Page 7

Max

"And now, Madame Buttersworth and Princess Pickle!"

I watch from the warm-up area as a tiny Pekingese with pink-dyed ears prances into the ring, followed by a woman whose sequined outfit could probably be seen from space.

“Zat is... very strange,” Otto mutters.

The dog, impossibly small under all that fur, starts what I think is supposed to be a dance routine. It's more like enthusiastic hopping, but the crowd loves it.

"Princess Pickle's signature move," the announcer booms, "The Royal Wiggle!"

The Pekingese shakes its entire body, sending waves through its fur while spinning in circles. Its owner mirrors the move, sequins creating a disco ball effect under the lights.

Stanley gives me a look that clearly says, Don't even think about it.

"What?" I grin. "You'd rock some pink ears."

Her tail thumps once. Try it and die.

That's when I spot Morgan across the arena. She's warming up with Spookie, all business in her fitted black competition wear. When she bends to adjust his harness, I remember how that body felt against mine last night, how she—

"Focus," Otto snaps.

But something's off. Morgan won't look my way, even though I know she can feel me watching. When our paths cross near the practice jumps, she turns sharply, avoiding eye contact.

"Next up, Morgan Bailey and Spookie!”

Applause swells.

"This duo wowed judges in prelims—flawless teamwork, clean lines. Let’s see what they bring to the finals!"

They enter the ring like they own it. Morgan's all business in that fitted black outfit that's seriously testing my concentration. Spookie's focused entirely on her, like nothing else exists.

Show-off. Stanley huffs as Spookie executes a perfect heel sequence.

"Jealous?" I scratch her ears. But I can't look away from Morgan's routine.

The precision is insane. Every movement synchronized, Spookie responding to signals I can barely see. When she just thinks about the weave poles, he's already moving.

"Verdammt," Otto mutters. "Zat's too good."

"That's more than too good." I watch Spookie circle wide as Morgan sprints toward the A-frame. "That's—holy shit.”

She's airborne, Spookie shooting between her legs mid-jump, both landing in perfect sync. The crowd gasps. Even Stanley's impressed—I can tell by how she's pretending not to watch.

They finish with this backing-up sequence that looks simple but I know is crazy hard. Spookie matches her pace exactly, stops on a dime. One proud tail wag, then stillness.

The applause is deafening. The crowd loves it, but there's nothing showy about their performance. It's pure skill and trust.

Our eyes finally meet across the ring. For a second, I see last night in her expression—then it's gone, replaced by ice.

What the hell?

"Dalton," Otto warns. "You're next."

"Now give it up for our final contestants, ladies and gentlemen, Max Dalton and Stanley Puck!"

"We're up." I adjust my sunglasses, heart pounding. "Ready to show them how it's done?"

Stanley gives me her ‘please, I was born ready’ look.

We open with our signature move—the matching sunglasses bit. Yeah, it’s showy. But look closer—every mirror turn, every synchronized step, it's all subtle hand signals and hours of practice.

"Show them, girl." I guide her through our technical sequence.

She's reading my body language like a champion, anticipating each command, even when I bet she knows my heart's not in the showmanship today.

When we pause center-ring, she doesn't just sit—she leans against my leg, both of us tilting our heads. The crowd eats it up.

"Time for the big finish." I send her wide, working the obstacles from the center. She's perfect, hitting every mark, reading my smallest gestures.

"Now!"

She rockets toward me, launches—and I catch her mid-air, spinning as she "hugs" my shoulders. We stick the landing, both grinning. Our sunglasses haven't moved an inch.

The crowd goes wild, but I'm searching for one face. Morgan's expression is unreadable as she stands with Spookie, who's being annoyingly professional despite Stanley's tail wags.

"Now the moment you’ve all been waiting for: the winners of this year’s Bark & Bond Championship ..."

Morgan stands three handlers down from me, rigid.

"Third place..." The announcer pauses dramatically. "Sarah Chen and Storm! Fantastic speed and spirit from this team!” Sarah accepts the ribbon with tears in her eyes.

The Border Collie team deserves it. Their weave pole sequence was so fast my neck hurt watching. Then Storm broke routine to kiss Sarah when she stumbled—lost them points technically, but damn if it didn't win hearts.

Stanley bumps my leg. We're better.

"Cocky much?" I whisper, but my palms are sweating.

The announcer's voice booms. "In second place..."

Please not Morgan. Not because she doesn't deserve first, but because—

"Morgan Bailey and Spookie! Precise, graceful, and brilliantly executed—an exceptional performance!"

Her smile doesn't reach her eyes as she accepts the ribbon. Spookie's dignity puts Stanley's excited prancing to shame.

"And our champion, with a stunning performance combining technical excellence and showmanship..."

When they call my name, she doesn't clap with the others.

The win feels hollow when Morgan won't even look at me during the ceremony.

"Congratulations," she says later, voice flat. "Quite a show."

"Morgan, wait—"

"Good luck with your PR campaign." She turns to leave. "Hope it was worth it."

"My what?"

But she's already walking away, Spookie at her heel.

"Women," Otto sighs.

"Not helping." I watch her disappear into the crowd. "What just happened?"

"Ze woman probably found out about you und other women." He starts packing our gear with his typical German efficiency. "And made assumptions."

My stomach drops. The headlines. The red carpet crap.

“She must’ve Googled me.”

Shit.

"I have to—"

"Let her cool off." Otto hands me Stanley's travel water bowl. "Besides, you have interviews."

Right. Because I'm Max Dalton, NHL star, doing this for publicity. Except I'm not. But how do I prove that to someone who won't even look at me?

"Come on, girl." I scratch Stanley's ears. "Let's get this over with."

She bumps my leg with her nose. You're an idiot.

"Yeah." I watch the door Morgan disappeared through. "I know."

The trophy feels hollow in my hands. I won the competition, but I think I just lost something way more important.

And I have no idea how to fix it.