Page 3 of The Game Changer (Knights of Passion #3)
He shoved his hands into his pockets, uncertain. “What you said in there… did you mean it? About what they’d do to her?”
“Euthanize her?” she asked flatly. “Yeah. They’re at capacity. She’s got the scars of a fighting dog—bait or combat, doesn’t matter. No one will take a chance on her if they think she might snap.”
She hesitated, eyes narrowing. “Did she bite you?”
He flinched, paling just a shade, then shook his head. “No. I didn’t let him take her.”
Savannah leaned over the console and peered through the passenger side window. Sure enough, the dog was still there, tucked at the man’s feet like a shadow. Her chest softened at the sight. “There may be hope for you yet,” she murmured, surprised by the warmth in her tone.
He stepped back and she opened the door, rising to her feet.
The sunlight washed over them, harsh but honest. She crouched slowly, pulling a treat from her pocket and holding it out to the trembling pittie.
The dog sniffed cautiously, more relaxed than she’d been inside, but still wary. She didn’t take the treat. Not yet.
Savannah stood and handed the treat to the man. “Try giving it to her.”
He blinked, clearly not expecting the request. But he took the treat, his fingers brushing hers—rough, calloused, strong. He squatted easily on powerful legs and extended the treat with care. The dog took it almost immediately, gentle and quick, like she’d been waiting for that one gesture.
Savannah grinned. “I’ll be damned. Looks like you’ve got yourself a dog.”
His head jerked up, panic flashing in those deep brown eyes. “What? No. I can’t have a dog. I was hoping you could take it.”
“She’s not an it, and no, I can’t take her,” Savannah said firmly. “My rescue is full. Plus, she’s already picked you.”
His face contorted into something between disbelief and a silent plea.
Savannah bit back a grin. Now that the adrenaline had cooled and the danger passed, she could allow herself to enjoy his discomfort a little.
Up close, in the bright light of day, she realized he definitely wasn’t a local.
She’d have remembered him. The strong jawline, those broad shoulders, and the way his dark eyes shimmered with flecks of gold—he was not the kind of man you overlooked.
And yet, for all his brawn, he had the dazed look of a guy whose neat little world had just been knocked sideways.
“I knew I shouldn’t have fed her,” he muttered.
She crossed her arms. “Too late now.”
He huffed. “Look, I travel. A lot. I’m gone for long stretches. There’s no one home to care for her. Can’t you take her and find her a home?”
He shoved the rope leash toward her and backed away. The dog scrambled to follow him, straining toward him as though she’d already made her choice. Savannah laughed, a soft, surprised sound. “Nope. That dog’s already claimed you. She doesn’t want me.”
His scowl deepened. “I play for the Georgia Knights. We leave for a seven-day road trip in two days. What the hell am I supposed to do with a dog? I can’t leave her alone for ten days.
I can’t board her. That’s why I brought her here in the first place.
” He took a step closer, the panic replaced by a winning, practiced smile.
“You run a rescue. You have to help me out.”
Savannah raised a brow. “She’s a girl, not an ‘it.’ And I don’t have to do anything. But if I take her, that’s one less space I have for another dog. If you keep her, I can save three more. That makes four lives saved instead of three.”
He blinked, caught between logic and his own unraveling plan. She pounced.
“Tell you what. If you foster her, I’ll help. I’ll train you both, make sure she gets what she needs. And if you still don’t want her after she’s trained, I’ll find her a permanent home.”
His jaw twitched. “And my road trip?”
“I’ll watch her. I’m a pet sitter too. It’s one of my gigs.”
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why are you so willing to help now?”
Savannah smirked. “I’m not helping you. I’m helping her. But while we’re on the subject… maybe you could help me. A little media attention from a Georgia Knights player would go a long way for my rescue.”
His brow shot up. “Are you blackmailing me into keeping a dog I never wanted?”
She stepped in, hands on her hips. “I’m offering you a deal. But sure, we can call it blackmail if it helps you sleep better. It would be a real shame if I happened to tell the papers that a Knights player dumped a traumatized pit bull at the shelter.”
His hands clenched around the rope. “You wouldn’t dare.”
She met his glare with one of her own. “Wanna take that chance?”
He stared at her, then down at the dog, who was now sitting calmly beside him, tail twitching gently. He sighed, long and low. “You care this much about a dog you don’t even know?”
“Her. And yes. I care about all of them. More than most people. People are the worst.”
To her surprise, he laughed—a deep, rich sound that curled under her skin like the flicker of a match. “That we can agree on.”
He held out his hand. “Dylan Prosser.”
“Savannah Monroe.”
His hand closed over hers, warm and rough and strong. A jolt of awareness sparked up her arm, unsettling in the best possible way. She pulled her hand back before it lingered.
“So,” he said, glancing down at the dog. “Where do I start with it—her?”
Savannah’s lips curled. “How about you start by giving her a name?”