Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 124005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 620(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 620(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Thankfully, Dallas appears in the hall. He peeks up at the group through his ridiculously long eyelashes and adopts a smile reminiscent of his last name. All the women, including Benita, also duck their heads and echo his smile. Dallas evokes the same reaction from pretty much everyone. It’s exceedingly challenging not to roll my eyes.
“I’m sorry I kept you all waiting.” Dallas tucks his hand in his pocket.
“It’s totally fine,” Claudia assures him. “We really appreciate your support.”
“I wish I could have a dog, but my travel schedule makes that impossible. It would be one thing if I had a partner who could be there, but, uh, I’m still waiting for the right person to realize I’m the one,” Dallas says as he falls into step with Claudia.
I choke on a cough. Dallas has never had a girlfriend as long as I’ve been with the team, so there being a someone is news to me. Especially since he’s such a relentless flirt.
He glances over his shoulder and grins at me.
I drag my middle finger along my eyebrow.
“Is there someone special?” Claudia asks.
“Yeah, but she’s not ready for me yet. She’ll come around eventually.”
His ego is ridiculous. Of course he believes he can charm anyone he wants into falling for him because it happens all the time at the bar. Whenever our crew goes out, he flirts his face off, giving some poor woman false hope, because he always walks away at the end of the night.
I check my messages while Benita tackles Dallas’s hair and makeup. My date is still on. Conversation over the dating app has gone relatively well, so I’m hopeful this guy could be my date to this high school reunion.
Claudia and the photographer give Dallas a quick rundown. The only uncontrolled variable are the dogs. I know exactly how Dallas will act behind the camera, but puppies and rescue dogs can sometimes be skittish.
Claudia returns with the first dog, George. He’s a cross between a Chihuahua and a cairn terrier. The result is a scraggly little thing with one tooth that pokes out of his mouth at an odd angle. He’s adorably awkward. The second Dallas picks him up, he pees on him.
Dallas strips out of his shirt, putting his defined chest, abs, and arms on display. He’s stupidly cut, and he knows it. The photographer snaps several pictures while the shelter volunteers bring him a wet, soapy washcloth and towel. Everyone fawns all over Dallas, and Claudia apologizes several times.
“I don’t mind being peed on,” Dallas says, probably to be reassuring.
Benita and Claudia side-eye each other.
“I mean, it’s not a big deal. Not that I actually want—” George bites Dallas’s ear like his favorite chew toy.
Claudia brings out the second dog as Dallas puts on a shelter shirt provided by one of the staff. Bernardo is a huge St. Bernard. He’s so enthusiastic, he knocks Dallas to the floor, which is saying something since Dallas is six foot four and more than two hundred pounds of hockey player. Bernardo plants a huge paw on either shoulder and bathes Dallas’s face with his tongue, covering him in drool.
“I love men who love dogs,” Benita sighs.
“Especially hot, hockey-playing men who love dogs,” Claudia adds.
I stand by and watch gleefully as Dallas tries to escape the tongue and slobber. “I hope you’re getting this,” I say to our photographer.
“Oh hell yeah. This right here is gold.” He snaps away on his camera.
“I might need one of those turned into a poster for my office,” I muse. It’ll make the perfect dart board.
Eventually Bernardo stops making out with Dallas. There’s another shirt change and makeup touch-up. The shoot takes a slightly X-rated turn when Bernardo decides Dallas’s leg would be a good thing to hump.
“I wish I could do that,” one volunteer whispers.
The other giggles.
I grit my teeth and keep my mouth shut.
Grudgingly I have to give it to Dallas; he takes the humping like a champ. An hour and a half later, we have plenty of video footage and photos for the shelter to use in their upcoming campaign.
Dallas makes the shelter staff fall even more in love with him when he writes them a check for $10,000 before we leave. I doubt they’d fawn over him if they knew him the way I do. Writing a check doesn’t negate all the hell he and his friends put me through when we were growing up—like the time I heard the snick of scissors and my braid falling into their hands in elementary school.
By the time he’s done, I have half an hour to make it to the coffee shop.
“You heading home or to the office?” Dallas holds the door for me.
“Neither.”
“You meeting the girls?” he presses.
“No.” I stop in front of my car. “If you must know, I have a date.”