Page 35 of Ruff and Tumble

Hailey’s choices were much less illustrious. She chose the small dogs and the dogs with the most traumatic pasts. She went for personality over muscle, a cute pair of eyes over a solid pair of legs. In other words, she picked all the animals Cole had put on the bottom of his wish list, and she picked them without hesitation.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” he said after she snagged a curly poodle-looking thing whose weight was listed at all of four pounds. “What do you know that I don’t?”

She didn’t miss a beat. “How to win.”

Behind them, the cameras flashed. They had to have more than enough photos by now, but the spirit of the competition was infectious. He didn’t blame them for sticking around. Watching a beautiful woman confidently and unceasingly put Cole in his place had to be the most fun they’d had in ages.

He grinned his appreciation but didn’t allow himself to be distracted. “I’m serious.” He reached across the table and plucked the sheet of paper out of her hand. A quick scan told him nothing—she’d listed the puppies in numerical order and had so far gotten all the ones she wanted. “Did you pick these at random?”

She yanked the sheet back. “Of course not. I know what qualities to look for in an athlete, that’s all.”

“I warned you,” Penny said from her position at the drafting board. “You should see her fantasy lineup. She always seems to make her picks without any rhyme or reason. The guys in accounting have been trying to figure out her formula for years, but they can’t crack it. The only player she always gets for her first draw, no matter what, is—”

At a warning glance from Hailey, Penny stopped herself short, but it was too late. The color was mounting to Hailey’s cheeks, her conscience-stricken expression stripping away all the trappings of hair and makeup and that damnably appealing black outfit.

Cole leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “I like where this is going. Proceed.”

“Don’t,” Hailey told her coworker.

Penny laughed. “No offense, but I think he already knows.”

“I want to hear her say it,” Cole said. Thinking of the list in her hand, he added, “Or else I’m going to pick that lolly-tongued hairless puppy you plan to take after my turn.”

She sat up in her seat, the silver in her eyes sparking. “That’s cheating. You peeked at my list.”

“Admit it.”

“I won’t.”

“Say the words.”

“You can’t make me.”

“Fine.” Cole crossed her arms and nodded at Penny. “Lolly-tongued no-hair for me.”

Penny made a move to pin the picture of the puppy in question onto his side of the board, but Hailey stopped her with an exasperated sigh. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” she muttered. With a smile for the cameras, she adopted a syrupy voice and said, “I always pick Cole Bennett first for my fantasy team. In fact, I refuse to play without him. He’s my favorite Lumberjack, and he always has been. You might even call him my good-luck charm.”

Cole acknowledged the concession with a shout of laughter. Hailey had neatly—and sweetly—turned the tables on him. It was no more than he deserved and everything he’d been hoping to hear.

“There you have it,” he said. “I’m her favorite. Garrett is going to be so pissed.”

Mentioning Garrett was a mistake. The moment the wide receiver entered the conversation, the focus moved from puppies playing football to men playing football. Cole realized his error when a journalist from the local paper asked a question about one of the past weekend’s trickier plays. It would have been rude not to answer, but that was followed up with a few more about the starting lineup and strategies for this weekend’s game against Texas. Cole could practically see the situation slipping away from him.

Not that he was the least bit surprised. This sort of thingalwayshappened. It didn’t matter if he was out for dinner with a friend or shopping for furniture with his mom or even just going out to pick up a cup of coffee.

Football. Lumberjacks. He could spend the next fifty years living like a hermit on top of a mountain, and the first thing people would ask when he reentered society would be his opinion on the upcoming playoffs.

“Well, I think we’ve got all the puppies covered,” Hailey said the moment the barrage of questions had slowed to a trickle. She clapped her hands to prevent anyone from speaking out of turn. “I don’t mean to be rude, but we’re getting kicked out of this conference room in about five minutes. You can email any follow-up questions about the Puppy Cup directly to me, but all other media inquiries will have to go through the regular American Football Club channels.”

Cole watched as Hailey proceeded to clear the room with admirable efficiency. So far, his interactions with this woman had been more social than professional, usually with him doing his best to wheedle or charm something he wanted out of her. This thing he was witnessing now was of an entirely different composition. He wasn’t watching Hailey Lincoln blush her way out of a tight spot; he was watching a television production assistant with six years of experience handling the press. He was watching a woman on a deadline doing what was necessary to finish a project.

She looked capable and in control and, well, a lot like his sister.

“You’re really good at that,” Cole said as Hailey closed the door behind Penny and the rabble of journalists she was escorting to the elevators. “I had no idea.”

“What? That I can do my job?”

“No. That you aren’t just straightforward and mean to me. You put those journalists in their place in less time than it takes most people to blink.”