Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
As I stride over to the steps leading into the hot tub, the back door swings open. Out of nowhere, a long dog shoots like a bullet across the deck, barking hello.
Wait.
Why is there a dog here? A dog I know.
I snap my gaze up, and I’m staring at an absolutely gorgeous blonde who is staring back at me in my birthday suit.
11
STRATEGIC DACHSHUND
Hollis
Modesty is not in my nature.
But manners are and when a lady is covering her eyes with her hand, white wine splashing out of the glass in her other hand, and chanting, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” it’s time to do the gentlemanly thing and cover up the goods.
Trouble is my clothes are on the other side of the porch, and there’s no towel nearby. Improvising, I scoop up the barking beast and use the dog as my fig leaf.
“I had no idea someone was here,” I sputter as Donut stands guard in front of my dick, squirming in my hands, while some kind of pop anthem plays low in the background.
Blinking, Briar lowers her head, peering cautiously through her fingers. “Are you using my dog as a censorship tail?”
Well, yeah. And even though it’s asked more with curiosity than accusation, I don’t want to sully her dog’s innocence. “I can put her down.”
“No, it’s fine,” Briar says, waving that off. “She’s not weirded out by nudity.”
“Good to know.”
“I’m not either.”
That’s also good to know. But I’m a little afraid to move.
Briar and I are definitely friends. We got along well when she worked for the Golden State Foxes last year. We hung out often as part of a bigger group. We partnered up in Ping-Pong some nights with the crew at Sticks and Stones. Played pool there, too, with our friends. But I haven’t seen much of her since she was hired away to the rival team and then started dating that cactus of a man.
So I’m just not sure what my next move is. Set down the dog censor and pull up a chair? Or pull up a chair and put down the pup?
“I just wasn’t expecting anyone,” she adds.
“I wasn’t either.”
“I gathered as much.”
The silence extends awkwardly for a few beats as the stars wink in the sky, the hot tub bubbles, and the wiggly little dog in my hands stares curiously up at me as if she’s asking, “How long are we really going to do this?”
Briar breaks the awkward moment, asking, “Would you like to wear something besides my dog?”
I laugh awkwardly, then look down at the strategically placed Dachshund. “Probably a good idea.”
But I’m not about to ask her to riffle through my bag for my swim shorts. Only, I don’t have to since Briar’s a problem solver, crossing the deck to the lounge chair, grabbing a towel, then advancing toward me, eyes up the entire time. She’s staring straight at my face, like she’s walking a tightrope and my nose is the spot on the wall she uses for balance.
Damn, that’s cute the way she’s trying to make sure she doesn’t inadvertently check out my dick. Something about her consideration warms my heart. I feel bad that I accosted my friend with accidental nudity, but I also seriously appreciate that she’s giving me the same respect I’d give her. That’s just…unexpectedly hot.
Even though I probably shouldn’t think of her that way. She works for our rivals.
It was one thing to flirt when she was on the same team as me last year. But now that she’s on board with the enemy? That might not sit well with fans.
When she reaches me, her lips curve up and she holds the towel high, letting it dangle between us like a declaration that says see? I’m a lady. “And how would you like to do the trade-off?” she asks, still staring pinpoint straight at me, lips twitching, fighting off a grin.
That’s more like it. I’m on familiar terrain now—teasing territory. “You want to close your eyes on a count of three?”
“I swear I won’t peek,” she says, then closes her eyes, almost defiantly, jutting out her chin, comically squeezing them shut, and waving the towel blindly at me.
“If you insist on decorum,” I say, setting down the helpful dog with a pat on the head and a good girl.
I take the terry cloth, hook it around my waist, and stage whisper, “I’m decent now.”
Briar opens her eyes, stares me up and down, and gives a crisp nod. “A little more than decent.”
Did someone just compliment my abs? My chest? My arms? Well, thank you very much. But there’s no time to revel in it since Donut is shouting at me. It’s sort of half dog greeting, half canine question, and the question is what the fuck are you doing here? I kneel and stroke her head. “How are you doing, cutie? You were very helpful.”