In Your Wildest Dreams (Wildcat Hockey, #4)(23)

“Hi,” I say as I lean down. I glance up at the guy. “Is it okay if I pet her?”

“Yeah.” He smiles. “She must like you. She doesn’t usually go to strangers.”

I slide my fingers through her short, tan coat. “I like her too.”

I scratch around her green collar and twist it to read her name, “Pretty Girl.”

Standing to his full height, the guy looks embarrassed as he says, “She was my grandmother’s dog. I didn’t name her.”

Laughing softly, I coo at the dog. “Hi, Pretty Girl.”

When I look back up, the guy is watching me instead of the dog. I sit straighter. “Thanks for letting me say hi to her.”

“Any time. We were about to grab coffee and walk around the park. Would you want to join us?”

My gaze drops from his face to his green sweatshirt. A Wildcat sweatshirt. My thoughts instantly go to Ash, just as they have more times than I’d like to admit since we said goodbye in the hospital parking lot.

“I was just about to head out.” I give the dog one more scratch, then stand. “Enjoy your Saturday. Bye, Pretty Girl.”

When I get back home, I’m relieved to see they’re done painting the guesthouse, but it’s a short-lived relief when Ms. Cole comes out of the back door, waving and calling my name.

“Morning, Ms. Cole.”

“Morning! Morning!” She’s all smiles in her yoga pants and oversized T-shirt. “I’m glad I caught you. I’m so sorry about all the noise this week. My realtor wants everything in tip-top shape as soon as possible so she can take photos for the listing.”

“It’s okay,” I reply, even as a yawn breaks free.

“Have you found a new place yet?” she asks in a hopeful tone. I know she feels at least a little bad about giving me the boot. Not bad enough to throw away her plans to sell and move to Florida, but normal, decent-human twinges of remorse.

“No. Not yet.” I try my best to match her hopefulness, but I’m certain I fail when her smile falls into a pitying frown.

“If there’s anything I can do, let me know. I can write a referral or ask my realtor if she knows of any one-bedroom rentals.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it, but I’m sure something will come up.”

She nods. “Okay. Let me know if you change your mind. And don’t forget that on Monday they’ll be coming by to get photos of the guesthouse.”

“Got it.” With one hand in the air in a wave, I hurry back to my guesthouse. Or at least it’s mine for a few more weeks.

Shutting the door, I lean my back against it and blow out a breath. Looks like I’ll be spending the rest of my day searching classifieds.

I grab my backpack and take it to the couch. Sitting cross-legged, I pull out my laptop and open it up. Nothing new has posted since the last time I searched so I go through the same few options. They’re either way out of my price range or too far away from campus. Beggars can’t be choosers at this point though. Looks like I’ll be commuting in every day.

I unzip the front pocket of my backpack and dig around for a pen and paper to write down the contact information for the properties. A piece of paper flies out with the pen. I unfold it and stare at Ash’s handwriting.

I’m not sure I believe in fate, but if I did, I’d say the universe is telling me there’s another option. That or the universe thinks I’m an idiot for not agreeing to go out with him. Touché, universe.





9





A GOOD FEELING


BRIDGET





After two days of texting back and forth with Everly, I’m mostly certain of two things.

I’m not texting with Ash. I know, that may seem obvious, but it did occur to me that maybe he just gave me two different numbers for him and was gonna be like “Surprise! You can sleep in my bed.” Cue, total ick. But it isn’t him. Or at least I’m ninety-nine percent Everly is real.

Ash didn’t lie. She’s nice. Or at least polite via text.



The paper that Ash gave me with Everly’s name and phone number is folded up and tucked into the back pocket of my jeans as I walk up to the adorable little yellow house.

The homes on either side are cute, but more rundown. Typical college housing, but this one looks brand new. The landscaping is meticulous with small plants and fresh mulch. It isn’t anything I would have recognized before, but it has the same look as Ms. Cole’s newly landscaped backyard.

Two steps lead up to a cute little porch that spans the entire front of the house with a white railing and two navy rocking chairs with a small side table between them. It’s like something off the home improvement channels my mother watches.

I’m certain I’ve written down the address wrong when a girl with blonde hair and a huge smile steps out onto the porch. The screen door slams behind her.

“Hi!” Her voice is more tentative than the expression on her face. “Are you Bridget?”

“Yeah. And you must be Everly.”

“That’s me.” She hooks her thumbs into the back pockets of her jeans. “Ash said you were pretty.”

I open my mouth, then close it.

“Sorry.” She scrunches up her face. “That was super weird. Forget I said that. Come in. Grace will be here soon. She had a study group on campus.”