The Player and the Pixie
Page 46

She exhaled, it sounded pained, like she wanted to argue.
I waved her concern away. “I lived the first part of my life wanting to please my aunt and uncle. And now I live my life to please myself. So, in the end, it all worked out,” I lied. Because to have no purpose was a terrible thing.
“Do you at least like it?” she pressed, her voice tight.
I thought about the question, moving to Hampton’s lower back and using long, smooth strokes with the brush.
“I’m quite good at it.”
Lucy huffed impatiently and turned the water off, her hands were now covered in soap as she lathered the small Boston terrier in the tub. “Being good at something is not the same as liking something.”
I shook my head, grinning at her. “And the opposite is also true. Liking something is not the same as being good at something, which is why excellent teachers are so essential.”
It took her a moment, but she eventually understood my meaning. When she did, two slashes of color glowed over her cheeks.
“Be serious. If you could do anything in the world, other than play rugby, what would you do?”
I stood from my crouching position, patting Hampton on the head.
As much as I admired her attempt to keep the conversation on track, I couldn’t help but try to derail her efforts. “Oh, come now, Lucy. I think you know what I’d like to do with my time, if given the opportunity.”
Hampton scratched at my leg. When I didn’t pay him any mind, he jumped up, his paws landing on my hip.
She gritted her teeth, but ultimately failed to hide her embarrassed smile, unable to meet my gaze. “I’ve created a monster,” she muttered.
“No, you’ve merely roused—and aroused—a dormant hunger.” The newfie pushed at me. Had I been smaller in stature, he would have succeeded in pushing me over. As it was, I braced my feet apart and kept my eyes fastened to the lovely, blooming, blush heating Lucy’s neck.
“You’re a sex fiend,” she said teasingly, her lips twisted to the side, compressing as she tried again—and failed again—to mask her smile. Lucy lifted her gaze and I warmed as it drifted over me.
But then her eyes widened and she gasped, “Oh my God, Sean.” She pointed at me. “Sean, the dog!”
I lifted an eyebrow at her, then glanced down at Hampton and I choked on my shock.
The great beast was humping my leg.
I pushed him off at once, but he must’ve thought it was a good game. He landed on his feet and came charging back, his tongue still lolling from his mouth, jumping at me once more. I held the brush up to ward him off. Unsurprisingly, it proved to be a woefully inadequate deterrent.
Lucy was holding her stomach, laughing so hard she didn’t seem to care that she’d gotten soap all over the front of her shirt.
“Looks like you’ve aroused a dormant hunger in Hampton,” she managed to say, then doubled over laughing at her own joke.
“Christ! He won’t take no for an answer.” Despite the circumstance, and much to my surprise, I found I was laughing too as I attempted to evade the newfie’s persistent advances.
“Just . . . let him . . . finish, he won’t . . . take long,” she gasped, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hands as Hampton chased me around the dog pen.
This was half horrifying, half hilarious. I couldn’t stand still long enough to open the door, because every time I stood still, Hampton was on me.
“What? No! I don’t want him to finish. Go find another leg, Hampton.” I tried to gently kick him away, but he barked happily.
“He thinks you’re being coy.”
“I swear, this dog would make an excellent tighthead prop, he’d be unbeatable in a ruck.”
“Or a scrum,” Lucy squealed.
“You’re hilarious, Lucy. But you’re not the one being mauled by a giant Newfoundland.”
“Ha! Mauled.” She pointed at me acknowledging my inadvertent rugby pun. “Come now, Sean. He just needs some lo— Oh my God!” Lucy yelled and fell back on her bottom as Hampton tried to mount me once again, this time jumping higher and licking my face.
“Now you’re trying foreplay?” I asked dryly, though I was laughing as well. “Too late, Hampton. Maybe if you’d bought me a drink first.”
Jumping to the side to avoid his maneuvers, I finally managed to open the gate. I quickly stepped through, closing the chain-link door before he could follow. He jumped at it, banging the metal, then bounced away, pacing the length of the pen.
I glanced at Lucy, saw she hadn’t recovered. Her shoulders shook and she looked as though she couldn’t catch her breath. Her head was thrown back and tears of hilarity were leaking from her eyes.
Christ, she was beautiful.
Meanwhile, Hampton barked at me. He sounded frustrated. Let down. Put out. I almost felt sorry for him . . . but not really.
No one likes being the leg that’s humped. No one.
Chapter Twelve
@LucyFitz Topic of the day: Celebs who look like other celebs.
@BroderickAdams to @LucyFitz Julia Roberts = Steven Tyler.
@LucyFitz to @BroderickAdams #mindblown
*Lucy*
Sean had been an excellent helper.
Despite Hampton’s attempts at seduction, Sean’s mood had been cheerful and obliging. I’d never seen him so relaxed. And when it was time for me to go, he’d stayed behind and helped the second shift groom the rest of the dogs.
Whereas I jumped in a taxi and sped home, making it back just before Annie walked in the door. We immediately set to work, though I was having some trouble concentrating. If I wasn’t thinking about Sean’s terrible childhood and growing angry on his behalf, I was distracted by how gentle he’d been with the dogs at the shelter.