Chasing Stanley (8 page)

Jason frowned. “Whatever.” The last thing he felt like talking about tonight was Eric—unless, of course, they cared to point out how he'd nailed his brother's ass out on the ice tonight. That would be okay.

“He's older than you, right?” queried Thad.

Jason clenched his jaw. “By three minutes.”

“You guys are twins?” Barry looked confused. “You don't look alike.”

“Not all twins are identical.”

“I always thought they were.”

“You also think Don Cherry's a sharp dresser,” Thad pointed out. Barry replied with a one-fingered salute.

Drinking with his teammates, time seemed to come unbound. Jason was completely in the moment—until Barry Fontaine stood up and announced he was leaving.

“I'm afraid I have to call it a night, guys. The wife is waiting at home, and she'll kill me if I get in too late.”

That's when Jason realized: He'd forgotten about Stanley.

 

 

Delilah associated Starbucks
with three things: cinnamon scones, café mocha, and Marcus. She was unprepared, therefore, when Jason hustled through the door and made a beeline straight for their table.

“Delilah.” He was panting lightly. “I'm so glad I found you.”

Delilah put down her fork. “What's wrong with Stanley?”

“Nothing. I mean, not really. But I need your help. Hi,” he said to Marcus, extending his hand. “I'm Jason.”

“Oh, I know who you are,” Marcus replied, returning the handshake. “I've heard all about you.” He sipped demurely at his coffee. “About your dog, I mean.” His clarification was the only thing stopping Delilah from sliding beneath the table and slithering away in mortification.

“I'm Marcus,” he continued. “C'mon, park your carc. I'd scootch over to make room for you next to me, but I've got some personal space issues. It's a dancer thing.”

Marcus winked at Delilah, who kicked him as discreetly as she could before making room for Jason, who looked desperate.

“I know you don't want to set up a formal schedule to walk Stan until he's fully trained,” he said to Delilah. “But I need your help
now
. Last night was the Blades' home opener, and by the time I got home, Stanley had had an accident—totally my fault, not his. I don't want that to happen again. I need someone to take him out on the nights I'm playing.”

“Someone?” Marcus sniffed.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Okay, Delilah. I need Delilah.”

Delilah pushed pieces of scone around her plate. Now that Jason was here, she was no longer hungry. It was hard to eat when your heart was going crazy in your chest. “I don't understand. Don't hockey games last just a few hours?”

“Yeah, but there's more than time spent out on the ice. We usually get to Met Gar early to work on our skates and sticks, and then we warm up and skate. Then after the game we have to shower, and—”

“I get the picture.”

“Not me. I need to hear more about the shower,” said Marcus. Delilah gave him another small kick under the table.

Delilah turned to Jason. She was determined to keep focused, making sure her sentences were straightforward and simple so she didn't turn into Babbling Brook or Betsy Blurt and embarrass herself. “When you have a game, what time do you leave Stanley, and what time do you come home?”

“Well, in Minneapolis, I would usually leave my place any time between three and four, and I'd get home whenever.” His gaze darted away.

“Whenever,” Marcus repeated with a purr. “Now there's a nice vague phrase.” A look passed between the two men. Delilah was unsure whether Jason was amused or annoyed.

“You walk him before you go to Met Gar?” she continued, trying to piece together a timeline in her mind. Jason nodded.

“So, you'd want me to come by and walk him at what—eight? Nine?”

“Between nine and ten would probably be good.”

“Mmm.” Delilah snuck a sideways glance at him. He looked tired; his face was slightly drawn, and there was the faint beginnings of bags beneath his eyes. Still, he exuded a certain masculine vitality even at this early hour. Delilah wondered if that was true of all athletes, or if it was something unique to Jason. She'd ask Marcus after Jason left. If anyone would have an opinion on the matter, it would be Marcus.

A thought struck Delilah. “How did you manage to come home ‘whenever' when you had home games in Minnesota?”

“I had a doggie door in my house. He could go in and out as he pleased.”

“I would
kill
to see a doggie door big enough for a Newf,” Marcus chortled.

Jason chuckled in response, but there was no mistaking the continuing appeal in his eyes as he looked at Delilah.

“Can you help me out? Please?”

Delilah sighed. “Here's the thing.”
You're sitting so close to me that our legs are touching and I'm having a hard time concentrating.
“The only dogs I walk at night are those boarding with me, as well as my own, obviously.”

“But couldn't you make an exception? I'd pay you double. Triple. Whatever you want.”

“Let me think.” Delilah suppressed a yelp as the toe of Marcus's sneaker connected firmly with her shin.

“Oh, c'mon, Lilah, you can do it,” Marcus urged. “You're always at home at night anyway.” Delilah glared at him. “What I mean is, Delilah can be a bit of homebody,” Marcus quickly amended, flashing Jason a very charming smile. “I didn't mean to make it sound like she doesn't have a life.”
Even though you don't
, Marcus's expression said as he sucked in his cheeks disparagingly.

“Delilah, I'm begging.” Jason's gaze remained riveted to her face. Delilah felt her pulse stutter. His eyes were gorgeous, especially right now as they pleaded with her. Delilah wondered how many other women had fallen prey to their charm.

Delilah broke eye contact. “Okay, here's the deal,” she said, taking a sip of coffee. “I'll do it as long as it's not every night.”

“It's not! Only on game nights.”

“Only on game nights during the week,” Delilah amended for him. “Weekends are out unless he's boarding with me. I do have a life, you know.” She shot Marcus a pointed look. Marcus pressed his lips together. Delilah could tell he was suppressing a snort.

Jason frowned. “Maybe we could negotiate something if it happens to be a weekend and you're free.”

“Maybe,” said Delilah, wondering if this was what her mother meant when she would say, “Make him chase you.” If she had a bag of kibble for every time she'd heard that, she'd never have to buy dog food again.

“So, it's a go?” Jason pressed.

“Sure. Obviously I'll need a key to your apartment, your game schedule, and a number where I can reach you in case of emergency.”

“No problem. Thanks so much.” Jason gave her leg an affectionate squeeze, and Delilah nearly rocketed to the ceiling. “I can't thank you enough. Seriously.”

Delilah just nodded. Her mind was still back at his touch.

Jason cocked his head quizzically. “How much money—?”

“We'll work that out.”

Jason checked his watch. “Shoot, I have to run to practice.” He smiled at Delilah. “I'll call you later, and we can iron out the details, okay?”

“Sounds good.”

“Catch you later.” He headed toward the door.

“Have you been practicing with Stanley?” Delilah called after him.

Jason flashed a grin over his shoulder. “Of course. What do you think I am?”

He pushed open the door and was gone.

 

 

“What a good
boy you are!”

Delilah was praising Stanley, but it was Jason who was feeling the pride. They'd just finished their latest training session, and Stanley had exceeded expectations. Not only had he behaved like a perfect gentleman on his leash all the way over to Central Park, but with the help of Delilah's ever-present hot dog chunks, he'd also mastered a variety of new commands. Jason had always known Stanley was bright; it was gratifying to see Delilah thought so, too.

“Want to sit down?” Jason asked. Delilah nodded, following him and Stanley to a nearby bench. Jason couldn't believe how busy the park was, even on a weekday. There were couples strolling, bladers, cyclists, and joggers galore. People were stretched out on the grass reading; others practiced tai chi. Jason loved it; he could sit on the bench all day just people-watching and never get bored.

“Hi, Captain Wiggles.”

Delilah's voice rang out as she waved to an elderly woman in a blue cape walking a decrepit Dalmation. The woman squinted a moment before waving back at Delilah. Jason turned to Delilah.

“She named her dog
Captain Wiggles
?”

“Oh, and Stanley's a more dignified name?”

Jason drew himself up indignantly. “Hey, don't make fun of the name Stanley. It's sacred!”

Delilah looked amused as she pushed a stray lock of hair off her face. “Why's that?”

“He's named after the Stanley Cup, the greatest trophy in sports.”

Delilah scratched behind Stanley's ear. “No offense, but it's a total
schlemiel
name.” She leaned over to kiss the dog's head. “It's okay, boy,” she said to him. “It's not your fault.”

“What the hell is a
schlemiel
?”

“A loser,” Delilah explained.

Before Jason could counter, a dumpy middle-aged couple in matching maroon track suits strolled by, walking what looked to him like two bug-eyed rodents.

“Hi, Mercutio!” trilled Delilah. “Hi, Macbeth!”

The couple stopped in front of the bench. “Hello,” they greeted Delilah warmly. “Where's the three babies today?” the man asked.

“Home. I'm actually winding up a private lesson right now.” Delilah patted Stanley's head. “This is Stanley.”

The woman recoiled. “He's awfully big. And drooly,” she added, staring in disgust at Stan's moist, sagging jowls.

Jason scowled. Who the hell was she to be repulsed by Stanley when she had a belly the size of a Butterball turkey and was parading around in public with a rat on a leash? He opened his mouth to protest but then thought better of it, not wanting to embarrass Delilah in front of her “friends.” He settled for a quick glare as he pulled a hankie from his pocket and restored Stan's dignity.

“We've got to run,” said the man, pushing his slipping sunglasses back up on his bulbous nose. “The kids here are invited to a birthday party, and we don't want to be late.”

“Have fun,” Delilah called after them as they continued on their way. Jason couldn't wait for them to be out of earshot.

“A
birthday
party? For
dogs
?”

Delilah shuddered. “I know.”

“What do they do? Play pin the tail on the boxer?”

“You got me. I haven't been to a birthday party since my Bat Mitzvah.”

“What kind of dogs were those?”

“Italian greyhounds.”

“Stanley shits bigger than that!”

Delilah laughed. What a light and pleasant sound it was. Jason had once had a girlfriend whose laugh sounded like a horse. Eric's nickname for her was Mr. Ed.

“Nice of you to introduce Stanley to your friends and not me,” Jason ribbed.

“Oh.” Pink rushed to Delilah's cheeks. “I'm so sorry. I didn't think they'd stop and then when they did and asked about my dogs I had to be polite and besides I don't really know their names plus—”

“It's okay. You don't need to apologize. It's obvious you like Stanley more than you like me.”

Delilah smile was shy. “That's not true.”

Jason saw an in and smiled back at her, ready to ask her out. That's when Stanley burped. So much for seizing the moment.

“You seem to know a lot of people,” Jason observed in an attempt to restart conversation.

“I know their dogs. Not them. I don't know many humans. Who aren't clients, I mean.”

Stanley started pawing at Jason's knee insistently in a none too subtle bid for affection. “You're very demanding today, Stan,” Jason noted as he leaned forward to scratch the dog's back.

“Well, he worked very hard,” said Delilah. “He deserves extra TLC.”

“Anything new with Mr. and Mrs. Beelzebub?” Ever since Delilah told him she had clients who were Satanists, Jason found himself checking out every couple strolling the neighborhood, wondering:
Is it them?

“Not really.”

“And the Andy Griffith fan?”

Delilah considered the question. “Well, I did notice he has the whole first season of
Matlock
on DVD. The case was lying on his coffee table.”

“I bet you could write a book. Or do some heavy duty blackmailing if you wanted to.”

“I suppose. Marcus suggested it once when the Devil couple were behind on their account, but I just couldn't do it. I mean, suppose they were just going through a rough patch?”

Jason chuckled to himself. Delilah seemed completely without guile, the type of person who actually believed politicians, or found herself shocked to hear bad things happened in the world. It was refreshing.

He stopped scratching Stanley, stretching his arms out along the back of the bench. Tilting his head back, he closed his eyes, the better to enjoy the breeze playing over his face. “Have you had a chance to look at my schedule?”

“Yes. I can walk Stanley tomorrow night and next Monday night. But not next Tuesday.”