Page 43 of Pucking Billionaire

There is a big problem with walking your cat, and it’s called dogs. In Spike’s case, this is extra tricky because he’s more of a danger to many of the dogs we meet than vice versa. He could badly hurt even the fiercest breeds if they forced his claws—though such dogs would have to go over my dead body first. Interestingly enough, Spike likes dogs and has a few friends among them—ones who didn’t behave like jerks upon meeting him when he was a kitten.

This is why he looks excited when he spots one such friend—a papillon named Sir Francis.

“Hello,” says Jack, one of the people who usually walks Sir Francis.

“Hey,” I reply.

This is the downside of friendly dogs; you have to socialize with their handlers. But hey, listening to Jack drone on and on is worth it because Spike seems to be having a grand time—and even takes it in stride when Sir Francis sniffs his butt and tries to hump him.

I guess that’s the ultimate dog compliment? If so, then Spike returns it when he licks Sir Francis’s giant fluffy ears.

I don’t know why, but watching this idyllic play makes me think about starting a family one day, a human one, but also maybe with a friendly-to-Spike dog. The weirdest part is, Sophia’s face—and boobs—come to mind at this exact moment. But that’s insane.

Speaking of insane, when Spike and I get home, there is no reply from Sophia.

Am I doing this then?

To make sure the decision isn’t driven purely by my dick, I jerk off—thinking of Sophia as I do.

Once my mind is clear again, I reanalyze my options. Nope, still don’t see any alternatives. With an outward sigh—and more than a little inner excitement—I get onto my computer again and put my plans in motion.

Okay, it’s done—and I feel the same way I do when I execute a daring play on the ice.

Sophia doesn’t realize this yet, but like many goalies, she’s about to find me pretty difficult to ignore.

Chapter 17

Sophia

“To winter break!” I raise my cafeteria-made Fanta-knockoff in a toast and look around.

Abigail pouts. “I still have another final to take.”

“Sucks to be you.” I playfully stick my tongue out at her while still keeping an eye on my surroundings. You never know when a rogue hockey player might show up. “This is my last chance to salute you before I depart for Port Canaveral. Richard is waiting for me outside to take me to the airport, and then once I’m on the ship, I will be incommunicado.”

She sighs. “You know you can afford to get Wi-Fi onboard, right?”

I scoff. “I don’t care how rich I am, I’m not paying those prices for Wi-Fi, especially when it’s so much slower than what I have at home. In any case, no internet is part of the charm. A digital detox. I’m even leaving my phone in airplane mode for the duration.”

“Airplane mode?” She looks aghast.

I shrug and then sneak a look around once more. “Vikings sailed without social media, and they loved it.”

“Are you planning on a lot of killing and pillaging?” she asks.

“Just shopping and sunbathing when we’re on land, and looking meditatively at the horizon while we’re at sea.”

“Sunbathing in the winter?” She wrinkles her nose.

“Beats trudging in snow.” This time, I look behind me, just in case.

When I turn back around, Abigail is looking smug. “Are you hoping that he’ll show up?”

“No.” Maybe. It’s stupid, I know, but I want to get a glimpse of him before I depart. Unfortunately—I mean, fortunately—he stopped stalking me physically a couple of weeks ago. Even his texts and calls have ceased in recent days.

“You could just call him back,” she suggests.

“And encourage him to resume the stalking?”

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