Page 53 of Tight End

Then I thought about how Brody was relying on me. He trusted me enough to ask for this favor. That was certainly a step forward compared to whatever flirty-friendly relationship we had before this.

And it meant I got to see where he lived.

I got off work at four and drove straight to his building. It was a tall, modern skyscraper covered with blue glass. I punched in the code to get in the front door, and then stepped into a very nice lobby with polished black floors and classical columns leading up to a vaulted ceiling.

There were a row of lockboxes to one side, next to the mailboxes. I found the one Brody had mentioned and punched in the code. Inside the lockbox was a brass key, a bag of freeze-dried lamb dog treats, and a note:

For taming the beast. Don’t give her more than thirty.

I couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. It sounded like the kind of joke Brody would make.

I got in the elevator. Brody lived in apartment 1401, so I thumbed the button for the fourteenth floor—which was also the top floor. The button lit up for a moment, then dimmed again. The elevator didn’t move.

Then I saw a message engraved above the buttons: key access for top three floors. There was a key hole next to it.

I stuck the key inside, turned it, and then pressed the button. This time it stayed lit up, and the elevator lurched to life.

I didn’t know what to expect from Brody’s place. This would be the first professional athlete apartment I had ever visited. But at the very least, I expected the elevator to open up to a hallway, which would then lead to a series of apartments.

Instead, it opened directly into a huge penthouse suite.

I stepped off the elevator and gawked at what I saw. Ten-foot ceilings and smooth marble floors. An airy living room filled with expensive leather furniture that faced the largest television I had ever seen in my life. Floor-to-ceiling windows that gave an eagle’s view of the sprawling city, and the Great Salt Lake beyond.

It was nicer than what I expected from the tight end from Texas.

Suddenly, there was a scraping of paws as a white blur came running into the living room. The husky slid cartoonishly as she tried to turn the corner around the couch, loped halfway toward me, and then skidded to a stop on the marble when she saw who I was.

She cocked her head and gave me a look that said: you’re not my owner.

“Hi, Luna!” I said enthusiastically.

She cocked her head to the other side and gazed at me with crystal blue eyes.

I reached into the bag of freeze-dried lamb treats. “Want a treat?”

That got her attention. She trotted forward and then sat on her haunches in front of me.

“Here you go!” I held out a treat in my palm.

She didn’t move.

“Don’t you want a treat?” I moved my hand closer, until it was brushing against her snout. She gazed at it cross-eyed, but still didn’t take it.

“Go on. You can have it.”

She sat very still, completely focused on the treat.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. “You’re weirding me out, okay?”

As soon as I said the word okay, she leaned forward and took the treat from my hand with the grace of a Victorian noblewoman at a ball. She munched it down, then jumped up and threw her paws over my shoulder and began licking my face.

“Nice to meet you, too!” I said with a laugh while pushing her away from my face. “Thank you, but I don’t need to taste your treat.”

When I said treat, she dropped down and rested on her back legs again, eager to get another piece of lamb.

I pulled a piece out and held it in front of her snout. Her nose twitched and her eyes widened, but she didn’t make a move toward it until I said the command word.

“Okay!”