Page 28 of Slapshot Kiss

“Yeah?”

“You have a child?”

Wyatt blinks. “What?”

“You have a child?”

He looks genuinely confused. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Your sitter!”

He stares at me for another second. Then his mouth falls open. “Oh, no. No, no, no.” He shakes his head so hard I’m surprised he doesn’t give himself whiplash. “Jesus Christ. No.”

“Then why do you have a sitter?”

“A dog sitter!”

I fold my arms. Okay, now I feel stupid. This explanation makes much more sense. I store away the information that Wyatt owns a dog. Is he even capable of taking care of another living being?

“Right,” I say.

“Right.”

There’s a moment of silence.

Then Wyatt starts laughing.

Not a polite little chuckle, either. A full-blown laugh that makes him bend forward and brace a hand against the steering wheel.

“Oh my fucking God. You should’ve seen your face.”

“Are you done?”

“Not even close.”

I turn toward my building.

“Okay. Good luck finding someone to watch your dog.”

That shuts him up. “Wait. Shit. Quinn.”

I keep walking.

“Quinn, come on. I’m sorry.”

I stop and turn around.

He’s still grinning, the asshole, but at least he’s making an effort to get himself under control. “I’m having a legitimate crisis here,” he says.

He drags a hand over his face, and when he looks at me again, the grin has finally disappeared. “Seriously. I need someone to take Pickles,” Wyatt says. “I wouldn’t ask if I had anyone else. I want to be clear about that, because I know how it sounds, showing up at your building like this, but I’m asking you because you’re the only person I actually trust with him.”

He says it fast, like he’s afraid if he slows down, he’ll lose his nerve entirely.

I look at him. He’s actually rattled, actually out of moves, sitting in a car he clearly can’t be bothered to park correctly. Something inside me shifts, and I realize I’m face-to-face with what I thought I’d spent four days successfully avoiding.

“Okay,” I say.

“Okay?”