11. Strategic Dachshund

Hollis

Modesty is not in my nature.

But manners are and when a lady is covering her eyes with her hand, white wine splashing out of the glass in her other hand, and chanting, "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," it's time to do the gentlemanly thing and cover up the goods.

Trouble is my clothes are on the other side of the porch, and there's no towel nearby. Improvising, I scoop up the barking beast and use the dog as my fig leaf.

"I had no idea someone was here," I sputter as Donut stands guard in front of my dick, squirming in my hands, while some kind of pop anthem plays low in the background.

Blinking, Briar lowers her head, peering cautiously through her fingers. "Are you using my dog as a censorship tail?"

Well, yeah. And even though it's asked more with curiosity than accusation, I don't want to sully her dog's innocence. "I can put her down."

"No, it's fine," Briar says, waving that off. "She's not weirded out by nudity."

"Good to know."

"I'm not either."

That's also good to know. But I'm a little afraid to move.

Briar and I are definitely friends. We got along well when she worked for the Golden State Foxes last year. We hung out often as part of a bigger group. We partnered up in Ping-Pong some nights with the crew at Sticks and Stones. Played pool there, too, with our friends. But I haven't seen much of her since she was hired away to the rival team and then started dating that cactus of a man.

So I'm just not sure what my next move is. Set down the dog censor and pull up a chair? Or pull up a chair and put down the pup?

"I just wasn't expecting anyone," she adds.

"I wasn't either."

"I gathered as much."

The silence extends awkwardly for a few beats as the stars wink in the sky, the hot tub bubbles, and the wiggly little dog in my hands stares curiously up at me as if she's asking, "How long are we really going to do this?"

Briar breaks the awkward moment, asking, "Would you like to wear something besides my dog?"

I laugh awkwardly, then look down at the strategically placed Dachshund. "Probably a good idea."

But I'm not about to ask her to riffle through my bag for my swim shorts. Only, I don't have to since Briar's a problem solver, crossing the deck to the lounge chair, grabbing a towel, then advancing toward me, eyes up the entire time. She's staring straight at my face, like she's walking a tightrope and my nose is the spot on the wall she uses for balance.

Damn, that's cute the way she's trying to make sure she doesn't inadvertently check out my dick. Something about her consideration warms my heart. I feel bad that I accosted my friend with accidental nudity, but I also seriously appreciate that she's giving me the same respect I'd give her. That's just…unexpectedly hot.

Even though I probably shouldn't think of her that way. She works for our rivals.

It was one thing to flirt when she was on the same team as me last year. But now that she's on board with the enemy? That might not sit well with fans.

When she reaches me, her lips curve up and she holds the towel high, letting it dangle between us like a declaration that says see? I'm a lady. "And how would you like to do the trade-off?" she asks, still staring pinpoint straight at me, lips twitching, fighting off a grin.

That's more like it. I'm on familiar terrain now—teasing territory. "You want to close your eyes on a count of three?"

"I swear I won't peek," she says, then closes her eyes, almost defiantly, jutting out her chin, comically squeezing them shut, and waving the towel blindly at me.

"If you insist on decorum," I say, setting down the helpful dog with a pat on the head and a good girl.

I take the terry cloth, hook it around my waist, and stage whisper, "I'm decent now."

Briar opens her eyes, stares me up and down, and gives a crisp nod. "A little more than decent."

Did someone just compliment my abs? My chest? My arms? Well, thank you very much. But there's no time to revel in it since Donut is shouting at me. It's sort of half dog greeting, half canine question, and the question is what the fuck are you doing here? I kneel and stroke her head. "How are you doing, cutie? You were very helpful."

She's bouncing on her back legs now, tongue lolling, saying a hearty hello with no more questions. "I guess she's not annoyed I used her as a shield."

"Well, she is a wiener dog."

I snort-laugh.

Briar smiles, then takes a deep breath of the cooling night air. Her smile vanishes as she says, "Want to tell me why you're standing naked at my hot tub of contemplation?"

I glance down at the glass of wine in her hand. "Does that mean you were drinking a cup of regret?"

"You could say that."

That's no good. "Regret is best not drunk alone."

"True, but…"

She's waiting for a real answer. She deserves one. But I have no idea why she's here either.

I point to the tempting tub that I really want to be in right now. But I feel a little like a schmuck when I take a good look around at the open bottle of wine, the phone on the table, the towels on chairs, the wet purple bikini on her. Seems she's been staying here, and I do not want to be the kind of guy that just horns in on a woman's place. "Because I'm pretty sure your hot tub of contemplation is…is my hot tub of relaxation." With an apologetic sigh, I add, "The festival organizer sent me the info for this rental. They're the ones who booked it."

Her expression looks pained at first, then she shutters that down, like she's putting on armor. "No, this is the rental I booked," she says, tough, like she needs to protect herself.

From shitty men, probably. I do not want to be one of them.

"I could have the info wrong," I say and then pad to the pile of pants I shed minutes ago, fish out my phone from the pocket, and click over to my email, showing her one from Kailani that has the address. It matches this home. "Pretty sure this is 303 Dogwood Lane."

Briar's jaw tightens and ticks as she reads. A hard, frustrated breath comes next, then she spins around, grabs her phone and swipes across the screen.

I try not to stare at the trim, toned muscles in her legs and arms. But she's strong and athletic, a woman who uses her body for work, and that's hard to look away from. She reads out loud from her screen. "I can get you into another rental a week early. 303 Dogwood Lane." Briar drops her head, groans, and lets out a terrible sigh. She looks up and meets my face. "She must have accidentally booked me into your rental a week early, not realizing it was booked for this week too. I'll just check with her tomorrow and see if she has another one for the week." Stoic, chin raised, she adds, "I'll grab my things."

Hold on. "It's past eleven. Where would you even go?" I ask, a little shocked.

There's a crease in her brow and sadness in her shoulders. But she seems to shake it all off. This is a woman who doesn't let shit get her down. "My dad's not far away. He's about a half hour from here. I'll just go there. It's not a big deal."

That is not okay. "No."

"What?"

"Just no," I say decisively, my tone brooking no argument.

"What do you mean just no?"

"You don't need to leave. It was a mistake. That doesn't make it more mine than yours. I can get a hotel."

She scoffs. "There aren't going to be any available, Hollis. Everything is booked."

She has a good point there.

Scratching my head, I stare at the hot tub for a few beats. Tendrils of steam wrap around me. That bottle of wine looks good too. It's late, and we're both adults. "Let's sort it out tomorrow. For tonight, wanna share?"