boys are trained and won’t run. But also, I don’t want to walk away.
“Aye, lass. Hit me with your hat.”
That was me talking, but I sure as shit didn’t want to say that.
And that’s why fate is the ultimate cunt.
CHAPTER 2
Clara
Each of my sisters has dropped like flies for six-foot, bulky, drop-dead-sexy hockey players. When I say drop, they dropped hard. Each of them fell head over heels in love with their forevers, and I’ve watched it all go down, beaming with pride and excitement for them. Now, because of my sisters’ significant others, I have been getting my fill of gorgeous hockey players. All the same as my sisters’ men—tall, yummy, and ready to bust doorframes with their wide shoulders.
But they don’t do a thing for me. I thought maybe I just didn’t get bitten by the need to be railed by a hockey player, but that’s because my sights have been set on the coach.
Riggs McCoy.
Or, as I like to call him behind his back,Zaddy.
If you don’t know what a zaddy is, when you Google the word, you’ll not only be hit by the definition of a sexually attractive man, especially an older one, who is fashionable or charismatic, but you’ll also see a photo of Riggs McCoy.
Coach of the Knoxville Bears, owner of two adorable pitties, and my wet dream on legs.
Good lord almighty, he is stunning. Strong jaw, large shoulders, dark hair that he always has brushed to the side and shaved perfectly along the side of his head. It’s tousled at the top, making me think he’s run his fingers through it many times. I want to do the same. I bet his hair smells good too, of bergamot and pepper, like him. He has a dark beard that covers his jaw, but that is neatly trimmed and groomed. He’s tall with a fit waist, massive legs, and wide shoulders. His eyes are the darkest brown I’ve ever seen in my life. They’re like two pools of dark chocolate, and man, I want to be covered in his gaze. Badly.
I’ve been attracted to Riggs McCoy for a while now, and really, how could I not be? He’s gorgeous and even has a fan page that objectifies his looks. Yes, I’m on that account daily, and no, I’m not ashamed. I can’t help it. There is something about how he always looks like he wants to fight someone and glares at every turn. Even right now, as he looks down at me like I stink, I want him to rail me. I’d gladly drop to my knees for him, just to see if I could ease that furrow in his brow. To turn up those downturned lips and have him grinning at me. He looks as if he gets off on control with how he stands with his shoulders back and even how his dogs sit very prettily and well-behaved. I bet his whole life is totally planned out and he does the same thing daily.
Meanwhile, I don’t even know what is happening in ten minutes or even ten years. I’m just living my best life, and my meathead, Darcy, is winding his leash around my legs like he has no sense. He is nothing like who he is named after. There is nothing regal about my pit bull. Heisa meathead and sort of dumb, but he’s all mine. I love him more than anything. And he loves me just as I am.
A walking dumpster fire of glitter and treats.
