Rescuing the Bad Boy (Second Chance #2)(30)

His “hot date” had been frozen pizza shared with Dog. He supposed he should get some food for her if she was going to stay here. He couldn’t keep giving her people food. And no way was he taking her to a shelter until her foot healed. He couldn’t trust a group of volunteers to give her the care she needed. What if they shoved her in a cage and left her unattended? What if she chewed the bandage off again? What if she got an infection?

Dog snored loudly from the sofa, big front paws—one bandaged, one not—thrown over the edge of the cushion. Her eyes were shut tight. Yeah, she was staying here until she was well. He had turned back to the fireplace, when he heard the door to the room squeak open.

“You have a dog,” Connor announced from the threshold.

Dog snorted awake, lifting her head from her paws. She gave a halfhearted bark.

Tossing down his tools, Donovan sat on his butt on the dust-covered plastic in front of the fireplace. “She’s not mine.”

Connor looked from the dog sprawled over the couch cushions, then back to Donovan. “Sure as hell looks like she’s yours.” He approached, making kissy noises. Dog wagged her tail cautiously.

“Watch her foot. And she doesn’t know you, so be careful,” Donovan warned.

Connor lifted his hand, palm down. Dog licked it. “Oh yeah,” he said as he scratched her chin, “she’s vicious.” Dog rolled to her back and exposed her belly, which he then scrubbed with his other hand.

Donovan shook his head.

“Hey, girl,” Connor said in a soft voice. Dog’s tail wagged, beating the back of the sofa like a furry ball bat. “You are a beautiful girl. Aren’t you? Yes, you are. Oh, yes you are.”

“This how you get chicks to come home with you, too?”

Connor’s mouth cocked into a half smile. “Your daddy’s a jealous guy, isn’t he?” he asked Dog.

Daddy. A buzz like an electric shock hit his limbs. He knew Connor was giving him shit, but still… Donovan a parent? Not good. Not even for a dog.

Connor rose to his feet and Dog righted herself, careful not to put weight on her injured paw. Her mouth smiled, tongue lolled, and tail continued thumping. Happy as a f*cking lark.

“It’s late,” Connor said. “I’m stopping for the day. Thought I’d grab a shower, then a beer. Interested?”

“Not showering with you, man.” Donovan nodded to Dog who was staring a hole through the back of Connor’s head. “She’s starting to look like your dog.”

“I’m never home. Plus my apartment doesn’t allow dogs.” Connor scrubbed her head, which she allowed, then turned back to Donovan. “So?”

He didn’t have the overwhelming urge to run into townsfolk while at the local watering hole, but he could use a few hours away from this place. Being in this house was making him cagey. For that reason, he asked, “Where?”

“Salty Dog.”

Dog barked, one chuff.

“Sorry girl, misleading name. No dogs allowed.” Connor surveyed the damage wreaked on the fireplace. “Looks like you need a break from… whatever it is you’re doing.”

What Donovan was doing was obsessing, and trying not to think about Sofie with Scott Torsett. Trying not to think about whether he took her to dinner, or if they stayed in…

Or if he’d tried to kiss her good night. If Sofie had let him.

Donovan’s lip curled.

If he stayed here and continued working, those thoughts would persist. Turning from the debris littering the plastic beneath the fireplace, he brushed his hands on his jeans, knocking dust from his palms.

“You know what?” he told Connor, “I could use a break.”

From thinking of Scampi, mostly.





The bartender at Salty Dog slid two foaming beers down the bar top. The place was fairly busy, making Donovan wonder if Evergreen Cove had turned into more of a party destination than it used to be. Or maybe it always had been. He never really hung out “in town.” Most of his partying happened in his apartment.

And had included the guy sitting at his left elbow.

“Back in the day,” Connor called over the din of voices, “this time of night, we’d be neck-deep in a bottle of booze.”

Donovan sipped his beer and smiled. “Surprised you remember.” Connor had been eighteen, underage, and suffering from a wild streak. His friend’s life had been nothing like Donovan’s. The opposite, actually.

Connor’s parents and siblings were overly involved in his life. He’d started working at the Wharf in defiance of his father wanting him to work for the family business. Shortly after, he started hanging out with Donovan. Connor was a bright kid, and Donovan didn’t have a problem with him crashing at his apartment. Before too long, his friend was there more than he was at his own house.

Kind of like he was now.

Connor banged their beer glasses. “To working together again.”

Donovan could hardly believe he was back in town. Drinking with Connor. So close to Scampi. A thorough drink of beer wet his arid throat, dry from the dust he’d inhaled for the past several hours.

“I have an ulterior motive.” Connor put his beer on the cardboard coaster in front of him, keeping his eyes on the base of the glass.

“Shoot.”