Page 16 of The Game Changer (Knights of Passion #3)

Chapter

Eleven

S avannah pushed through the garage door with Carl tangled around her ankles like a furry little assassin, leash taut and intent on tripping her.

She barely made it into the kitchen before letting go of the leash, knowing full well the chaos was coming either way.

Might as well let the madness burn itself out.

The second they entered, it was like someone had fired a starting pistol. Carl and Sadie erupted into a barking, tail-thrashing tornado of fur, their excitement ricocheting off the walls and filling every corner of the room with joyful anarchy.

“Jesus, Savannah. Put them outside, okay?” Dylan’s voice cut through the canine storm, low and ragged. He ran a hand through his hair, glaring down at the dogs circling his barstool like he was made of bacon.

Savannah grinned despite herself. His grumpy tone only made him more appealing—like a bear who secretly liked belly rubs but refused to admit it.

She walked over and brushed his hair back from his forehead, fingers lingering for just a second too long.

“You need a haircut. Why are you still here? And I can’t put them outside—no fence, remember? ”

But something in his expression shifted. A mischievous glint sparked in his eyes. He nodded toward the back window.

“What’s that?”

She turned to look—and froze.

A chain-link fence wrapped around the entire backyard, enclosing it in a neat, secure loop. Her breath caught in her chest.

She spun back toward him, crashing straight into the solid wall of his body. His hands gripped her arms, steadying her, warm and steady and close. He reached past her, slid the back door open.

“When did you get the fence?” Her voice sounded strange to her own ears—breathless, off-kilter. She unclipped Carl’s leash and released him into the backyard, Sadie bounding after him like a grey missile.

The dogs tore across the grass, legs a blur, barking like lunatics as they zigzagged in wide, looping arcs. She half-expected the neighbors to start yelling. But out here, no one was close enough to complain.

She slipped an arm around Dylan’s waist and leaned against him, watching the joyful chaos unfold.

“When did you get this done?” She asked again, softer now.

“This morning. They showed up at the ass-crack of dawn. Woke me up way too early. But—” He nodded toward the yard, his arm sliding around her shoulder. “Worth it. They love it.”

Her throat tightened. God, this man.

He hadn’t wanted Sadie. Had practically shoved her out the door that first night. But now he’d fenced in his yard—his not-forever yard, in his not-forever town—for a dog he swore he didn’t want. For a life he swore he wasn’t building.

But it looked a hell of a lot like he was building it, anyway.

She snuck a look up at him, her heart thumping like it had something important to say. His face was relaxed, half-smiling, watching the dogs without complaint as they dug up patches of grass and yapped like maniacs.

And just like that, she felt herself slip—half in love with him already and falling fast.

Some women needed diamonds. Others wanted romantic trips or roses.

But her?

All it took was a dog in the bed and a fence in the yard.

She rose on tiptoes and kissed the corner of his mouth.

His head turned slightly, eyes questioning. “What was that for?”

She shrugged, brushing her fingers along his arm. “For being you.”

He pulled her in until their hips touched, his hand resting low on her back. “I think I deserve more than a quick peck on the cheek.”

She lifted one brow, enjoying the flicker of flirtation lighting his expression. “That wasn’t your cheek. It was technically your mouth. Sort of.”

“Not a real kiss,” he murmured. “Not like this.”

His hand slid down to cup her ass, pulling her closer, and his head dipped toward hers. He paused just above her lips, like he was waiting—asking without words.

She didn’t move. Didn’t pull away.

And that was all the permission he needed.

His lips touched hers—soft at first, then hungry. Heat flared between them, sharp and sudden, and she melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, fingers tunneling into his hair.

He tasted of coffee and cinnamon, like secrets she wasn’t supposed to crave. His tongue brushed hers, and she opened for him, gave herself over to the kiss, to the warm slide of his mouth and the pressure of his hand beneath her shirt, gliding across bare skin.

She moaned, arching into his touch, her body aching in ways that had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with longing.

For him. For this.

For something real.

But that want? It terrified her.

She felt herself teetering on the edge of something far deeper than lust.

And then—barking.

Sharp, loud, and impossibly ill-timed.

She broke the kiss with a gasp, blinking as Dylan jerked his hand back like she’d burned him.

The dogs stood on the other side of the sliding glass door, tongues lolling, watching them like they’d just interrupted a rom-com sex scene.

Dylan scowled. “I knew I didn’t like dogs.”

She snorted and slipped outside, the dogs milling around her legs like they knew they were in trouble but didn’t care. She dropped into one of the patio chairs, trying to catch her breath.

“You lie,” she said, tossing a smile over her shoulder. “You pretend to be cranky, but you’re just soft.”

He followed reluctantly, sitting on the edge of the other chair like he was waiting for a dental cleaning. She laughed.

“You look like you’re about to be scolded. Relax. You’re not in trouble.”

He exhaled hard, staring at the backyard like it held answers he hadn’t figured out how to ask for.

“I’ve been thinking. About what you said.

Connecting with the team. Some of the guys mentioned a dog playdate.

I was thinking...maybe I could host something.

Grill some food. Invite them and their families. ”

She sat up straighter, surprised—and thrilled. “You’ve had friends over before, haven’t you?”

He scowled, a familiar resistance flashing across his face. “I’m not a kid. Of course I have. Just... not these guys. We haven’t really bonded.”

That last word came out slowly, cautiously, like he wasn’t sure he believed in it.

Her chest pinched in the best kind of way.

A barbecue. That was something. That was trying.

“I think it’s a great idea. Want me to help organize it?”

She held her breath, praying he wouldn’t shut her out again.

He looked at her, quiet and unreadable for a beat. Then nodded—short, decisive.

“Monday. Off day. Two days. Can we do it then?”

She mentally flipped through the chaos that was her calendar, knowing full well she’d make it work no matter what. Post-it notes be damned.

“Absolutely. Just tell me how many people and what you want.”

He stood, stretching. “Perfect. I’ll leave you a list.”

She smiled as he walked back inside, shaking her head. Of course. A list.

Always with the damn lists.

But this time? She didn’t mind.

Because this list wasn’t just about groceries.

It was about building something.

And she was finally being trusted with the foundation.

D ylan strode into the locker room, the familiar scent of sweat, leather, and antiseptic hitting him like a wall.

The steady thrum of pre-game noise hummed in the background—music from someone’s speaker, the rhythmic clank of weights, cards slapping against the table.

It should’ve felt routine. Comforting. But today, something buzzed beneath his skin.

Cody Patterson lounged in a chair in front of his locker, binder open on his lap, lips curled in a scowl like he was sucking on a lemon.

The kid didn’t even glance up at first. Just flipped a page and muttered under his breath.

A couple of the other guys milled about, caught up in their own rhythms—some chatting, others stretching or tossing a ball back and forth.

Dylan nodded at a few in greeting, about to pass Cody without incident, when the pitcher’s voice cut through the air, sharp and laced with sarcasm.

“Nice of you to show up. Weren’t you the one bitchin’ at me about being early on game day? Prepared and all that?”

Dylan halted mid-stride and turned slowly, arching a brow. He wasn’t in the mood for games, but Cody always seemed ready to spar.

“I’ve been here plenty of times and you haven’t,” Dylan said coolly. “Figured I had plenty of time.”

Cody shot up like a spring, binder dropping to the bench behind him as he stepped into Dylan’s space. Too close. Aggressive. And just itching for a fight.

“Meanwhile, I’ve been sitting here on my ass, waiting for you.”

Dylan didn’t flinch. He saw the heat in the kid’s eyes, the challenge, but beneath it—frustration. Not just at him. At everything. Maybe even himself.

“I see you found something to occupy your time,” Dylan said evenly, nodding at the binder. “Took Alex’s advice and started a book on hitters, huh? Can I take a look?”

He kept his tone neutral, extending a hand—not just for the binder but for a truce. A bridge.

Cody hesitated, but finally handed it over without a word.

Dylan flipped through the pages slowly, scanning notes and stat breakdowns for the opposing team. Not bad. Nothing groundbreaking, but the kid was trying. That was something.

“Pretty solid,” he said, not offering praise, but not nitpicking either. “We could add a few things.”

He turned and walked the short distance to his locker, digging into his gear until he pulled out his own dog-eared book—creased and marked up, with a corner visibly chewed. Sadie’s contribution to his game prep.

“I keep it here now,” he said over his shoulder. “Sadie went to town on it one night. Thought it was a toy, apparently.”

Cody approached cautiously, eyeing the book like it might bite.

Dylan jutted his chin toward it. “Take it. I’m gonna get ready, and then we’ll go through it together.”

He started to turn away, then paused, heart thudding with something uncharacteristically awkward.

“I’m having a couple of guys over Monday, on the off day,” he added, voice more casual than he felt. “Cookout or something. Might be good to hang out. You should come by.”

Cody’s face lit up with a broad, teasing grin.

“Are you asking me on a date, Prosser?”

The words hit like a slap. Dylan’s irritation flared hot and fast.

“Shove off, Patterson. Forget it.”

“Hell no, man. I want to see that chick you’ve got—the dog sitter. She was hot. Got any new dog pics?”

And just like that, the fire snapped in his chest.

Without thinking, Dylan grabbed Cody by the front of his shirt and shoved him back a step.

“Leave Savannah alone,” he growled. “Or don’t come.”

Cody froze for half a heartbeat, the cocky edge slipping from his grin. He held up both hands in mock surrender, his expression easing into something that looked a little more real.

“Hey, man. I didn’t know it was like that. I’ll back off.”

Dylan let go, stepping back as confusion swirled in his gut. What the hell was that? He hadn’t planned to react—hadn’t even realized how deeply that line had gotten under his skin until it was too late.

“It’s not like that,” he muttered, more to himself than Cody. “I just know how you are with your women. She deserves better.”

Before Cody could respond, Alex strolled in, squeezing between them to reach his locker with a grunt and stretch.

“Who deserves better?”

Cody shrugged and turned away. Dylan blew out a long breath and relayed the invitation again. No sarcasm this time. Just the offer.

Alex lit up like he’d won something. “Hell yes. I’ll bring Thor.”

Within minutes, Alex was playing recruiter, inviting half the starting rotation, tossing in a few position players for good measure. His enthusiasm was infectious, and Dylan stood there—watching it grow. Watching the idea catch and take root.

Cody didn’t say much after that, but he didn’t make another joke, either. Just nodded once, like maybe he got it. Maybe they all needed something to tether them. A reason to stop being individual pieces and start acting like a team.

Dylan leaned against the locker, watching the interactions, the flow of energy between guys who hadn’t quite gelled yet. Not fully. But maybe this was the spark.

Maybe this was what they all needed.

Now if only he could figure out what the hell he needed—and stop reacting like a jealous asshole every time Savannah’s name came up.

God, he was in deep.

And she didn’t even know it.