Page 53 of Faking It with the Forward

Who, let me tell you, makes it clear he isnotinterested in a bath.

“Okay, Winnie, let’s make this happen,” I say after my initial efforts are thwarted. Finally, I just bend and pick him up, leg by leg, and heave him into the tub. By the time I get the water running, I’m out of breath. “Damn, you’re powerful for an animal with such stumpy legs,” I mutter. I manage to get the dog wet by running the hose over his body, while keeping one hand on his collar. “Ready for a shampoo?”

I rest the hose on the edge of the tub, allowing the water to continue to fill the tub, and reach for the soap. Unfortunately, at that moment I spot Reese across the yard.

Oh, man.

He’s stripped out of his jacket and is in a tight Wittmore Hockey T-shirt and a snug pair of worn jeans that hang perfectly on his ass. He’s lifting heavy two-by-fours, putting his muscles on full display. I’m not the only girl that notices. I hear a “Damn” from a girl putting fresh paper in one of the kennels.

Damnis right.

Winston shakes in the tub, spraying a fine coat of water across my skin. “Hey, sorry pup, I got distracted.” But my attention comes too late, because he shakes again, this time knocking the hose off the ledge. The stream shoots into the air and I grab for it, trying to get it under control, but the dog has other plans. His stumpy, thick body makes a run for it.

“Winston!” I cry, as the cold water douses my face. “Help! Please!”

“Hey! I’ve got you!”

Peering through my wet bangs, I see one of the emo boys grab the hose and fold it in half, cutting off the flow. Miranda captures Winston and drags him back. He’s covered in mud. “Seriously, dude?” I say to the dog, wagging his tail at me. “Why you gotta make this harder than it already is?”

“Logan, why don’t you assist Twyler? Seems like she could use an extra set of hands.”

Her tone is just condescending enough to make it sound like I’m incapable of washing a dog. Which, at this point, is fair.

“Sure,” Logan says, pushing his sleeves up and taking Winston by the collar.

I suck in a breath. He’s got a tattoo on his forearm. The design is a crown, specific to the New Kings. Similar to one of the ones on my thigh.

“Sorry about that,” I say, wiping my face with the hem of my damp shirt.

“No problem, I wasn’t into my assignment anyway.”

I pour a glob of shampoo into my hand and start rubbing it on Winston’s back. “What were you doing before?”

“I was over at the shelter with Captain America.” He jerks his chin in Reese’s direction. To be fair, in those jeans his ass does rival Chris Evans’. “He’s just showing off and making everyone look bad.”

I snort. “That’s what I call him, too. Mostly to annoy him.”

“You’re with him, right?”

For some reason, I give a half nod, half shrug. “We work together on the hockey team. I’m the trainer.”

“Oh,” he gives me a relieved smile and hoses down Winston’s back while I lather his legs. “That makes sense.”

Wait. I look over at him. “What makes sense?”

“You seem cool—not like the type of girl that would be simping for an athlete.”

He’s right. I don’t seem like that type of girl, but the athletes I know are all pretty great. Sure, they’re overly confident and obnoxious at times, but they’re also pretty cool. I look across the yard where Reese has reached over one of the wire kennel walls with his long arm to pet a dog. He spots me and waggles his eyebrows at Logan, followed with a thumbs up.

Ugh, that one is definitely pretty great.

I remember why I’m here—to work on my social skills. Logan may be judgmental against jocks, but that’s not the biggest red flag.

“So why did you come here today?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Honestly?” He smiles. “My friend over there got a speeding ticket and the options were service hours or an expensive fine. He picked this and a couple of us came with him.”

“Hey,” I look down at Winston’s sad, droopy eyes and wet face, “I don’t think the dogs care why you’re here.”

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