Chapter 2

Erika smiledwhen she walked into the waiting room and saw Blake waiting for her, leaning on the receptionist's counter and flirting with one of the nurses, Denise.

He waved when he spotted her, straightening to join her. "Hey, Doc. Ready to go?"

She nodded. "Sure am. I appreciate you picking me up."

"No reason to take an Uber when I was heading home at the same time."

She'd mentioned grabbing an Uber this morning when she told him her car was in the shop. Blake had insisted on coming to get her instead, since her shift ended an hour after his game.

"The timing was pretty perfect," she acknowledged with a grin. "Getting to work wasn't a big deal since I don't mind walking during the day, and the weather was lovely, but it's a different story at night."

The area around Hopkins wasn't the kind of place a woman wanted to roam alone after dark. Baltimore was one of those cities where a person could feel perfectly safe walking one block, then two blocks later, be terrified out of their minds.

"I definitely wouldn't let you walk home after dark. I'm happy to pick you up."

Erika glanced at the sky when they walked out of the emergency room. "I thought it was calling for rain."

"It still is, but I think it's starting later than they forecasted." They made their way to the parking garage, where he'd parked his car.

"Well, I owe you one for this. And don't worry, it'll be business as usual tomorrow because the mechanic called, and my car is ready." She'd finally made an appointment to have her car looked at after dealing with a weird pinging noise for nearly a month.

"Did they figure out what was wrong with it?" Blake asked.

She nodded. "Yeah, something to do with a loose exhaust bracket. Whatever the hell that means. God only knows what it's going to cost me."

"Hopefully it won't be too bad. Did you go to Rocky's like I suggested?"

She nodded.

"Good. He'll take care of you. Rocky's an anomaly. An honest mechanic."

She smiled. "Glad to hear it. Soooo…coming to get me didn't ruin any horizontal victory dance plans tonight, did it? Or is Mindy meeting you back at your place?"

He shook his head, grimacing. "Unfortunately, no dancing. We got our asses handed to us."

"Oh. I'm sorry." Erika knew how much her competitive neighbor hated to lose.

"Not sure why it was such a slog tonight. We couldn't get into any sort of rhythm. Nothing—and I mean nothing—would hit the back of the net."

"Maybe it was jet lag from the West Coast trip," she suggested. "You got back pretty late the night before last. I'm sure that had to take a toll on you guys."

"Yeah, Coulton said the same thing." Coulton Moore was the Rays' goalie, a gentle giant if Erika had ever met one.

"I don't know how you manage as well as you do," Erika added. "Hopping back and forth across the country with precious little time between games sounds exhausting to me."

Blake pulled his keys out of his pocket and hit the fob, the car lights flashing as the doors unlocked. "It's part of the job, and you get used to it after a while. We're usually better at bouncing back from the travel. Tonight, we were just off."

"You'll win the next one." Erika climbed into the passenger seat as Blake slid behind the steering wheel. She leaned her head back and sighed, glad to finally be off her feet.

Blake started the car but didn't put it in gear as he studied her face. "Doesn't look like your night was any better than mine."

She rubbed her eyes wearily. "I'd have to check the latest census, but I'm fairly certain I treated fifty percent of the population of Baltimore tonight. There's a nasty stomach virus going around, and we currently live in a city filled with dehydrated people."

"Shit. Hope you don't get sick. Hell, I hope I don't get sick," he added with a grin. "Sold-out game tonight. Lot of people breathing the same air."

"You're healthy as a horse." She tried to recall if she could remember a time when Blake was ever sick. She couldn't even recall him getting a cold. It was one of the things the two of them had in common. Erika could count on one hand the number of times she'd been sick in bed. And most of those were when she was a kid. "I wore my mask the entire time. Plus, my immune system is probably the strongest part of me. God knows it's always getting a workout." She sighed again, slipping off one of her shoes, rubbing her aching foot. "It's good to be off my feet. I didn't sit down once tonight."

Blake reached across the console and grasped her knee, giving it a squeeze. "You know, I could use a beer. What do you say we stop into Pat's Pub and unwind with a pint before heading back?"

It was late, but Erika was too wired to sleep. "That's sounds great. I didn't have time for more than a handful of crackers on my break, so I might grab a sandwich too."

Blake pierced her with a look. The one that told her he was probably going to give her yet another speech about how she should take better care of herself.

"I packed a sandwich," she said in her defense. "I just didn't have time to eat it."

Blake scoffed. "Yeah. Like that makes it better. You're allowed meal breaks, Dr. Nelson."

She shrugged but didn't reply because him giving her a lecture wasn't going to change the fact she would always work through her breaks if she knew someone was suffering in the waiting room. Blake knew that too, but it didn't stop him from trying anyway. He was a good friend that way.

He took a left at the next light, the two of them heading toward one of the local pubs near their neighborhood. They drove in a companionable silence, comfortable enough with each other to get lost in their own thoughts.

After parallel parking in a spot near the pub, Blake circled the car, offering her a hand to help her out of his Audi. He chuckled at her exaggerated groan as she got out.

"It's not that low," he said, replying to her unspoken complaint.

"It's like I'm sitting on the ground."

They walked into the pub together, Blake's hand resting at the small of her back.

"Blake, Erika," Padraig, the bartender, called out from behind the bar, offering a wave.

Blake had introduced her to Pat's Pub a few months after she'd moved into their building, the local watering hole a favorite of the team. Blake and his teammates did a lot of celebrating in the place, as Padraig and his dad, Tristan, two of the biggest Stingrays fans on the planet, always rolled out the red carpet after big wins.

"Hey, Padraig," Blake called out. "Good to see you, man. It's been a while."

The bartender walked out from behind the counter to join them, shaking Blake's hand. "Wasn't expecting to see you tonight. Tank said you'd opted out on the ‘drowning your sorrows' portion of the evening. Tough loss, by the way."

"Thanks. Not our finest moment." She watched as Blake glanced around the pub. "I actually forgot a few of the guys were planning to come by. Tank insisted he needed to drink away the agony of defeat."

"Well, he's putting a dent in it," Padraig joked.

Glancing toward the back of the pub, she spotted Tank, Coulton, and a couple other Rays players holding court with a bunch of puck bunnies—including Mindy.

"Want to go say hello?" Erika offered half-heartedly. She'd been looking forward to a quiet meal. Hanging out with a bunch of his teammates and the giggly groupies who seemed to follow them everywhere they went would classify as anything but.

Blake shook his head. "No. I just left those guys. Besides, Mindy would probably latch on, and I don't have the energy for her tonight. We'll say goodbye on our way out."

She smiled, relieved, though somewhat surprised he was trying to avoid Mindy.

"Erika had a busy night at the hospital, so we thought we'd stop in for a pint and a bite," Blake explained as he let Padraig guide them to a booth in a quiet corner near the front of the bar, well away from the group in the back, who mercifully hadn't noticed their arrival.

"How's this?" Padraig asked about the table.

"Perfect," Erika said, taking the menu Padraig handed her. "Did you eat dinner yet?" she asked Blake.

"Had something a few hours before the game, but nothing since. So, I'm starving." Blake typically ate three hours before the puck drop, and usually the same thing—chicken breast or some other lean protein, rice, and green veggies. He took his pre-game routines very seriously.

Blake ordered them each a pint of Guinness, and Padraig headed back to the bar to get their drinks while they perused the menus.

"What looks good?" Blake asked, looking up from the menu.

"I'm going for the grilled chicken sandwich and a salad. Hate to eat anything too heavy this close to bedtime."

Blake tossed his menu on the table. "Good idea. That sounds perfect. I'll get the same."

When Padraig returned with their beers, they placed their orders. Erika leaned back in the booth, lifting her feet to rest next to Blake on his bench seat. He grinned, reaching beneath her sock to tickle her ankle playfully, making her laugh.

For the next hour, he filled her in on the highlights of the game as they ate, going into so much detail, she felt like she'd been there.

She loved listening to Blake talk hockey. She hadn't been a fan of the sport prior to moving in across the hall from him. Her father's sports of choice had been the big three—football, basketball, and baseball. So that was what she'd been subjected to while growing up, forced to endure endless fall Sundays of him monopolizing the TV to watch his beloved Ravens.

Dad had also dragged her to countless Orioles games, the two of them attending at least three or four every summer for as long as she could remember.

The one sport her dad hadn't watched was hockey, so moving in across from Blake had opened her eyes to a whole new world in terms of sports. Not that she'd been an easy convert. Erika preferred rom com movies and reading mysteries to watching any sporting event, but that didn't stop Blake from trying to show her the error of her ways during those early days.

She had to admit, he'd worn her down, and she'd found herself tuning in to watch him play whenever she wasn't at work. And even when she did miss a game, she always watched either the replay or highlights reel the next day.

Erika never ceased to be amazed by his talent—his speed on the ice, his puck handling, even his incredible force when he checked someone into the glass. He was the most graceful brute she'd ever seen…and while she would never tell him, she understood why puck bunnies existed. There was nothing hotter than a guy on skates throwing a punch in defense of a teammate done wrong during the game.

"Poor Coulton is going to have a hell of a bruise on the side of his neck," Blake continued, describing a rather nasty hit the Rays' goalie had taken in a pileup in front of the net. "He stopped them from scoring, but damn if he didn't get his bell rung."

"I thought the goalie's helmet covered practically everything."

"It's no protection when you've got your head turned, watching the puck, and some dumbass blindsides you because he's coming in too fast and hard. Tank taught the guy a lesson—which he should have—but it set Tampa up to score on the power play. Whole night was just one fucking dumpster fire," Blake grumbled, taking the last swig of his beer.

"You'll get them next time," she said, pulling from her repertoire of pep talks. She used to really try to console Blake after a loss, but time and experience had taught her there was nothing short of a good night's sleep that would end his brooding.

While Blake was down tonight, by morning, he'd be back to his optimistic, competitive self. It was probably one of the best things about him. He didn't dwell on bad things for long.

"What the hell?"

They both glanced up as Tank walked over to their table, taking in their mostly empty plates. He put his hands on his hips. "How long have you two been here?"

Blake was quick to lift his hand in surrender. "Erik and I just stopped in for a quick dinner because she was too busy in the ER to eat tonight. We were going to say good night to you guys on our way out."

"What's up, Doc?" Tank—the affable giant—asked, giving her a friendly smile along with his standard Bugs Bunny greeting. She'd hung out with Blake and his teammates quite a lot over the past few years, and somewhere along the line, she'd become a part of their gang, invited to all the happy hours, pizza nights, and the monthly video game competitions Tank hosted at his place.

"Same old, same old. Listening to this one grumble and groan about losing tonight," she joked, jerking her thumb in Blake's direction. "Trust me when I say I've been taking one for the team, entertaining him alone rather than crashing your party back there." She gestured toward the back of the pub, where Tank had been sitting.

"Damn, you're a good person to take that on, because he's the sorest loser on the planet," Tank said, piling on.

Blake snorted. "That's funny, because I'm pretty sure I wasn't the one who punched his locker tonight after the game."

Erika's gaze slid to Tank's hand, spotting his bruised knuckles, before raising her eyebrows in a "really?" expression.

Tank caught her staring and grimaced as he tried to hide the evidence by shoving his hands in his pockets. "I took one too many bad calls tonight, then I got in a fight."

Erika noticed the dark bruise on Tank's chin. "Blake told me."

He lifted a shoulder casually. "Losing was the last straw, so I sort of lost my shit in the end."

She laughed softly. "You two are birds of a feather."

"You should have joined us back there because it's a regular pity party. We're all in the same funk. Misery loves company and all that shit." Tank tilted his head toward the table of teammates and puck bunnies.

"Yeah, well, I was trying to avoid?—"

Before Blake could complete his thought, Mindy walked over, sliding into the booth next to him, wrapping her arm around his shoulder and squeeing loudly.

"Blake!" Mindy said. "You came!"

Tank shot Blake an apologetic grimace, obviously aware of exactly who his best friend had been avoiding. Once again, Erika wondered why he didn't want to see Mindy. Sure, he had those stupid hookup rules, but he really was down in the dumps and for all her faults, Mindy seemed very adept at making Blake happy…in bed.

"Just stopped in for dinner. We're actually about to head out," Blake said, clearly trying to move Mindy back out of the booth.

His use of the word we had Mindy glancing across the table at Erika.

"Oh. Hey, Eva." Mindy's tone was considerably less friendly than the one she'd used for Blake.

"Erika," Blake corrected, while she rolled her eyes when he chastised the other woman for getting it wrong. After all, he continually insisted on calling her Erik. The stupid nickname had driven her crazy at first, but—like hockey—damn if it hadn't grown on her.

Erika had long since stopped trying to tell Mindy her name. Originally, she thought the other woman just couldn't remember it, but now she was starting to wonder if she was calling her the wrong name on purpose.

"Oh, right," Mindy said. "Why don't you stick around and join us?" Mindy was leaning close to Blake. Two more inches to the right and she'd be in his lap. "Or if you want, we can head out together. I can help you forget all about tonight's game."

Blake shook his head. "No thanks. You know the deal." He looked like he was going to say more, then reconsidered. Instead, he raised his hand, waving to Padraig for the check, clearly ready to move on now that they'd been spotted.

Padraig brought the bill, taking away the dirty dishes, as Tank and Blake chatted for a few minutes about the game. Mindy interjected several of her own thoughts. Obviously, she'd been there, and Erika wondered if she went to all the home games. Erika attended as many as she could, but she'd never run into Mindy there. Not that she would expect to. The Baltimore Arena seated something like sixteen thousand people.

Once they settled the tab, Blake managed to scoot Mindy out of the booth and, as a group, they walked back to where Coulton, two more teammates, and a couple other women still sat, to say goodbye. Like Mindy, another woman, Lara, sidled up to Blake, whispering something in his ear. Erika recognized her as another one of his "victory dance" women.

Blake gave her a shake of the head and a smile.

"Ready to go?" he asked her, and Erika nodded, both of them anxious to make a quick escape when it became obvious Mindy wasn't finished trying to score a sleepover with Blake. In the end, he simply walked away from her.

Erika wondered if—okay, she hoped—the bloom was finally off the Mindy rose. She was surprised the woman had lasted as long as she had, because Erika couldn't begin to understand what Mindy and Blake even talked about.

She did an internal eye roll at that thought.

They didn't talk. They fucked.

Blake stopped short just as they reached the exit.

"Damn," he muttered.

"There's the rain," she said, glancing upward. The storm that had been forecasted had arrived with a vengeance.

Erika jerked when a flash of lightning lit the sky, her heart suddenly beating faster. She hated storms.

Blake leaned toward her. "Want me to go get the car?"

She shook her head. "No. It's not that far. Let's just make a run for it." Neither of them had thought to carry an umbrella into the pub with them, even though they'd known it was calling for rain.

Taking off together, they dashed down the block in the direction of the car, diving in as Blake unlocked it.

"Shit." He pushed his drenched hair away from his face laughing.

"We're soaked." She wished she could share his humor. Especially when a loud growl of thunder rumbled right overhead. She fought hard to hide her fear. She really hated storms.

Starting the car, Blake blasted the heat as they drove back to their apartment building. They high-fived when he found a spot near the front door, something unheard of at this time of night when most of the residents were already in for the evening.

Blake reached behind him, feeling around on the floor until he pulled out an umbrella. It was pointless, considering they were already dripping wet, but she still waited until he crossed in front of the vehicle and opened the door, covering her to keep most of the rain off.

They quickly walked toward the entrance, Erika digging in her purse as they went, looking for her keys, in a hurry to get inside and safe. Pulling them out, she promptly dropped the key ring, thanks to her stupid trembling hands.

"Damn." Crouching, she retrieved them, her attention drawn to a box next to a trash can.

It moved.

"I think there's something in there." She prayed it wasn't a rat because she'd lose her shit for real if it was.

"What the hell? Is that…whimpering?" Blake stood closer, trying to keep them both covered with the umbrella while attempting to peak into the box. He finally gave up the effort as he knelt down, pulling the lid off the box.

Erika gasped when she spotted the tiny black-and-white puppy inside the soggy box. The little thing was shivering, its fur matted from the rain.

"Oh my God," she exclaimed as Blake handed her the umbrella so he could reach in to pick up the puppy. "Did someone dump that poor little thing out with the trash?"

Blake rose, the three of them huddled beneath the umbrella. His expression was pure fury. "Looks like. Takes a special kind of asshole."

"Come on. Let's get him—or her—inside." Erika kept the umbrella over Blake and the puppy, forgetting to be upset by the storm. She swiped her keycard over the scanner, unlocking the front entrance. One of the primary reasons she chose to move into this building was its excellent security.

Another whimper captured her attention. The puppy didn't look like it was much more than a month old, and she was concerned about getting it inside where it was warm and dry.

They took the elevator to their floor, Blake leading the way to his apartment. He handed her the puppy once they were inside. "I'll grab some towels from the bathroom."

Erika cuddled the shaking puppy close to her chest, cooing to it in a comforting voice. "You're okay, you sweet baby. Don't you worry. We're going to take good care of you."

Blake returned with two large bath towels. Laying one out on the island in his kitchen, he took the dog back from her, placing it in the middle while using the other towel to gently dry the puppy.

"Wonder how old it is?" Blake pondered aloud. "Doesn't look like it was just born."

Erika agreed that it wasn't a newborn, as its eyes were open and now that it was dry, it was starting to move around on the towel. She carefully lifted it, peering underneath. "A girl."

Blake used his pointer finger to stroke the puppy's belly, the action provoking the first tail wag and a little yip. He chuckled, then walked over to his fridge. "Poor little thing is probably hungry. Think she's old enough for solid food?"

Erika pulled out her phone and did a quick Google search. "I don't know," she said after scanning a couple of articles. She found an emergency "milk" formula recipe that Blake made, as they decided to play it safe in case the puppy was too young for real food.

He offered the milk to the dog, who quickly devoured it. Blake only gave her only a little, since neither of them was sure what the puppy should be consuming.

Erika didn't have a clue what breed the cute thing was. Most likely a whodunit, though she thought she detected a bit of terrier.

"I can't believe someone would toss a dog out like trash. Especially on a night like tonight," she murmured, furious at the thought. "What would have happened to her if we hadn't found her?"

Blake didn't answer because he didn't have to. There was a good chance the puppy would have died. The rain was a cold one, the temperature continuing to drop. Without any way to stay warm or dry, she likely would have frozen to death.

Folding the towel a couple of times, Blake picked up the puppy, wrapping her like a baby in a blanket. Erika smiled at the tiny thing nestled in Blake's muscular arms. The puppy wriggled a little bit before settling down and closing her eyes.

"So sweet." Erika softly stroked the puppy's head. "I always wanted a dog when I was little."

"Never got one?" Blake walked to the living room, where he sank down on the couch. Erika followed him, not wanting to be too far away from the puppy.

"No. My mom was attacked by a dog when she was a kid, so she was terrified of them. Big or little, it didn't matter. I begged for a puppy for the better part of my fourth-grade year. I even wrote a letter to Santa, asking for one, so of course, I was sure I was going to get one for Christmas."

Blake handed her the puppy, still wrapped in the towel. "I'm guessing Santa didn't come through."

She grinned as she cuddled the tiny bundle in her arms. "Depends on what you consider coming through. I got a fluffy stuffed dog. I tried to pretend it was real, even going so far as to walk Corky on a leash. But dragging a toy around just wasn't the same thing."

"Corky?"

Erika laughed. "I have no idea why that was my chosen dog name when I was a kid, but I always said if I ever got a dog, I would name it Corky."

"Why haven't you adopted a dog since moving into your own place?"

"Doesn't feel fair to any pet I might get. I mean, I live alone and work long hours."

Blake nodded. "I get that. I'd love to have a dog. In fact, I've always said the first thing I'm going to do when I retire from the game is adopt one. But like you…it's not something I can do on my own. Hell, I'm on the road forty-five, fifty nights out of the year, depending on playoffs. There's no way I can take care of a dog properly."

Erika sighed, staring down at the sweet puppy in her arms. The tiny thing was sleeping soundly, clearly exhausted from the trauma of being left out in the rain in a cardboard box.

"I'm off tomorrow," she said. "I'll take her to the vet, get her checked out, make sure she's okay."

Blake twisted toward Erika, resting his arm along the back of the couch, his hand near her shoulder, his head bent close as he watched the dog sleep. "She is a cutie."

Erika nodded, then shivered, suddenly recalling that while they'd dried off the dog, the two of them were sitting there in damp clothing.

"Here. Leave her with me and go change into something dry." Blake rose, tilting his head toward the door in response to her trembling. He reached for the dog, but she was reluctant to hand her over.

Blake chuckled as he took the puppy from her. "Change your clothes, Erik. I promise I'll give her right back the second you return."

She begrudgingly agreed, anxious to stay with the dog. She felt a bit like that fourth-grade girl again, like she'd gotten a redo on Christmas and finally had her puppy.

Dashing across the hall, she quickly changed into a pair of leggings and a warm sweatshirt before returning to Blake's.

"Blake?"

"Back here."

She followed the sound of his voice to his bedroom without hesitation.

The two of them had quickly passed through the levels of association. Their initial interactions, after she'd put the kibosh on his flirting, had been that of just neighbors, but they evolved to friends swiftly, and best friends even faster, something that still amazed her to this day, as Erika had never found it particularly easy to make friends. She was too much of a bookworm, the type of person who spent a lot of time inside her own head. While she'd had people in her life she'd referred to as friends, when compared to Blake, she realized she'd be better off referring to them as acquaintances.

None of those other relationships came close to what she shared with him.

Erika hadn't lived here more than five months before she and Blake had swapped apartment keys. Somewhere along the line, their refrigerators had become shared property, he'd helped her paint her living room, and she'd basically redecorated his entire apartment, proclaiming he was a professional athlete, not a damn frat boy, and that he needed to live like the former.

The only line they'd never crossed was from friends to lovers. Blake was determined to hold on to his bachelor status, and while she wasn't actively dating at the moment, she knew she wouldn't be happy in a casual relationship. When it came to romance, she considered herself an all-in girl.

She'd mentioned her recent loneliness to Blake, but it was the one area where he couldn't understand or relate. Erika had brushed it off as a temporary funk. But the truth was, the feeling had been there for months…and it was growing.

Not the type to let things fester, she'd finally decided it was time to take action. So last week, just after admitting her loneliness to Blake, she did the one thing she'd always sworn she wouldn't do—she'd researched the best apps for those who weren't just looking for a hookup and uploaded profiles to eHarmony and Zoosk.

With any luck, she'd meet someone interested in a serious relationship and—please God—marriage and kids down the line. She was nearing the end of her last year of residency, so she was finally in a place where she felt like she had time to commit to dating.

Blake was pulling a T-shirt on as she entered, and while she shouldn't ogle her best friend, that was easier said than done. The man had a serious six-pack, the kind of rock-hard abs most guys would kill for but very few possessed.

His teammates had all remarked at one time or another about her and Blake's relationship, suspicious that it was more than they were letting on. For some reason, it was difficult for them to believe that a man and a woman as close as the two of them could be just friends.

Blake gestured toward the bed, where he'd placed the puppy. "She's all yours."

Erika stepped around the bed, fully intending to pick the dog up…but she couldn't do it. The poor little thing was snoring softly, obviously warm and comfortable after God only knew how long in that cold, wet box.

Rather than grab her, Erika sat down on the bed, reaching out to stroke the tiny dog's head.

Blake claimed the other side, resting his large hand on the puppy's body. "She's so small."

"And so adorable," Erika added. "I can't stop looking at her."

It was getting late, but despite working a long shift, she couldn't make herself leave the dog. And there was something about Blake's demeanor that said he didn't want to give her up either.

"You're going to hog her for the night, aren't you?" she murmured.

Blake gave her a grin, raising one eyebrow, that screamed "What do you think?"

She sighed, then shifted until she was lying down on the edge of the bed. "I'll just stay a little longer."

Blake chuckled, the sound calling her out on her lie, then followed suit, lying down as well, the two of them flanking the dog, facing each other.

"So what happens after the vet?" Blake asked, his eyes locked on the sleeping dog.

"I…" Erika knew what she should say. She should say she'd drop her off at a shelter…but even as she thought it, she knew there was no way in hell she would do that. The puppy had just been imprisoned in a box. How on earth could she do something that would put her back in a cage? "I don't know. I guess we could hang signs in the building. See if anyone would be interested in adopting her." Erika hated that idea as much as the shelter one.

"Yeah." Blake sounded just as unenthusiastic.

They kept petting the little dog, who opened her eyes briefly, giving them a giant, endearing yawn.

"Go back to sleep, Corky," Blake whispered.

Oh shit.

He'd given the puppy her dog name.

Just like that, Blake had sealed her fate…and the dog's.

Erika's gaze flew to his, perfectly aware her best friend's thoughts were traveling along the same path as her own. Blake wasn't giving this dog up any more than she was.

"We can't take care of a dog on our own…but that doesn't mean we couldn't take care of one together," he said.

Even as he said it, Erika could think of a million and twelve reasons why his suggestion was a bad idea. But she dismissed every single one.

"What about when I work nights and you're on the road?" Erika, sensible to a fault, thought she should at least offer a token amount of resistance.

Blake considered her question, then grinned. "Ashley."

Erika laughed quietly. Fifteen-year-old Ashley lived on the floor below them and had built a babysitting empire within their apartment building. Blake swore the girl was going to earn her first million before graduating from high school.

"She could walk Corky, feed and play with her on evenings when we're not home," Blake continued.

Erika nodded as an organizational schematic—one of her favorite things in the world—started to take shape in her mind. "We can print out monthly calendars with our work schedules, figure out who gets her on what days, when we'll need to hire Ashley."

She'd get online first thing in the morning to find cute whiteboards for their apartments. No, she quickly reconsidered, recalling a digital organizer she'd seen once with a touchscreen. She would get them each one of those.

Blake smirked. "You're already organizing everything in your head, aren't you?"

She nodded. "You know I love schedules."

"And yet you can't remember to feed yourself," he murmured. "You're an enigma, Erik." Then he grinned widely as he bent down to place a kiss on the puppy's head. "We can do this."

"This is insane," she whispered, not bothering to mask her excitement that they were keeping this puppy.

"No, it's not. It'll be great." There wasn't a hint of doubt in Blake's tone.

Erika lived alone by choice, after two crappy roommate experiences. As soon as she'd gotten to a place financially where she could live alone, she'd done so. And while she liked having a place all to herself, it would be nice to have some companionship to help ward off the loneliness that had taken residence. She still intended to date, but damn if the idea of having a dog to snuggle with at night while she found her Prince Charming didn't hold a lot of appeal.

She used the tip of her finger to run it down the puppy's nose. "I can't believe we're doing this." Then, because it was her and she was nothing if not a planner, she started running down her mental list for Blake. "After the vet tomorrow, we need to go shopping. We'll need food and water bowls for each of our places, and dog beds. Leashes and a collar. We can get a tag with both of our phone numbers on it. We need to research the best ways to train a puppy too. I know there's a crate-training method that we?—"

Blake's scoff threw her off, then she narrowed her eyes.

"We need to train her," Erika insisted.

He simply held her gaze without replying.

"Shit. You're going to spoil her rotten, aren't you?" she asked.

He grinned. "I think we both know the answer to that question."

"Blake," she started.

"When Corky is with me, she's sleeping in my bed," Blake said. "We're going to cuddle."

She was already aware there was no way Corky wasn't sleeping with her too. God. She was already dreading the nights when Blake got her, and she didn't.

"I think the idea of crate training is for when you're not home," she pointed out.

He continued to shake his head. "I'm not shutting her in some damn box, period. It might traumatize her after what she went through tonight."

When he put it that way, Erika had no way to argue back. "I guess we could go the paper-training route." Then she added, "I'm ridiculously excited about this."

"So am I. But…"

"But?" she prodded.

"I think we're about to have our first puppy fight."

Erika frowned. "Already?"

"Yep." Blake glanced down at Corky. "Where is she sleeping tonight?"

Damn. He was right.

"Flip a coin?" she suggested, wondering if she could convince him to go best two out of three if she lost the first toss.

Blake shook his head, rising and leaving the room. Erika didn't bother to call out after him, cuddling with Corky instead.

When Blake returned, she realized he'd turned off all the lights in his living room. Grabbing a blanket from the top shelf of his closet, he switched off the bedroom light, the streetlamps and moon shining through the window allowing her to watch as he returned to the bed.

"Crawl under the covers, Erik," he said as he resumed the spot he'd just left, shaking out the blanket and throwing it over himself.

She didn't bother to argue, climbing under the duvet carefully, trying not to disturb Corky, who was happily sacked out between them.

"Good night," Blake murmured, his hand brushing hers as they both reached out to pet Corky.

"Good night," she whispered, closing her eyes, that feeling of loneliness, which never seemed to leave her alone, fading for the first time in a very long time.