Page 80 of Game On

Was it possible Toussaint wasn’t hazing him and that he just wanted to be Jamie’s friend?

And was Jamie going to let what had happened in Charlotte dictate the rest of his life?

He thought of Dorian and how he went with his gut when it came to his business and his job, and hell, even the dog. It was time to start trusting his own gut again too.

He’d taken a chance on Dorian. He could take a chance on his teammates as well.

“Give me five minutes to get changed and I’ll meet you at the elevator.”

Toussaint’s face lit up. “Awesome.” He turned and jogged back the way they’d come. “Guys! He said yes,” he yelled down the hallway, sounding like a little kid whose mother had agreed to let him out to play right before bedtime.

It was really very cute.

And it felt damn nice to be wanted.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

In the five days since Adriana had arrived on his doorstep unannounced, she’d definitely made her presence known. So much for “You won’t even know I’m here.”

On Monday, her workout video had been so loud that Dorian had heard it in his office—with the door closed.

On Tuesday, she’d returned from wherever she’d been with an armload of binders, which she’d carted in through the front door instead of the basement’s private entrance.

On Wednesday, she’d come upstairs to steal Poppy, claiming she’d baked homemade dog-friendly vegan treats.

On Thursday, she’d come up to ask him to borrow his kettle to make tea but then had joined him on the couch where he’d been watching the Orcas’ second game against Manitoba. Dorian had sat wedged into the corner of the couch, back against the arm, putting the finishing touches on Fir & Pine’s website. Adriana had watched the game, engrossed, asking about plays and penalties and why someone got a penalty for this but not for that and what the fuck was icing?

Dorian actually had an answer for that one. Go figure.

The Orcas had lost in overtime, and when Adriana had said so to Poppy, the dog hadn’t much cared.

Now, when Dorian walked into the house on Friday after his morning stint at the organization’s head office for a series of meetings, it was to find the door to his home office wide open. And he knew he’d closed it before leaving.

Standing in the doorway, he leaned against the doorjamb, crossed his arms over his chest, and glared.

Not that Adriana noticed. She was focused on his corkboard, her back to him. “What’s he up to, Poppy?”

The dog, snoozing in her bed by the window, didn’t answer.

Dorian gritted his teeth. “You do know a closed door means keep out, right?”

She whirled, a guilty expression crossing her face. The same expression she’d had when she and her friends had broken one of the teacups in their mother’s antique set during a party when their parents had been away—that she’d blamed Dorian for even though he’d slept over at Charlie’s that night.

“Hi.” Her voice squeaked. “I didn’t think you’d be back until later.”

“Is that why you’re snooping through my office?”

“The door was open.”

“No, it was not.”

She bit her lip. “Poppy let me in?”

Dorian pressed his lips together. He would. Not. Laugh. “Is there something you’re looking for? Perhaps I can point you in the right direction.”

“I was looking for... um... a pen! But since I’m in here...” She waved at his corkboard and all the samples that still covered his coffee table. “What is all this?”

“I’ll show you.” He tipped his head toward the living room. “Most of my stuff’s out here, though.”

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