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I take a sip of the bitter brew and try not to make a face. I usually add a spoonful of sugar to my coffee but didn’t want to put Jax to the trouble. “Woof was protecting his partner. The cop was blindsided by an assailant. Luckily, Woof was there to save the officer’s life, but it cost him his leg.”
Jax whistles. “What a good boy.”
I smile. “Indeed. After that, Woof retired. He lives with me now in the lap of luxury.”
“He’s a lucky pup.” Jax’s gaze drifts to the scar on my jawline. “How’d you get your war wound?”
I cover the scar with my hand. It’s a faint white line now, barely noticeable, but I’m still self-conscious about it. “Just a clumsy moment in my history,” I say as I paste a smile on my face.
His expression grows soft. “Don’t cover it up, Winnie. You’re gorgeous, scar and all.”
“Thank you,” I say softly, letting my hand fall back to my coffee mug. Is he just being nice, or does he really think I’m beautiful?
Jax’s eyes linger on mine for a moment, but then he looks away. He glances around the room as if he’s taking it all in, and then he spots the tray of freshly baked treats on the counter. His face breaks into a grin. “May I? A cookie would be amazing with coffee.”
“Um,” I say, hesitating. Then I nod. “Go ahead.”
He takes a big bite—and immediately looks like he regrets it. To his credit, he chews the entire bite before swallowing. Then he takes a large swig of coffee.
I hide a smirk behind my coffee mug. “Not a fan? I’m always open to suggestions for improvements.”
He purses his lips. “They’re fine. It’s just that, um, well, you may have forgotten the sugar?”
“Oh, no,” I say seriously. “Sugar isn’t good for dogs.”
He stares at me. “Dogs…?”
“Of course. Those are dog treats.”
A horrified expression crosses his face, and he runs to the sink to drink straight from the faucet.
I can’t help but laugh. “Don’t be so dramatic. It’s just peanut butter, pumpkin, and wheat flour. They’re not particularly tasty to humans, but they’re not harmful. They’re pretty darn healthy and made with high-quality, organic ingredients. All the dogs of Frosty Crest love them. Give Woof the rest of the treat, and he’ll be your best friend for life.”
At the sound of his name, Woof stirs in his sleep. He lifts his head to see if there’s something worth waking up for. Jax tosses him the treat and Woof gobbles it up. Then he runs to grab his favorite toy, a stuffed hedgehog, and drops it at Jax’s feet. Jax tosses the hedgehog into the air and Woof catches it in his mouth and shakes it triumphantly.
Jax laughs, a big, throaty sound that makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. I swallow around a growing lump of emotion in my throat. Jax continues to play with Woof, and my heart melts at the sight. This is not a side of Jax I knew existed.
I’ve read countless interviews, heard him speak at press conferences before and after games, and have seen the stories about him in the tabloids. Jax Whalen is hockey’s bad boy. He’s said in more than one interview that he loves three things: hockey, women, and tattoos—in that order. He’s notorious for taking chances on the ice, going for power moves that other skaters aren’t brave enough to attempt, and he’s been attached to so many models and actresses that I’ve lost count. But this guy? The one playing with my dog in the kitchen? He seems like a genuinely nice, normal guy—albeit an insanely attractive one.
“Why were you trespassing on my property, Jax?” I already know what he’s going to say, but I need to hear him confirm my suspicions.
“Like Woof, I have a bum leg.”
Of course I know about his career-ending injury, but I feign ignorance. “It looks like you have all your limbs to me.”
“My injury doesn’t compare to Woof’s. But like him, I’ve had to retire from my career because of problems with my leg. I was a professional hockey player,” he explains.
I shake my head. “Sorry. I don’t follow sports.”
He lifts a shoulder into a shrug. “It doesn’t matter. I took a nasty hit and screwed up my knee. I can’t play at the elite level anymore.”
“I’m sure it’s hard to let your career go, but I’m still not sure what you’re doing here.”
He looks sheepish. “My physical therapist said a hot spring might help.”
“Colorado is home to lots of hot springs. Most of them don’t require dodging bullets.”
“This one is supposed to be special. It can supposedly heal injuries and even make a person appear younger.” He laughs nervously as if realizing how ridiculous that sounds.
