Page 36 of Falling Offsides

“Maybe this time it’s a girl.”

“Nope. I know we’re having another boy… and I’m so not ready for a third set of fists swinging around here.”

“Don’t lie. You encourage that shit like it’s your pastime.”

Étty laughs. I laugh. And it feels good—talking to him, centering my head, and remembering the rhythm of home. Even if I haven’t truly missed it since I hit Courtney with that puck.

My mind is too wrapped up in her—it’s fucking dangerous. A disaster in the making, and still…

I’m here. Walking these halls after her while I listen to Étienne talk my ear off about how he needs to prepare his wife for another boy when we both know it’s him that needs preparing.

“Your boys run circles around y—” I stop the instant I hear the throaty laugh.

Courtney.

She’s in the PT room ahead. And she’s not alone.

I hear her laugh again—bright, soft, completely unaware of the way it tears into me.

“I love dogs,” she croons. “And you are just the cutest, Rusty.”

PT Jordan laughs back.

Fuck me.

There he is, sitting on a massage table with a goofy grin on his face while Court fusses over his lapdog. When she leans in for a closer pet, he does the same—as always he flirts too close and talks too much. “You ever have a dog?”

“I always wanted one growing up. A boxer… they’re strong and stubborn and loyal. Kinda dorky, but serious when they need to be,” she says at the same time as Étty groans, “Are you fucking listening?”

“Sure,” I tell him even though my only focus is on where fucking Jordan puts his hands next.

They’re hovering precariously close to Court’s shoulders, inches away from brushing her curls as she goes on, “My mom was always a big no. Too much responsibility when we moved around a lot. Then she remarried and my stepdad’s allergic.”

Jordan chuckles, dropping his hands when Courtney pulls back from his dog. “Well, if you ever wanna babysit this guy,” he nods to the Jack Russell, “he’s a total cuddler.”

My jaw locks.

Over my dead body.

I hang up on Étienne without saying goodbye, pivoting fast and walking away down the hall as two of the guys round the corner to start their own PT session.

I don’t know what the fuck I’m thinking when I pull out my phone and start searching.

Boxer dogs.

Just as Courtney said, the Kennel Club describes them as protective, loyal, smart, and needy. Good with families which is a must if I’m going to take the dog home with me to Rimouski. The twins would love it.

I come out of the information website and scroll further down the search page until I see the listing.

When I click into it, I’m met with the headline for the ad—runt of the litter. Black and brown. One white paw.

Andonlya two-hour drive away.

Without a second thought, I tap the number and call.

A gruff voice answers after a few rings, “Yeah?”

“Uuh…”Shit, I’m really doing this.“I saw your listing for the boxer puppy. Is he still available?”

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