Page 8 of The Game Changer (Knights of Passion #3)

Chapter

Five

S avannah watched Dylan’s SUV disappear down the road, her dogs barking like lunatics at the retreating vehicle, their noses pressed to the Suburban windows in wild farewell.

She let out a breath that felt too heavy for this early in the day.

When— when —would she finally learn to think before flinging herself headfirst into a problem, especially when that problem had four legs and sad eyes?

The little gray dog crouched quietly at her feet, not even twitching toward the wide-open yard. Her body stayed low, her head down as she stared in the direction Dylan had gone, as if waiting for the only person she trusted to come back.

“Well,” Savannah muttered, hands finding her hips, “at least you’re not a flight risk. That’s something.”

The dog glanced up at her, eyes wary but curious.

“I’m guessing the world out there still looks bigger and scarier than this pretty new palace you’ve landed in, huh?” Savannah shifted her stance, cocking her hip. The dog, amusingly, adjusted her own posture, mimicking her with a slight tilt of the head.

Savannah smiled. “So, you hate your crate. Can’t say I blame you. But I also can’t leave you loose in this designer showroom of a house. Your daddy —” she rolled her eyes at the word—“would kill me if you redecorated again. Lucky for you, I came prepared.”

From her pocket, she pulled out a hard rubber toy, stuffed with peanut butter and high-value treats, and waved it under the dog’s nose. Instantly, the dog perked up, nostrils flaring like she’d just discovered nirvana.

“Oh yes,” Savannah said with a grin. “Behold: the king of all dog toys. Let’s see what you do with this, princess.”

She headed down the hallway, glancing around as she walked toward the kitchen.

It was always interesting, seeing how people lived.

She didn’t snoop, didn’t need to. Homes spoke for themselves.

They whispered secrets in the arrangement of furniture, the clutter—or lack of it—in the corners, the scratches on baseboards, the mismatched dishes.

A house told her more about a person than a resume ever could.

Dylan Prosser’s house? Practically shouted showroom only.

The living room had been scrubbed of the destruction from the night before.

Couch stuffing was gone. The carpet vacuumed.

The pristine couch still bore the visible gnaw marks, but otherwise, it looked like nothing had happened.

Savannah let out a quiet laugh. All that white furniture?

And carpeting? With southern mud and dogs?

A disaster waiting to happen.

She made a mental note to find blankets to throw over everything. Dylan could have a meltdown if round two hit while he was gone.

The kitchen awaited, and she braced herself for what she’d find there—maybe a stray pizza box, a takeout container in the sink. Something human.

Nope.

The stainless-steel appliances gleamed like a car commercial.

The granite counters were spotless. Not even a crumb.

The coffee maker sat perfectly aligned with the microwave, like they’d been placed by a home staging team.

Savannah peered into the coffee pot. Clean.

Like, surgical suite clean. A used pod had been tossed, and there was just a little water left in the reservoir.

The only sign anyone had lived here at all.

She sighed and muttered, “Mental note—clean up after yourself, Savannah. The man’s a certified neat freak.”

She wasn’t a slob. She wasn’t. But her house had dogs. Life. A bit of chaos. More important things to do than polish the microwave interior. Dylan was either a control freak or had trust issues with dirt. Or maybe both.

She looked down at Sadie. “You’d better shape up, missy. Your daddy’s not going to put up with your messes forever.”

Sadie gave another one of those dramatic, world-weary sighs and licked her lips, gaze locked on the toy still in Savannah’s hand.

“All right, crate time.” Savannah walked over to the corner of the kitchen where the sleek metal crate stood like a tiny jail cell. She held up the toy. “Come on, girl. You know you want this.”

Sadie lowered her head, let out a small whine, and walked to the crate with all the enthusiasm of a death row inmate.

Each step was painfully slow, as if her paws weighed a hundred pounds.

Finally, she plopped down on the soft blankets, her eyes pleading even as her nose twitched toward the peanut butter.

Savannah crouched and placed the toy beside her. Sadie licked it once, then again with more purpose, tail flicking as flavor exploded in her mouth.

“That should keep you busy for a little while,” Savannah murmured. “I’ve got an adoption event to run and some new pups to pick up. I’ll be back soon, sweetheart.”

She glanced around the eerily perfect kitchen.

No radio. Silence like a vacuum. That wouldn’t do.

Savannah walked back to the living room, found the remote (thank God there was only one), and turned the TV to a low-volume morning show.

Some white noise was better than none. Sadie didn’t need to sit in total silence, thinking the world had abandoned her again.

With a final glance at the sprawled pup and a prayer that nothing else would get chewed to hell in her absence, Savannah grabbed her bag and slipped out the door.

Now back to her day job—and the dozens of dogs who still needed saving.

S avannah pulled into the parking lot of Pawsitive Pet Supply, her heart kicking into a nervous rhythm as she spotted the tents and tables already set up for the adoption event.

Bright banners flapped in the breeze. Volunteers bustled about, unloading crates and setting out water bowls. She was late—again.

She barely had both feet on the ground when Colleen stormed over, clipboard in hand, her expression already shifting into scolding territory.

Savannah threw up her hands in surrender. “I know, I know. I’m late. I’m sorry. I had this emergency?—”

Colleen’s sigh was the stuff of long-suffering saints. She brushed curly brown hair from her forehead and gave Savannah a pointed look. “Tell me you didn’t rescue another dog. Our budget is strung tighter than your favorite sports bra.”

Savannah winced. “Not technically. I’m pulling a couple of dogs from the pound later today but—” She held up a finger as Colleen’s mouth opened. “—I’m sending these four up north with Ray and Barb. And I almost took in another one, but I convinced this guy to keep her instead.”

Colleen’s eyebrow arched, unimpressed. “What’s the catch?”

Savannah turned, busying herself with paperwork piled in the front seat. The papers didn’t need organizing. She just didn’t want to meet her friend’s eyes.

Colleen leaned against the car with deliberate casualness, folding her arms over her chest like a human lie detector. “Savannah. What. Did. You. Promise?”

Savannah exhaled, letting her hip rest against the door. “You should’ve seen this dog. She’s been through hell. Probably a bait dog. Scarred, scared of everything. But this guy? She chose him. Cowered under his legs, wouldn’t take treats from anyone else. I mean, he’s her person.”

Colleen’s eyes narrowed. “A guy, huh?”

Savannah rolled her eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“Uh-huh.” A smirk tugged at the corners of Colleen’s mouth. “What exactly did you offer?”

“Just... help. Some training. Maybe a little house-sitting. The usual.”

Colleen’s gaze sharpened, laser-focused now.

Savannah squirmed, well aware that there was no hiding from this woman.

Colleen had seen through her walls since the first day of freshman year, when Savannah had been the new girl with a bad attitude and a guarded stare.

Colleen had plopped down next to her in homeroom like it was fate and refused to take silence for an answer.

Back then, Savannah had been bracing for her mom to pick up and leave town again—chasing some man or some dream or running from some debt.

But when the day finally came during sophomore year, Savannah had dug in her heels and said no.

She wasn’t leaving. Not this time. Her sister had backed her up, and miraculously, her mother had relented.

It was the first time Savannah had ever won.

Colleen had stayed by her side through it all—through her mother’s departure, through the tears, through the weight of paying bills at seventeen.

They’d both found comfort in dogs and purpose in building Soul Paws Rescue.

Savannah had the heart. Colleen had the spreadsheets. And together, they made it work.

“Vannie?” Colleen’s voice broke through the memories. “Who is this guy? Is he single?”

Savannah groaned. “God, not you too.”

“Oh, so he is single. And cute.” Colleen’s voice turned singsong.

Savannah threw her hands in the air. “This isn’t about me. It’s about the dog. I don’t have time for dating.”

Colleen snorted. “Honey, not all men are like Mark the Human Disappointment. Besides, it’s been what—two years? That’s enough celibacy for a nun. Get a little sexy time before your lady parts stage a protest. What’s his name?”

She sighed, giving up. “Dylan. Dylan Prosser.”

Colleen blinked. “That sounds familiar. Wait—Jon’s mentioned him.”

Savannah grinned. “Have you been married so long you’ve stopped listening to your husband?”

Colleen snapped her fingers. “That’s it! He plays for the Knights. Baseball. Damn, girl. When you break the dry streak, you go big. He’s hot.”

Heat flared in Savannah’s cheeks. She tried to brush it off, but the blush had already bloomed. Colleen grinned like a cat who’d found the cream.

Her brain, traitor that it was, summoned the memory of Dylan’s deep voice murmuring into the phone last night, the way his hand stroked over Sadie’s fur with quiet reverence, the haunted look in his eyes. His lean frame and broad shoulders, his calm control—until it wasn’t.

Colleen’s laughter rang out, low and knowing.

“I don’t have time,” Savannah muttered. “I’ve got my dogs. They keep me plenty busy.”

“Who said anything about dating? And if you’ve forgotten what to do with a man, we need to have a very different conversation.” She gave Savannah a playful bump with her shoulder. “Now, about these new dogs…”

Grateful for the shift, Savannah quickly outlined the intake evaluations from the pound, letting her mind focus on something familiar and safe.

As she talked, Colleen’s face went thoughtful—calculating finances, estimating resources, crunching numbers in that mental Excel sheet she always seemed to have running.

Finally, Colleen nodded. “You should let these go to one of our other fosters.”

“What?” Savannah blinked. “No. I can?—”

“You can’t keep doing everything,” Colleen interrupted. “You’re our president. If we’re serious about expanding, you can’t be down in the weeds, handling every dog. We need you steering the ship, not rowing it.”

Savannah opened her mouth to argue, then shut it. Opened it again. Nothing came out.

Colleen softened. “You’re our heart, Van. But you’re also the vision. Remember the plan? Not just rescue—but opportunity. Training. Therapy dogs. Police work. Boarding and daycare. The whole nine yards.”

Savannah sank onto the driver’s seat, staring out at the shimmering heat rising from the asphalt. But she wasn’t seeing the parking lot. She was seeing her dream—rows of happy, healthy dogs. A campus built for second chances.

“I wanted to give them more,” she whispered. “More than just survival. I wanted them to thrive.”

Colleen placed a steady hand on her arm. “Then lead us there. Show the world that passion. Find the sponsors. Make it happen.”

Savannah bit her lower lip. “What if I screw it up?”

“You won’t,” Colleen said. “You care too much to let this fail. Now go find us money—and maybe get a little nookie while you’re at it.”

Savannah rolled her eyes. “We have potential adopters. Come on.”

But as she walked toward the tents, Colleen’s words echoed in her mind. They lingered longer than they should have. They whispered in the back of her thoughts for the rest of the day.

And they followed her into Dylan Prosser’s house for the next seven nights—curling around her every time she slipped into his bed, knowing he wouldn’t be in it… but wishing he was.