Page 6

Morgan

I check my phone while adjusting Spookie's gear. A text lights up the screen.

Amanda : Clinic's under control. How's Nashville? You're being suspiciously quiet...

I ignore the implied question.

Me : Any emergencies?

Amanda : Just Mrs. Bakery's ‘dying’ chihuahua. Again.

Me : Have you gone to the doctor yet?

Amanda : Stop deflecting. You're glowing through the phone.

Me : You are the one deflecting.

Twenty minutes until our competition slot. I should be focusing on our routine, not...

My thumb hovers over the search bar. Just to check the competition, I tell myself. Not because I'm thinking about last night. Or his laugh. Or the way he—

God, Morgan.

I freeze at the search results.

Max Dalton. NHL Star.

The first photo hits me like a bucket of ice water. Max at some red carpet event, a different gorgeous woman on his arm in each shot. Hockey's Most Eligible Bachelor Strikes Again screams one headline.

Playboy NHL Star's Latest Conquest.

Max Dalton: Love 'Em and Leave 'Em.

Sports' Hottest Player On and Off the Ice.

My stomach turns. Of course. The expensive blazer. The handler. The perfect smile.

It was all an act.

A video autoplays. Max and Stanley doing some morning show segment, him hamming it up for the camera. The comments are full of women swooning over their "matching sunglasses routine."

That's his angle. Dog show because he loves dogs, my ass. Just another PR stunt. Charm the competition. Nail the girl. Leave her glowing—and add another conquest to his list.

God, I'm such an idiot.

My phone buzzes again.

Amanda : Hello? Earth to Morgan? Need details!

Me: Nothing to tell. Focus on Mrs. Croissant’s crisis.

I scratch behind Spookie's ears, grounding myself. We've got a show to win.

And a fucking playboy to beat.

Because that prize money? It's going to save actual lives. Not fund some hockey star's PR campaign. Asshole.

As we head toward the arena, I delete the selfie from last night. Delete the memory of how he looked at me like I mattered.

It was all a game. And I don't play games.

Not when there's this much at stake.

"Come on, boy." I straighten my shoulders as we approach the entrance. "Let's show them what real partners look like."

Spookie's tail wags once, decisive. He, at least, I can trust.

The rest? Just another lesson learned.

And if my chest aches a little when I hear Max's laugh echo from somewhere behind me? Well, that's what I get for letting my guard down.

Never again.

Asshole .