Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 88895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
I always imagined I’d have a more heroic death than mauled to death in a Dalvegan suburb.
So much for that, I suppose.
“Atta boy, Bear,” Arden praises upon her arrival beside my sprawled-out frame. “Atta boy.”
“I thought you said his name was Bear!” I cut my panicked glare over to her, refraining from making any sudden moves. “Not that you owned a bear!”
“He’s not a bear,” she informs on a lazy ruffle of what I’m guessing is bedhead. “His kind was initially bred to fight bears.”
“Why?!”
“To protect the monks.”
“What monks?!”
“The ones in Tibet.” Pride doesn’t hesitate to pump through her stare. “He’s a Tibetan mastiff.”
The black and tan furry behemoth still drooling onto my face deepens his growl, an action that has me nervously murmuring, “Could we…perhaps…maybe…communicate to The Lion King here that I am not a threat he needs to protect you from?”
“Not sure that’s true yet.”
She drops her hands onto her hips, clearly prepared to investigate my presence, yet is abruptly interrupted by my squeaky questioning, “Is that my signed jersey?!”
Horror or guilt or possibly a combination of the two cracks her jaw in a speechless fashion.
“It is…” Despite the snarling beast seconds from eating my face, I cockily coo, “I always sign right across the wing with my name and number.” My smirk deepens. “And I not only see a two but also an eight.”
Her eyes twitch a small glare. “And?”
“And that means you’re wearing my number.”
“Point?”
“It means you purchased one of my jerseys at an auction to wear.” Propping myself up onto my elbows is immediately stopped by the fur monster. “On. Purpose.”
Meaning she doesn’t actually despise me.
At least not as a player.
Arden – to no real surprise – avoids discussing her current attire by throwing a question back at me. “Why are you in my grass?”
“I was on your porch.”
“Question remains.”
“You weren’t at the barn today-”
“I’m aware.”
“And I became concerned about your wellbeing when there wasn’t a single dick drawn on any of my gear.”
She does her best not to grin.
“So, I asked around-”
“Who?”
“Everyone.”
“Yeah no, who narced?”
“And when I discovered you were sick-”
“And where I live, like some sort of fucking creeper.”
“Like a fucking teammate!”
Bear growls harder in my face, large mouth displaying teeth to indicate I’ve become too vicious for his liking.
“Right,” I whisper to the drool demon. “My apologies, Cujo. I should not have raised my voice.”
“Bear,” she calls to the canine, collecting his attention. “Eat.”
“N-” can barely be heard over his loud slurping that begins right cross my open mouth.
Forfuckssake, her goddamn mutt is gonna make out with me before she does?!
Another lick is delivered up my nose.
Cheek.
Ear.
Getting molested by her hound ceaselessly continues until I’m left with no choice but to laugh at her antics.
Alright.
So, she wasn’t expecting me to show up.
It doesn’t mean that she wants me to leave.
“Could uh…” moving my face away from his direct tongue bathing occurs, “Bear tone down the welcoming committee greeting, please?”
“No one said you were welcomed.”
The teasing in her tone has me rolling my eyes. “Am I unwelcomed?”
“Undecided.”
“You’re wearing my number.” It’s my turn to take a playful timbre. “I am most certainly welcomed.”
“Portero,” she calmly states prompting Bear to resume his attack position.
Once more, I focus on the wrong topic. “Does that mean protect?”
“Goaltender.”
“Which is the one who protects the net or house…” It’s impossible to not beam brighter. “Even Bear is a hockey fan?”
“Yeah, the bobblehead of you LMC gave out last season is his favorite chew toy.”
I twitch a single glare which gets her giggling, a sound I swear I love more than the roar of a packed barn.
“Banco.” Her furry guard abandons his position to sit directly beside her feet. “Now, why exactly are you here?”
“Does that mean heel?”
“Bench.”
“Why are all of your dog’s commands in Spanish?” Finally able to sit up, I do. “Is that your second language?”
“Not exactly,” she innocently brushes off with a small shoulder bounce. “Just know a few phrases. Random words. Dad’s not even fluent anymore despite what he tries to claim when he’s around his cousins.” There isn’t time to comment or ask additional questions. “Explain your presence or I will actually let Bear attack.”
“I came to see if you were alright.”
“You could’ve texted.”
“I don’t have your number.”
“And you didn’t have my address either, yet you got that.”
A small cringe is presented on a muttered, “Fair.”
It wasn’t easy.
Getting it from security was quite a feat all on its own.
“And what’s with the littering?” Arden motions to the area around me where a few of the groceries have managed to fly free. “I don’t need a fine. Our homeowner’s association is worse than league with that shit.”
“Soup.”
Her eyebrows pull together in confusion. “What?”
“I uh…I was gonna make you soup.”
This time her shoulders noticeably soften. “Why?”
“Need the whole team healthy for the first game.” I reach for the nearby bag of produce. “I understand it’s just an exhibition; however, I want you there.” Diverting my attention away from her sweetening stare over to the can of black beans I need to grab is done out of precaution. “We uh…we all need you there.”