Attached to You Read online

  “In here.”

  She’s changed her clothes, now wearing yoga pants and a tank top. She doesn’t hesitate at all as she rounds the couch and lies on top of me, her head over my sternum.

  “You changed your mind?” If she’s here, then it seems she did. However, I can’t help but ask. The conversation from earlier cannot be swept under a rug.

  “Not really. I only decided that I’d rather be here with you than at home without you.” As an afterthought, she adds, “I’m sorry.”

  “I’d rather hear that you know what you want.”

  She groans. “I don’t know.”

  “What are you afraid of? A relationship? We aren’t going to have that.” At this, she sits up with surprise on her face. “For one, as long as you have your fuck buddy, there can be no relationship. At the most, we’re friends. What’s so bad about having a friend?”

  Deanna’s entire body suddenly relaxes. “You’re right.”

  “No shit.”

  She grins. “So, problem solved.” All it takes for her to feel better is telling her to keep fucking her other buddy and whatever strings are formed won’t matter. Which is more fucked up? That it’s what makes her feel better or that I’m okay that it makes her feel better? As she relaxes over my body, I find I don’t care because I’m too relieved that she’s still here.

  “You missed your own party to be a snowman?” The incredulous tone comes from Bruiser.

  That fucking taxi driver.

  A phone is shoved in my face for me to see the photo he took and I look as pissed as I feel. The driver is grinning like he just won the lottery, though. I shove the arm away.

  “Why in the hell were you a snowman?” This time, it’s EJ.

  “Can’t you guys leave me alone?”

  “No,” Marco answers. “We’re officially worried about you.”

  “Because I dressed up for Halloween?”

  “Because you didn’t hang with us and you were a snowman!” Marco rests a hand on my shoulder like things are suddenly serious. “We want to meet her, son.”

  I sigh and shove his hand away. “We have a game to focus on. Leave me alone.” I level a glare at all of them until they walk away. Everyone but EJ.

  “Why are you being secretive?” he asks curiously.

  “Because she’s not important.” His eyebrows jump up and the sentence sounds odd to me. “It’s not serious, I mean. Can I come over to see Bree when we get back?”

  “Yeah, sure thing.” That’s all it takes for him to start talking about his daughter. “Hey, we have a family room near the locker room back at the arena. Why is it never used? The family always stays up in the box.”

  “Ah.” I glance around to see if Liam Irving is anywhere around, but he’s playing soccer with the guys. Lowering my voice, I answer EJ. “One of the guys was married. All I’ll say is that he did something his wife was not happy about and she found out about it while she was in the family room. She blew up at him and reporters were nearby. The reporters didn’t keep the moment private. After that, they decided to basically sequester the family and let the players go meet them.”

  EJ’s eyes widen. “Got it. I was just curious.”

  It was years ago, but the organization hasn’t changed things since. The story about Liam was the headline of too many sites for months. His hockey has bounced back, but I’m not sure he has.

  A few more smart-ass comments are made about how I spent Halloween, but I ignore them and focus on this game against the Nebraska Bucks. They slip a nasty one past Savage within the first minute. It energizes our team. The Kessy twins are on the ice, speeding like mad demons, zipping in and out of the traffic, and confusing the Bucks because they aren’t sure who they should cover.

  Thing Two swings behind the net and passes it to Thing One. Collin quickly shoots the puck, sending it high over the goalie’s shoulder. There’s not too much room between his shoulder and the crossbar, but the puck finds its way into the back of the net.

  Tie game.

  Later, in the second period, I’m in the neutral zone, my eyes briefly on the goalie before seeing Donny on my right. There are two players surrounding me, but after I cross the blue line, Donny passes us with no one within two feet of him. I quickly pass the puck. He hesitates, holding onto it until he’s closer to the net. Their goalie blocks it and we converge to try to hit it past him while Buck players are trying to clear it away. The puck slides to the far left, away from the congestion of sticks and feet, and I reach over to tap it in just as everyone seems to follow to either help me or stop me.

  All of that happens in about ten seconds, but we come away with a goal.

  My teammates hug me with big smiles on their faces.

  “Smile, Hayes!” Donny laughs as he pats my helmet. “You scored.”

  If I had a penny for every time someone said something like that to me, I’d be richer than I already am. No one understands my lack of a celebration, not even me. I’m happy and I’ll hug the hell out of my teammates and fist bump those on the bench afterwards, but a smile is asking too much of me. My celebration is simply me nodding to myself and closing my hand into a fist. A lot of people seem to think it’s a show of arrogance, but it’s not. Shows like that are not my thing. I barely smile at my mom; I’m supposed to smile at thousands of people in the stands and however many are watching at home?

  No, thanks.

  Just the thought gives me the willies. I don’t want to attract any more attention to myself than scoring already does, I guess. For some reason, celebrating my goals has always been outside of my comfort zone. Rarely do I leave my comfort zone.

  I left my zone when I pursued my career because I had no choice if I wanted to play professionally.

  The only other time I leave my zone is occasionally with Deanna.

  I’m in my hotel room after our four-three win when my phone plays one single and brief beep to notify me of a new text.

  Deanna: Need company tonight?

  Shit. I didn’t expect her to ask to see me. Do financial analysts travel for work? I picked that particular job as a cover because I have a cousin who is one and when he talks about it, he bores me. I figured no one would want to know details about my job. Deanna tuned out the moment I mentioned it, which proves my theory is right. It’s too late to text my mom to find out if he travels; I think he does occasionally. Besides, Deanna won’t know differently. I have to tell her I’m out of town because if I don’t, what if she wants to meet tomorrow?

  Me: Out of town for work. Sorry. See me when I get back?

  Deanna: Just say when.

  That makes me grin.

  Deanna: I’m totally bummed. I’m also embarrassed.

  Me: Embarrassed, why?

  Deanna: I figured you’d say yes, so...I was seconds away from pulling into your driveway.

  Deanna: Did you get a dog?

  At that, I call her.

  “Why would you ask me that?”

  Her voice is cutely embarrassed. “I’m still in your driveway since we were texting. There was a dog lying on your porch, and now he’s at my door. He’s so skinny. Poor guy.” I hear dinging in the background as if she opened her door to get out of the car. “Hey, big fella,” she coos at him. “He’s not wearing a collar,” she says to me. “I think he’s homeless.” She sounds so sad.

  “He was just hanging on my porch?”

  “Yeah. It’s been rainy today; maybe he wanted shelter. I think I’ll take him home. Someone should love him.”

  I’m amazed and a little in love with her right now. She finds a stray dog and doesn’t even hesitate to take him in.

  “Damn, he reeks and he’s wet.”

  “There’s a spare key under the mat at the back door. Go inside to the hallway closet upstairs and there are some old towels. You can dry him off and put them in your car for him to sit on,” I suggest.

  “Aw, thanks.”

  By doing this, I also have to give her the code to my alarm system.
r />   “Are you sure you trust me enough for this?” she jokes.

  “If anyone ever steals my stuff without setting off the alarm, I know who to direct the police to,” is my reply and it cracks her up.

  “Oh! No! Dog! Get out! Brayden’s going to kill me! Outside! Outside! Out!” she shouts. “Shit. Now, I feel bad because I scared him, but I’ll come back and clean your house. There’s muddy paw prints everywhere.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “No, I know how you like your house clean,” she teases. Deanna continues to talk to me as she gets the dog into her car, stops to buy him food, toys, a bed, and other things he’ll need. She tests out various names to see what he’ll respond to, but gives up and decides to name him Otis. She thinks he’s a Rottweiler. Apparently, he knows a lot of commands already, so she thinks he was someone’s pet once, but based on how skinny he is that might have been a while ago.

  Deanna sends me a few photos and he’s a handsome dog. He’s big, too. Once he eats steadily, he’ll be even bigger. Deanna will have her hands full. I’m a little jealous of her. Is it bad that I’m ready for this trip to be over with because the sooner it is I can see Deanna and her new dog?

  ***

  Otis didn’t have a chip in him, and neither the vet nor the local animal shelters had heard of anyone missing a Rottweiler. He’s all mine, it seems. Aside from needing to be fed regularly, he’s also healthy. The vet thinks he’s about a year old. The poor fella is still a puppy, practically! I love animals, but I haven’t had a pet since I was a kid and that was a cat. I don’t know a thing about Rottweilers other than what they look like and that they are supposed to be super protective of their owners. At least, I think that’s right.

  What I do know about Otis is that baths are his enemy, he’s super smart, and he does not like his bed; he prefers mine. I’m working on training him to sleep in his, or at the very least, at the foot of mine, but I always wake up to find him with his head on the pillow next to mine. Like he’s a human! It cracks me up and makes me smile, so how much can I really complain? I’m still working on making him listen to me, though.

  I bought a crate, but his big ass refused to go in and when I tried to help him along, he went crazy the moment he was inside and quickly escaped. Scared the hell out of me to see him scared. I don’t know what happened to him, but I refuse to leave him in the crate. He hasn’t used the bathroom in the house. However, four of the new toys I bought him are now without their stuffing. I’m thinking he may need a morning jog to run off some energy; it’ll help keep me in shape too.

  So far, he only has one major bad habit.

  Otis has fallen in love with me. When I come home, he runs over and jumps up to place his paws on my chest. He’s already huge and he nearly knocks me on my ass every time if I don’t grab onto something. He’s supposed to weigh at least ninety pounds at this age; I really need to curb this before he gains his healthy weight back.

  Otherwise, I’m in love. He’s kept me so busy that I haven’t missed Zane or Brayden that much. I haven’t had the time!

  My phone vibrates on the coffee table and Otis leans forward to sniff the thing making noise. I grab it.

  Brayden: What’s your address?

  Why does he need to know that? No one ever comes to my house.

  But...

  What if he’s back in town? I do know where his spare key is and his alarm code. I can give him something in return, can’t I?

  Before I overthink it, I respond with my address. An hour later, Otis suddenly jumps off the couch and stands at the door, growling low in his throat. I stand just as there’s a knock, which makes him bark.

  “It’s okay, Otis.” I pat his head and step in front of him. “Sit.” He doesn’t look away from the door and it takes him a moment and me repeating it more firmly before he sits. Just to be safe, I tell him to stay before opening the door.

  Brayden stands on the other side. I lean against the door because damn, he looks good. Dark red hair reflecting the sunshine, dark green eyes running over my body with hunger, and then the largeness of his body, unfortunately covered by clothes. He steps forward with a hand out, but Otis growls and he freezes.

  “Otis, no,” I chide. I step aside and motion for Brayden to come inside, closing the door behind him. He does and I step forward this time to hug him. That’s when Otis moves and sniffs him to check him out. “Otis, Brayden. Brayden, Otis.”

  Brayden holds his hand out, which Otis sniffs, and then Brayden rubs behind the dog’s ears. That’s all it takes for Otis to fall in love with Brayden. He steps closer, seconds later falling over to lie on his back in a silent demand of a belly rub. Brayden laughs and happily obliges.

  “How are things going?” he asks, glancing up at me.

  “We’re battling it out for the alpha role, but things are mostly good.” He already knows about most of my issues because I’ve been keeping him posted.

  “Maybe we should find a trainer to help you, especially since we don’t know what happened with him before you found him.”

  I’ve ignored that suggestion when Brayden mentioned it in the past. There are a few reasons: he said we; I’ve spent quite a bit of money on this dog already, so if I can do it myself, I want to try that route; and he said we. I think Brayden wants my dog or wants to co-own him, even though he hasn’t said as much. That’s just taking things too far between us.

  “I can pay for it,” Brayden offers.

  “He’s getting better.”

  “Deanna,” he starts with a frown on his face.

  “He listened to me just now, didn’t he? He was in protective mode too, so that’s major,” I interrupt, having no clue if it really matters that he listened to me in that moment, yet he still refuses to move to the foot of the bed and stay there.

  “If you change your mind, let me know. I want to help.”

  “Did you come over just to see the dog?” I mutter, walking around Otis and back to my living room.

  “Primarily.”

  At his admission, I whirl around in disbelief. When I see his smirk, I laugh. “You’re mean. I’m also surprised you’re toying with me, Brayden. I thought you didn’t like games.”

  He stands and comes to sit next to me on the couch. “I said I didn’t like yours,” he reminds me as Otis tries to crawl between us, but I direct him to the end of the couch. He listens and I send a pointed glance at Brayden. I’m three for three on Otis listening to my commands in the last few minutes. “Why Otis?” Brayden asks.

  “Why not Otis? He looks like an Otis to me.”

  Brayden chuckles. “If you say so.”

  “Don’t hate on my name choice for my dog. How was your trip?” He hasn’t talked much about it.

  “Lots of meetings,” he replies with a shrug. Those eyes swivel and fixate on me. “Did you panic when I asked for your address?”

  I grab the throw pillow next to me and hit him in the stomach. “What is your problem today? I’m supposed to say shit to you, not the other way around.”

  He grins. “I’m in a good mood.”

  “Well, I don’t like it,” I grumble, even though I really do. It’s nice to see a playful side of him.

  “Too bad. When do I get to see your bedroom? You saw mine less than two minutes after entering my house for the first time. I’ve been here for at least five.”

  Man, I can’t get over him being like this! I love it. I stand, hold out my hand, but when Brayden stands, he hauls me over his shoulder. Otis barks once and through my laughter, I tell him to stay and give Brayden directions to my bedroom down the hall.

  “Miss me?” I ask once Brayden sets me on the bed. It was supposed to come out as a breathy tease, but...is that hope in my voice? What in the world? I don’t understand.

  Brayden places his hands on either side of my hips. He presses a firm, quick kiss to my mouth. “Yep.”

  All the air in my lungs evaporates. I expected a chuckle or a grin or more kissing, not an actual answer, and
definitely not a yes.

  I relax when he adds, “I missed fucking you.” It reminds me we’re fuck buddies; at the most, friends. It means nothing that he’s the first guy to ever come to my house since I stopped letting guys come over. It means nothing that he’s about to fuck me in my bed.

  This means nothing at all.

  I remind myself of that as he strips me naked, kisses me, and runs his hands along my body as if he actually missed me, and as I ignore how ridiculously fucking good it feels to be with him. It all means nothing. Afterward, we’re lying side by side, facing one another, and Brayden frowns. His fingers graze over my chest.

  “What are these bruises from?”

  I’m surprised he noticed them; they’re already fading. “Otis. He runs and jumps on me when I come home.”

  Brayden’s hand dips beneath the sheets and brushes over the top of my thigh. “You have one here too.”

  “He accidentally jumped on me when he jumped on the bed.”

  The concern in his eyes is sweet, but it means nothing, too. “You need a trainer to help you, Deanna. I’ll find someone and you’re going to let me. Then, you’ll at least know if you’re doing the right things or not.”

  “Fine.”

  Speak of the devil, Otis appears and jumps onto the bed. Brayden immediately tells him to get off. I’m amazed when he listens. That turd. He’ll listen to Brayden just like that? He does come over to my side and rests his head on the edge in a pout. I glance at Brayden, as if I now need permission.

  “Make him sit first. He should need permission to jump onto the bed.”

  We spend the next half hour getting Otis to sit, giving him a command to let him know it’s okay to jump onto the bed, and then trying to make him stay at the foot of the bed.

  “He’s exhausting. It’s like trying to raise a kid.”

  Brayden chuckles. “You didn’t realize what you were signing up for, huh?”