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“Yeah, one of those. Worried I’ve cut that bridge away from one side of the gorge?”
He tilted his head, clearly enjoying how she was going with the analogy here. She was strangely enjoying it herself.
“Right now, you’re my only hope.”
It sounded a touch dramatic. But then she recalled his words a few moments ago: I need this.
Running a shelter that managed all sorts of waifs and strays, especially ones no one wanted, gave Ashley a unique perspective on the concept of second chances. She didn’t know what had led Dex to the conclusion that this bridge might be his last one, but he had clearly pissed off a lot of people. His injury, his legal troubles … maybe the risk of losing what was so important to him had him reaching for a lifeline.
“Are you sure you can do this with your hand the way it is?” She couldn’t bear to be responsible for an exacerbation of his injury, yet neither did she want to turn him away when he was clearly in a bad place.
“I can’t get it wet for now, so bathing puppies is probably out.”
“Darn, that’s what I had in mind for you.” She felt a grin tugging at her lips. What was wrong with her? This guy was the worst. “Maybe you could organize the stock room? Not very glamorous but important work.”
“And if I do, you’ll report to the relevant authorities what a good boy I am?”
He said it with such cheek that she wondered how anyone ever said no to him about anything. She’d tried, and here they were.
“Let’s see how well you do first. How long can you stay?”
“As long as you need me.”
7
Forward Dex O’Malley has been placed on injury reserve following a right hand injury sustained during practice. All other players are expected to be present. — @RebelsInsider
Begging was not Dex’s style, but somehow he’d managed to frame it as a poor-adorable-me situation and Ashley had bought it. After that run-in with Ruby, he’d realized that things needed to change. This town might not be big enough for both of them but he sure as hell would not be the one to blink first. He was staying, he was going to get a contract, he was going to play for the Rebels and win the damn Cup! And the best—easiest—way to make that happen was to follow the rules for a while.
Which meant charming Ashley into submission. Yesterday she’d listened as he laid out his sad story, about how he needed this to work. She’d considered it and hadn’t rejected his plea out of hand.
She’d taken him seriously. Or felt sorry for him.
Either way, he was here now and he would be the best volunteer she’d ever had.
“Finished watching the video?”
Dex looked up from his phone, which had just popped out a message from Roxy, the gorgeous blonde he’d last popped, over a week ago. A long time for him, but he’d promised to be a good boy.
Such promises apparently included homework.
He wasn’t allowed to interact with animals, people, or the shit that came out of either, until he’d watched a ten-minute video about the shelter—its history (82 years), its mission (save every four-legged unfortunate that crossed its path), and its rules (don’t put your fingers in the cages unless you’re not particularly attached to said fingers). It all seemed easy enough, but Ashley had left him alone for twenty minutes. Maybe he was supposed to play it twice?
He pocketed his phone. “Yep, seems clear enough.”
“Great! Let’s do a quick quiz.” She grabbed a clipboard, then sat down in the chair opposite him. He took a moment to admire her form, all those curves in rolled-up jeans and a cute floral top that a woman he once dated had described as a peasant blouse. It had strings at the front, tied in a bow, and he let his mind consider the possibilities. Pulling on that bow and separating the sides to reveal pale, creamy skin …
“So where do the animals come from?”
“The animals here?”
She nodded slowly. “Yes.”
He knew this. The voice on the video—Ashley’s voice, smooth and mellifluous—had just said something about … “Mostly from other shelters where the animals are in danger of being euthanized. Which is so fucking wrong, I don’t even know where to start.”
Ashley’s eyes widened. Maybe she didn’t approve of cursing. There was something a little prim and proper about this chick.
He liked it, even if she didn’t like him.
