Page 3 of Claimed By the Goalie Alpha
But there'd been that moment in the park when Bailey had jumped on him and gotten mud all over his shirt. I'd expected fury. Instead he'd looked resigned, almost amused for half a second before his expression changed. I wanted to see that again, which was how I found myself timing my Friday route through the park.
The Storm had a home game tonight. If Renard was as ritualistic as he seemed—and what athlete wasn’t—maybe he'd be walking the same route. It was a guess, though probably a wrong one.
Was this weird? Definitely.
Was I doing it anyway? Obviously.
I had Bailey, Daisy and Cooper today, a manageable group that hopefully wouldn't turn into a complete fiasco. The park was busier than Wednesday, full of after-work joggers and a kids' soccer practice taking up the field near the entrance. I'd been telling myself I was just doing my job and if I happened to run into him, fine, no big deal.
Then I spotted him and my stomach decided it was a gymnast doing somersaults.
He walked with that same deliberate pace. He had earbuds in and a focused expression as if the park was an extension of whatever mental preparation was happening inside his head. Even from a distance I could see the tension in his broad shoulders and I wondered what it would take to make them drop.
Bailey saw him before I could redirect her and pulled straight toward him.
"Bailey, no." We were already close enough that he'd noticed us.
His stride faltered when he saw me. Something crossed his face—surprise? annoyance?—before smoothing into a neutral expression. He pulled out one earbud but didn't stop walking.
"Hi!" I tried for friendly and enthusiastic, which wasn't hard because seeing him again made my pulse speed up.
"Hi." He kept moving.
Bailey, bless her stubborn heart, trotted right up to him and sat at his feet, blocking the path completely. He looked down at her and after a moment's hesitation, crouched and scratched behind her ears.
I needed to stop staring at his hands.
"Big game tonight?" I asked, forcing my brain to form actual words.
"Yeah." He was still looking at Bailey.
"Playoffs are coming up, right? That must be exciting."
"It's important."
Okay, not a talker. That was fine. I could talk enough for both of us.
"I watched some of your highlights online. You're really good. That save against the Harborview Hunters last month, the one where you went sliding across the crease was amazing. I don't know much about hockey but even I could tell that was something."
His hand stilled on Bailey's head. "You watched that?"
"Yeah! The sliding thing?" I was definitely babbling now, but the way he was looking at me made it hard to stop.
"Thank you." The words sounded rusty, like he wasn't used to saying them.
Cooper lunged after a squirrel and nearly yanked me off my feet. When I looked back, Renard had angled his body, suggesting he was ready to bolt. But I didn't want him to leave.
"Do you visualize the saves while you're walking? Or is it more about clearing your head?"
He stared at me as though I was speaking another language. "Both."
"That makes sense. I do something similar before a difficult route, figure out which dogs need more exercise and which ones can't be near each other." I caught myself. "Sorry. I'm talking too much."
"Yes." But his mouth twitched as though he was holding back a grin. "I need to finish my walk."
"Right. Of course." I stepped back, pulling the dogs with me. "Good luck tonight."
He nodded and walked past me. Before I could think better of it, I called after him. "I'm Julian, by the way, in case you forgot from last time."
