Page 13 of Treat

“Then hire someone else to do it.”

She wasn’t sure why she was so annoyed—it wasn’t like shewantedto scrub his damn toilets. “Fine. Anything else I can do for you, boss?”

He raised an eyebrow but only said, “Could probably use some groceries.”

She bit back the sour retort. “Sure. What do you want?”

“I have to up my protein intake, so get a lot of chicken. Skinless, boneless breasts. Some salmon, too, and lean steaks. Stuff that can be stashed in the freezer. Plus vegetables. Lots and lots of vegetables.”

“This is a boring grocery list,” she commented, making notes on her phone.

“Welcome to the diet of a professional athlete,” he said drily. “Get some oatmeal, skim milk, and whatever fresh fruit looks good. Berries would be best, but whatever looks good. And plain Greek yogurt.”

“Seriously boring.” She looked up from her phone. “Anything else?”

“That’ll do for now. I’ll give you my credit card.” He turned to walk out of the kitchen and almost tripped over Tilly.

“Jeez, dog, don’t do that.” He crouched down to give her ears a scratch. “If I get injured before the season even starts, we’re all fucked.”

Tilly simply rolled onto her back to present her belly for a rub.

He laughed and obliged her. “Such a good girl, aren’t you? The best girl.”

He’s talking to the dog, you slut, Brynn silently admonished her vagina, which was reacting the way any reasonable vagina would react to Jude crooninggood girlin his rough, rumbly voice—with delight and hope. Her nipples had gone hopeful, too, making her grateful for small boobs and oversized t-shirts.

“I’ll just clean up in here and go see what needs to be done in the guest room,” she said, stealing one last glimpse of straining thighs before picking up her plate.

He nodded and rose. “I’ll leave the credit card on the counter. If you have any trouble using it, call me.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“No problem,” he said and walked into the bedroom. When the door closed behind him, cutting off the view, she went back to work.

Brynn spenther morning lining up a grocery delivery, setting up appointments to interview cleaning services, clearing out the guest room, and trying to get her best friend on the phone.

The groceries were easy. Probably the best thing about a post-Covid world, in her personal opinion, was the wide availability of grocery delivery services. She normally would’ve spent some time searching for a coupon or a first-delivery-free offer, but it wasn’t her money and Jude already had an account with Meijer. She was able to click buy-again on almost everything, so the whole thing took less time than it took to condition her hair.

She had more trouble with the cleaning service. An internet search ofDetroit cleaning servicesnetted over three million results, so she pivoted to a much more reliable local resource—Angela Mitchel.

The PA for one of Jude’s teammates and a born-and-raised Detroiter, Angela knew the city inside and out, and she had connections everywhere. Within two minutes of asking for a recommendation, Brynn had the names of three companies, complete with references, and had appointments set up with all three for the next afternoon within another thirty.

Which left clearing out the guest room as her remaining task.

“And where the hell,” she asked Tilly, standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips, “am I supposed to put all of this?”

Tilly waddled into the room, skirting the bed, three hockey bags stacked one on top of the other and a broken desk chair to get to the giant black leather beanbag shoved under the single unshaded window. Sunlight pooled in its center, and Tilly managed to settle into it with only a few scrabbles and one awkward slide backward.

“Thanks for your help,” Brynn muttered. She wondered briefly if she should nudge the dog off the beanbag, then decided not to worry about it. There were deep scratches in the leather, and the sun had bleached it gray—a little dog hair wasn’t going to lower its value any further.

With Tilly snoring away, she surveyed the rest of the room. The two dozen boxes that had been on the mattress were now stacked between the bed and the closet, and there were two more hockey bags, bringing the total to five. There was also a stack of sticks in the corner behind the bed, an old box fan, and three garbage bags that were filled with Jude’s old clothes.

She looked around the room, assessing. It looked chaotic, but it wasn’t that bad. She didn’t want to throw anything out without checking with Jude, but she could organize it. If she stacked the boxes along the wall closest to the door, she might be able to get everything else into the closet. Well, everything but the bean bag and the broken desk chair. Those might have to go into the living room until she could confirm with Jude that she could throw them out.

She was just shoving the last box into place when her phone chimed the ringtone she’d assigned to her best friend. She snatched it off the top box on the pile, shoved her sweaty bangs off her forehead, and answered on speaker. “It’s about damn time.”

“Sorry,” Amy said. “I was covering a class for someone. What’s up?”

“My life is hell.”

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