Page 5 of In My Hockey Era (Must Love Hockey #1)

RUFF BEGINNINGS

Bennett

I tell myself this isn’t creepy.

Showing up at the animal shelter where Lucy volunteers once a month isn’t stalker behavior. It’s just… strategic information gathering. A well-timed coincidence.

“Dude, I can’t believe you dragged me to an animal shelter on our only day off,” my teammate Hunter mutters as we push through the front doors, the scent of disinfectant, dog, and something less pleasant hitting us instantly. “Is this some kind of PR thing?”

Hunter’s a rookie this year, and a nice guy, I figured he’d be the perfect wingman for this.

“Something like that,” I lie, scanning the room for any sign of her.

“Uh-huh.” He gives me a knowing look, one that says he doesn’t buy a damn word of what I’m selling. “Wait—isn’t this where that EMT chick volunteers? The one who roasted your ass online?”

Does everyone know about that?

Before I can answer, a familiar voice cuts through the air. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

And there she is. All five foot four of her, but what she lacks in physical size, she makes up for with sass. She’s more pit bull than goldendoodle. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love it.

Lucy Quinn is standing in the middle of the shelter’s playroom, arms crossed, wearing an old Dallas Stampede T-shirt that’s somehow more attractive than it has any right to be.

Her golden brown hair is pulled into a high ponytail, and her cheeks are flushed like she’s been running around wrangling dogs all afternoon.

“Wilder,” she says flatly. “Why are you here?”

She’s even more beautiful than I remember.

“Nice to see you too.” I flash my best grin, the one that gets me out of trouble ninety-nine percent of the time. “We had the afternoon off. Thought we’d do some good for the community.”

She snorts. “Oh, please.”

“Why the hostility, Quinn?”

She huffs. “You didn’t wake up today and decide to spend your day off at an animal shelter out of the goodness of your heart.”

“She’s got you there, man,” Hunter says, barely hiding his amusement. He turns to Lucy. “I’m Hunter, by the way. Big fan of your work. Especially the part where you publicly humiliated my boy here.”

Lucy smirks, like she’s already decided Hunter is tolerable and I’m not. “Nice to meet you, Hunter. If you’re here to actually help, I can put you to work.”

“Sounds like fun.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, still grinning. “I’d rather scoop dog poop than watch this disaster unfold.” He gestures between us.

Lucy turns back to me. “And you? Are you planning on actually helping, or is this just a poorly executed attempt at spying on me?”

Damn. No hesitation. Just calling me right out.

I lift a brow. “What makes you think I’m trying to spy on you?”

She levels me with a look. “Please. If you wanted to volunteer, you could’ve picked any charity in Dallas. But somehow, you magically end up at this one? Where I just so happen to be?”

“I love dogs,” I say smoothly.

Her eyes narrow. “Name three dog breeds.”

I blink. “Uh… golden retriever.”

“Easy one,” she says, unimpressed.

“Bulldog.”

“Fine.”

I rack my brain. “Uh… poodle?”

She rolls her eyes. “Wow. Such depth. Clearly a huge dog lover.”

Hunter chuckles under his breath. “Man, I’m enjoying this.”

He’s transfixed—it’s like watching a riveting game of ping pong. She lobs one my way, and I return it. But she’s always one step ahead. I can barely keep up.

Before I can defend myself, a tiny golden brown puppy barrels into my legs, nearly toppling over its own oversized paws. Lucy’s expression softens as she scoops it up effortlessly, cradling it against her chest.

And suddenly, I hate that damn puppy. Because it gets to be held by her, and I don’t. The thing is practically nuzzled against the soft curves of her ample chest. I feel weak. Slightly feverish.

What the hell is happening to me?

“This is Waffles,” she says, scratching behind the pup’s ears. “He’s being fostered here until he finds a permanent home.”

“Waffles?” I repeat. “That’s a terrible name.”

Lucy gasps, looking genuinely offended. “Take that back right now.”

I cross my arms. “Not happening. A dog this cute deserves a strong name. Something badass. Like Thor.”

She glares at me like I’ve personally insulted her entire existence. “You would name a dog Thor.”

“What’s wrong with Thor?”

“Nothing. If you’re a ten-year-old boy .” She gives me a once-over, letting her eyes drift lower, lower ... “Or you’re overcompensating for something.”

Hunter is full-on laughing now, shaking his head. “You two need therapy.”

Lucy huffs and turns her attention back to the puppy. “Well, Waffles likes his name, don’t you, buddy?”

Waffles licks her chin in response, tail wagging, and I swear to you, the sight of her all soft and smiling like that does something dangerous to my brain.

I clear my throat, and shove my hands in my pockets. “So, what exactly does volunteering here entail?”

Lucy eyes me suspiciously. “You’re serious?”

“I came all this way, didn’t I?”

She sighs, clearly debating whether this is worth her time. Finally, she gestures for me to follow her. “Fine. Come on, Thor .”

Hunter claps me on the back as we trail behind her. “This is fun. I like her.”

I glare at him. “Don’t get any ideas.”

He smirks. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

But as I watch Lucy crouch down to play with the puppies, her laughter echoing through the room, I realize I’m the one with the problem.

Because I’m the one getting ideas. And I might be in more trouble than I thought.

· · ·

Shoveling dog crap was not how I expected to spend my afternoon, but here I am.

Literally.

The smell is bad . Like, burn-your-nose-hairs-off bad. I adjust my grip on the shovel and try to breathe through my mouth as I scoop up another pile and toss it into the bin.

Lucy, of course, is thriving in this environment. She’s knee-deep in playing with a bunch of shelter dogs, her laugh ringing out like she doesn’t even notice the fact that I’m back here doing manual labor.

And then it gets worse.

Hunter—my own traitorous teammate—walks in, all easy confidence and grumpy charisma. He’s not even holding a damn shovel.

Lucy beams when she sees him. Beams.

“Hunter, I have an assignment for you if you’re game.”

Hunter smirks. “Yeah? I like the sound of that. You can put me to work anytime.”

Lucy nudges him with her shoulder. “Okay big guy, you can take the excitement down one notch.”

Hunter smirks. Smirks.

Kill me.

“I’m just saying, for you… I’m available,” he says, voice all gravel and charm.

And then— then —she giggles.

I nearly snap the shovel in half.

“Oh, come on,” I mutter, more to myself than anyone else, but Lucy hears me.

She turns, grinning. “Something wrong, Wilder?”

Yes. Yes, something is very wrong. My teammate is standing too close to you, you’re looking at him like he hung the damn moon, and I’m over here shoveling literal shit while the two of you flirt .

I glare at Hunter. He just raises an eyebrow, fully aware of what he’s doing.

Bastard.

I jab the shovel into the dirt. “Nothing’s wrong. Just enjoying my glamorous job over here.”

Lucy tilts her head, all mock sympathy. “Want me to trade places with you?”

I scoff. “No, Quinn. Someone’s gotta make sure this place doesn’t smell like—” I gesture around us, “— this .”

She grins, and my heart does that stupid thing where it stutters in my chest.

Damn it.

Then, she pats Hunter on the arm— actually pats him —and goes, “Well, I’m gonna go walk a few of the dogs. Want to come?”

I grip the shovel tighter.

Hunter glances at me, and I swear he’s smirking . “Yeah, why not?”

Oh, hell no .

I toss the shovel aside with a loud clang . “I’ll come too.”

Lucy blinks at me. “I thought you were busy.”

I flash a fake smile. “Nope. Suddenly free.”

She eyes me suspiciously, but I don’t care. No way in hell am I letting Hunter Cole and Lucy Quinn have a moment without me.

Over my dead body.