Page 27 of Perfectly Grumpy

“I’ll take Hank and Juniper out to the yard together,” I say, heading toward the back to grab their leashes.

Juniper is a small but scrappy poodle mix, and her endless energy means she needs more exercise than James can handle. I snap a leash on to Juniper before letting Hank out of his cage.

The second Hank is free, he barrels at me like a defenseman in overtime. Hockey has at least taught me how to take a body check—except in this case, it’s from a St. Bernard. His giant paws land on my shoulders as he gives me a sloppy kiss.

“Hank!” I wipe the slobber off my face and snap on his leash.

James chuckles. “That dog loves you.”

“That dog loves everyone,” I say, though I can’t help the small tug in my chest.

I’ve always wanted a dog. Maybe one day, when hockey’s not my whole life, I’ll get a place out in the country. Some space. A dog like Hank. A Harley and someone to ride with along the beach.

I shake the thought off, like brushing away a crumb.

It was just a ride. A PR stunt. That’s all it was.

The dogs practically drag me toward the door, both of them straining at the leashes.

“You guys need some manners.”

I push the door open with my foot, but the second there’s enough space, both dogs try to squeeze through at the same time.Hank wins, using his sheer size to edge Juniper out of the way. As soon as we step onto the grass, I unclip their leashes, and they take off like bullets zooming around the yard.

“Want to play fetch?” I barely have time to bend down for a ball before Hank barrels into me from behind.

I hit the ground hard, face-planting as Juniper lets out a bark. When I roll over, Hank plants both massive paws on my chest. Then the licking starts.

“Hank,” I grumble, trying to push him off. “Nobody wants to smell your dog breath.”

Hank just looms over me, tongue lolling like he’s proud of his takedown.

That’s when I hear a laugh. “If that doesn’t win people over, I don’t know what will.” Lauren stands outside the shelter door, her phone aimed at me.

“What, me getting tackled by a dog?”

She tilts her head. “Oh, I doubt he’s hurting you. And someone seems to be enjoying it.”

“Hank, maybe,” I admit. “The human is just a casualty from looking the wrong way at the wrong time.”

She checks the photo and grins. “Honestly, you look pretty cute covered in dogs.”

“I don’t even have women all over me like this,” I say.

She shrugs. “Tragic, really.”

I meet her gaze. “So you’re saying I should adjust my expectations and settle for a dog instead?”

Lauren lowers her phone, thinking. “I’m saying dogs are loyal, low-maintenance, and always thrilled to see you. When it comes to women, they just haven’t realized what they’re missing.”

I push up on my elbows, my grin widening. “Aren’t you volunteering to change that?”

She scoffs, but there’s a hint of mischief in her eyes. “I’m just here for the pictures, Sheriff. Anything else is your problem.” Lauren kneels beside the smaller dog. “What’s this girl’s name?”

“Juniper, also known as Her Royal Highness. She thinks laps are thrones to sit in at all times.”

“And this big guy is Hank?” Lauren asks, nodding toward the St. Bernard.

“Hank the Tank,” I say, standing before he can kiss me again. “Our resident wrecking ball.”

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