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TEN

Tate

A week passes, and I stay away from Lauren’s office, hoping she’ll get overwhelmed with end-of-season assignments and forget this whole PR campaign.

No such luck. She’s already emailed me a checklist for when the motorcycle photos go live today, complete with strict instructions. I’m not allowed to say one word, even if someone confuses “your” and “you’re” in a way that makes my eye twitch.

Now all I can think about is how ridiculous I must’ve looked posing on a Harley I didn’t even ride.

I stop in Lauren’s office first thing, leaning against the doorframe with what I hope passes for casual indifference. “How much do I have to pay you to never post those pictures?”

“Sorry, I don’t take bribes,” she says, still typing.

“Oh, come on. Everyone has a price, Sunny. What’ll it be? One of those ridiculous coffee drinks you like? Or my eternal gratitude?”

“Fine.” She snaps the laptop shut. “How about you wearing chaps and a cowboy hat to the local retirement home for pictures with the ladies?” She folds her hands under her chin with a terrifying amount of sincerity .

“Today’s cowboys don’t actually wear chaps,” I say, correcting her.

“That isn’t even the point.”

I lean against the doorway, arms crossed, trying Plan B—wearing her down by being annoyingly useful. “You know, I’m a great fact-checker. I could look the article over for you. Check your grammar, catch typos, offer helpful commentary.”

She opens her laptop and ignores me. “You’re keeping me from doing my work, Sheriff.”

“Man, you’re bossy,” I tease.

“And stay off the internet today.” She points a pen at me like she’s about to use it as a weapon. “Or I’ll make you do something seriously humiliating.”

“It’s bad enough you’re meeting me at the animal shelter in an hour. I feel like this screams ‘desperate athlete with an image problem.’”

Lauren lifts a shoulder. “Maybe. But if it works, who cares?”

“What if I care? What if I think it’s unethical to use innocent puppies for my personal gain?”

She stands and circles the desk, stopping just close enough that I catch the scent of her perfume. “That’s adorable. Your ethical concerns have been noted and ignored. Now go get ready. You have puppies to snuggle.”

When I step inside the cement-walled shelter, the barking starts immediately. The dogs all know me as soon as I walk in, and they know that when I show up, they get play time.

“Hey, Tate,” says James, the shelter’s director, who could’ve retired ten years ago but is committed to keeping the under-resourced shelter going. “We got another new puppy today.” He gestures toward the back. “She’s a little shy, but I know you have a way with the nervous ones. ”

“I think you just say that because you want me to keep coming back.”

James grins. “That might be true, but not everyone has the patience for a puppy—especially one that’s skittish. I just wish we could get some more donations in. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep the place open if we don’t get funding.”

I frown, filing that information away. Maybe Lauren’s pictures will help the shelter. I glance over the notes on each dog. “Looks like Hank still hasn’t been adopted.”

Hank “The Tank” is a St. Bernard with a personality as big as his size and zero awareness of just how massive he is.

“I’ll take Hank and Juniper out to the yard together,” I say, heading toward the back to grab their leashes.

Juniper is a small but scrappy poodle mix, and her endless energy means she needs more exercise than James can handle. I snap a leash on to Juniper before letting Hank out of his cage.

The second Hank is free, he barrels at me like a defenseman in overtime. Hockey has at least taught me how to take a body check—except in this case, it’s from a St. Bernard. His giant paws land on my shoulders as he gives me a sloppy kiss.

“Hank!” I wipe the slobber off my face and snap on his leash.

James chuckles. “That dog loves you.”

“That dog loves everyone,” I say, though I can’t help the small tug in my chest.

I’ve always wanted a dog. Maybe one day, when hockey’s not my whole life, I’ll get a place out in the country. Some space. A dog like Hank. A Harley and someone to ride with along the beach.

I shake the thought off, like brushing away a crumb.

It was just a ride. A PR stunt. That’s all it was.

The dogs practically drag me toward the door, both of them straining at the leashes.

“You guys need some manners.”

I push the door open with my foot, but the second there’s enough space, both dogs try to squeeze through at the same time.

Hank wins, using his sheer size to edge Juniper out of the way.

As soon as we step onto the grass, I unclip their leashes, and they take off like bullets zooming around the yard.

“Want to play fetch?” I barely have time to bend down for a ball before Hank barrels into me from behind.

I hit the ground hard, face-planting as Juniper lets out a bark. When I roll over, Hank plants both massive paws on my chest. Then the licking starts.

“Hank,” I grumble, trying to push him off. “Nobody wants to smell your dog breath.”

Hank just looms over me, tongue lolling like he’s proud of his takedown.

That’s when I hear a laugh. “If that doesn’t win people over, I don’t know what will.” Lauren stands outside the shelter door, her phone aimed at me.

“What, me getting tackled by a dog?”

She tilts her head. “Oh, I doubt he’s hurting you. And someone seems to be enjoying it.”

“Hank, maybe,” I admit. “The human is just a casualty from looking the wrong way at the wrong time.”

She checks the photo and grins. “Honestly, you look pretty cute covered in dogs.”

“I don’t even have women all over me like this,” I say.

She shrugs. “Tragic, really.”

I meet her gaze. “So you’re saying I should adjust my expectations and settle for a dog instead?”

Lauren lowers her phone, thinking. “I’m saying dogs are loyal, low-maintenance, and always thrilled to see you. When it comes to women, they just haven’t realized what they’re missing.”

I push up on my elbows, my grin widening. “Aren’t you volunteering to change that?”

She scoffs, but there’s a hint of mischief in her eyes. “I’m just here for the pictures, Sheriff. Anything else is your problem.” Lauren kneels beside the smaller dog. “What’s this girl’s name? ”

“Juniper, also known as Her Royal Highness. She thinks laps are thrones to sit in at all times.”

“And this big guy is Hank?” Lauren asks, nodding toward the St. Bernard.

“Hank the Tank,” I say, standing before he can kiss me again. “Our resident wrecking ball.”

Lauren moves toward him, and he immediately flops onto his back for a belly rub. “What a softie. He looks like he could take down an army, but all he wants is a belly rub.”

“Underneath all that muscle? Total marshmallow.”

Lauren tilts her head, studying me. “Tough on the outside, secretly a Squishmallow? Sounds familiar.”

“Guess you’ll just have to stick around long enough to find out.” I smirk, grabbing a tennis ball and launching it across the yard, where Juniper and Hank race to catch it.

“James told me a new puppy just came in recently,” I say. “Interested?”

“Is that even a question?” she says. “The last puppy picture you sent me was PR gold.”

We head inside, leaving Hank and Juniper in the fenced yard while I look for the new resident.

“There she is,” I say, crouching down next to her cage. I pull out a treat to get her to warm up to me.

“What kind of dog is she?” Lauren asks.

“Hard to say. Maybe a mixed breed, with some Lab. She’s got a pretty face.”

Lauren checks the tag on the cage. “She doesn’t have a name.”

“Abandoned, most likely. You want to give her one?”

Lauren looks up at me in surprise. “You’d let me do that?”

“Dogs with names are more likely to get adopted,” I say. “It’s a fact. And this place needs all the adoptions it can get. James isn’t sure how much longer he can keep it running without more funding.”

“Just once, Sheriff, can you not use your facts against me? Because this dog is doing a number on my heart. She looks like my mom’s favorite dog, Annie. World’s sweetest dog.”

“Annie it is, then,” I say.

I pick her up, wrapping her in a cuddly blanket before nestling her in my arms.

Lauren clutches her chest. “Seriously. This should be illegal,” she says, holding up her phone to snap more pictures.

I stroke Annie’s tiny head. “This is going to give the NHL the wrong impression of me, though. They’ll assume I’m too soft.”

“Hardly. If you put this picture on any dating app, women couldn’t swipe fast enough.”

“Good thing I don’t do dating apps, then.”

Lauren’s face flicks to mine. “Old school. I respect that.”

“It’s what makes me so charming,” I say with a smirk. “That—and my fact-checking.”

She laughs. “This picture doesn’t just make you look approachable. It makes you look like someone who has a soft side. And trust me, that’s a very good thing.”

“So what you’re saying is, women love a man with a dog?”

Lauren shakes her head. “No, Tate. I’m saying women love this man with a dog.”

I start to argue, but then I catch the way she’s looking at me. And suddenly, I don’t mind being that guy. The one with a puppy.

“You want to hold Annie?” I ask.

Lauren hesitates, then shakes her head. “I’m supposed to be taking pictures of you.”

“Five minutes of puppy cuddles, then back to your regularly scheduled PR,” I promise. The puppy squirms when I pass her to Lauren, but the moment she rubs behind her ears, she melts against her chest.

“You look good with her,” I say. “And I know a good match when I see one.”

She tilts her head, studying me. “And what exactly is your success rate in matchmaking? ”

I grin. “One hundred percent. And I have a feeling you’re next.”

Lauren laughs in disbelief. “Oh, no. Not me.”

“No? Then why do you look like you’re already in love?”

She points a finger at me, but she’s smiling now. “Stop trying to make me catch feelings, Sheriff. Not happening.”

“Whatever you say, Sunny,” I say with a smirk.

Because it already is happening. She just hasn’t figured it out yet.