Page 6 of Icing the Enemy

I take out Mr. Gould’s business card and call his office. When his receptionist relays the call, he asks, “How may I help you, Ms. James?”

“I’m sorry to bother you on a Saturday, but my car broke down, and I was wondering if the trust fund could pay to fix it or buy me a newer car.” I sound desperate, and that’s an adjective that should never be used to describe me. I’m betterthan desperate. I’m Oakley James, badass hair stylist, mother of a dog who lives life to the fullest on a hair stylist salary.

“The trust has strict rules and unfortunately, they’re set in stone. It’s not my money or rules, or I would. Anyone you could marry?” He chuckles.

“Not yet. Can you call my dad and ask?”

“Sorry, Ms. James, but I can’t.”

As we disconnect, I hang my head between my legs. Dixie’s licking someone, but it’s not me and when I raise my head, the sun is beaming down on the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Brown shaggy hair, taller than average, maybe six-foot-one or two, and he’s smiling at my dog.

A way to a woman’s heart is through her dog, right?

“What’s her name?” he asks as he crouches down, and I notice his brown globes as he fluffs Dixie’s curls.

“Dixie,” I say with a flat, dejected tone.

“Hey, Dixie. You sure are cute.” His eyes pop to mine. “What’s wrong with the car?”

Rolling my eyes and with a fair amount of snark, I snap back, “Do I look like I know?”

“Did you call a tow?”

“No. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go to the bathroom.” I stand and hook Dixie to the leash.

When I take a few steps to cross the parking lot, the man says, “You can’t take dogs into Buc-ee’s. I can stay out here with Dixie if you want.”

Damn, I’m not in the mood for a good-looking man to be nice to me. “Do you honestly think I would leave my dog with a stranger?” I ask as I cross my arms and pop my hip.

He erases the distance between us, looking down at me like a god from a Greek novel. He’s so close I can smell the watermelon scent from the gum he’s chewing. The air crackles between uswhen he says in a deep, buttery whisper, “If you want to pee, then yeah, I think you will.”

CHAPTER THREE

corbin

Dixie’s ownerspins on her toes, and her hair swiftly travels through the air. I watch her ass as she picks up speed, probably realizing the urge to use the bathroom is getting stronger. I bend down and ask Dixie, “Is your owner always so defensive and cold?” When Dixie doesn’t answer, I ask her, “Do you want to go on a walk?”

Her ears perk up when she hears the wordwalk, so I take her to the dog area where there’s a small walking trail and a patch of grass for dogs to do their business. When I look at my watch, it’s been about ten minutes.

We walk back to the car and since it’s no longer smoking, I open the driver’s door and pop the hood, which is sweltering from the summer sun. “Dixie, stay.”

She’s obviously well trained and loved. As she sits on her butt staring at me, I check everything I know. The oil is low, but nothing that would cause her car to quit. The belts are all in place, so I close the hood and call Bryce. His wedding is an hour away in Atlanta.

“What do you mean you’re stuck at a truck stop? It’s my wedding day,” Bryce says to me.

“I stopped at Buc-ee’s to fill up and get some of those famous candied pecans and… there’s a woman stranded with a dog.”

My former college teammate says, “Corbin, you don’t have to help every single person. Have you talked to her?”

“Yeah, I’ve been out here holding her dog so she could go inside, use the bathroom, and get something to eat.” My voice crackles through the phone.

“How long?”

“About twenty minutes.”

Laughing, he asks, “Does she want your help?”

“Can I bring her to the wedding?” I huff.

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