Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
“His accent,” Hollis says confidently. “Charms anyone. Probably even demonic cats.”
I glance down at the pack in his lap. Hollis is scratching Frances’s head through the fabric. “Seems you’ve got that skill too.”
“Just a little hobby. I don’t like to brag.”
“Humble brag,” Gavin coughs under his breath. Then he clears his throat. “But where’s the sushi?”
“Gave it to the guy as a thanks,” Rhys says.
Gavin’s hazel eyes twinkle with mischief. I steal a glance at him in the rearview mirror. His wavy brown hair looks soft in the streetlights whooshing by and his cheekbones are sharp. Stubble lines his jaw.
“Told you sushi brought us good luck,” he says, smug.
“You were right,” Rhys grumbles, and as much as I’m amused by their camaraderie, I should figure out what’s next in the night. Then, in my capsized life.
Like, say, where I’m going to live with my two rescue pets so I can manage my teaching gig with the Sea Dogs, the rival hockey team in the city, my classes at various fitness studios, and the app I want to launch.
But first things first. My father always taught me my manners.
“I can’t thank you guys enough. You may be my rivals but tonight you’re knights in shining armor. Can I give you a ride home or something?” I ask as I head toward the bay, the water sparkling in the starlight.
Gavin clears his throat, then asks with gentle concern, “I think the bigger question is—can we give you a place to stay?”
Embarrassment crawls up my chest. They saved my cat tonight, and now they’re offering to put me up? Tempting as that is, they’ve done more than enough. While we’re all friendly-ish—though I know Hollis the best since he’s close with my friends’ hockey-playing husbands—I don’t want to take advantage of their kindness. I catch a quick glimpse of Gavin in the mirror. His eyes are earnest. Caring.
“I’m good. I’m staying with a friend,” I say, lying, but I’ll figure something out. “Besides, in a week I’m going to be at the Sunburst Summit Festival in Lucky Falls during All-Star Break. I have a booth-slash-tent thingy and I’m doing some classes.”
“Nice. We’ll be there too,” Hollis offers.
“You will?”
Hollis gestures to the three of them. “We’re hosting the obstacle course for our energy drink sponsor,” he says.
“So tonight was training?” I ask.
“A dry run,” Gavin says, as dry as the words.
“How’d we do?” Rhys asks.
“Ten out of ten,” I say, then hum. “Though it was more like one million. You guys were amazing. You were heroes. Above and beyond.”
At the light, I can tell Rhys’s smile is crooked and pleased, then it’s as if he tries to fight it off. Going a little stern, he says, “We’ll get out at the corner. Let you get on with your night.”
I almost don’t want to say goodnight, but it’s clearly time. I pull over and cut the engine.
“Listen, if you ever need a cat rescued, just call us,” Rhys says, curling a hand over the seat I’m in, almost touching the back of my shoulder. “Little known service we provide.”
“May I never need the three hockey stars to rescue another cat of mine from a terrible ex.”
“But before we go, I need to know why she’s named Frances Furbottom,” Hollis says, unzipping the top of the bag and stroking the now tamed beast. Frances purrs loudly, offering her pretty chin for scratching. “There’s gotta be a wild story behind that. Is Frances your grandma? Or was Frances a little old lady’s cat? Oh wait. I bet a little old lady who made doilies had her first.”
“Do you even know what a doily is?” Gavin barks from the backseat.
“Do you?” Hollis counters.
“Something little old ladies have,” Gavin grumbles.
Hollis lifts a finger to make a point. “A small napkin. Or a decorative little mat, often made of lace.”
“What are you—the dictionary?” Rhys asks, laughing.
“He did sound just like one,” I say, smiling too. It feels good to smile after the drama of the last hour. And the drama to come when I try to get my life back in order.
May no one who watches my yoga videos ever know what a hot mess I am.
While petting the cat, Hollis turns back to me. “So did Frances Furbottom belong to a doily-making old lady?”
He seems so delighted by this story he’s concocting that I almost hate to burst his bubble with the truth. But I blow out a breath and tell him anyway. “No,” I say. “She just has a really furry butt.”
The car is silent for several seconds. Then, the guys laugh and one by one make their way out of the car, with Gavin carefully setting Donut into a dog car seat he’s somehow unearthed amidst the rubble of my garbage bag life. They stand by the passenger window, my three tall, strapping hockey rescue hunks who rose to the occasion.