Page 54 of Bad Run

“Eh, do what you want. I’m just saying, it would solve a lot of your problems.”

Would it really?

eighteen

Lance

Present

Being covered in water, soap, and the smell of wet dog was not on my bingo card today.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have a choice. Gwen really signed me up for the Evaders’ adopt-a-pet project. I assumed it was just a cover to tell her boss, but I was wrong.

Gwen absolutely put my name down to torture me.

Now I’m stuck here, bathing dogs and puppies of all sizes, while she gets to walk around, chatting with everyone and snapping photos of the players volunteering and the animals that need good homes.

But fuck if I don’t love watching her work. Gwen is confident and friendly, and she doesn’t get mad when my boneheaded teammates ask dumb questions. She just smiles and repeats what’s needed from the volunteers.

And the way she is with the animals? It’s fucking adorable.

That happy, beaming smile of hers hasn’t left her face since this morning. This is how I like to see her. Not huddled on the floor of the conference room, crying. Seeing her upset brought out this protective side in me, and I was ten seconds away from marching into her father’s office and clocking his chin for disrespecting his daughter.

Gwen squats down to rub the belly of a big, brown-chocolate Labrador and coos, “You’re such a good boy, aren’t you?”

The dog wags its tail, and its tongue flops out the side of its mouth, preening at her attention.

Lucky bastard.

Never in my life have I been jealous of a dog until now. I wish she would bend over and rub my belly. Or maybe something lower. My cock jerks in my jeans in agreement.

Down, boy!

The dog in front of me barks, reminding me I’m supposed to be giving him my attention and not thinking about Gwen’s ass or her touching my dick.

I squeeze the nozzle and guide it over the pup, rinsing the shampoo out of the furry guy’s coat.

After a good cleaning, the dogs are posed—alone and with the players—and then Gwen uploads their pictures to our social media, hoping one of our fans comes in and adopts a dog. The goal is to find each puppy a good home. The rescue shelter vets potential owners, and if a fan comes in and adopts, they receive a pair of Evaders tickets.

I never realized the Evaders’ organization was so involved in the community or how expansive its charity outreach was. Don’t know why I was reluctant to volunteer before; this charity is pretty cool, and the work isn’t half bad.

Don’t get me wrong. Washing dogs isn’t easy. My back and hands hurt, and my feet are soaking wet, but it beats putting on a tux and kissing rich people’s asses any day of the week.

Speaking of asses …

My eyes find Gwen’s as she bends over, maneuvers the dog into the position she wants, and snaps a few pictures.

“You’re staring at her again.” Blake elbows me hard in the ribs.

The water hose in my hand slips, spraying a stream across the floor and the back of the moody old man in front of me.

He turns around with a scowl on his wrinkly face. He waves his rubber-gloved hand at me. “Watch what you’re doing, buster.”

Blake stifles a laugh.

“Sorry, the hose slipped.” I reach for the pit-bull–mixed pup in front of me and smile, hoping the old guy cuts me some slack.

“Slipped, my ass. You better watch it, or the only thing you’ll be winning this year is a punch in the nose,” he grumbles under his breath and returns to bathing the dingy white poodle at his station.