Page 51 of The Flirty Vet

"The state?" Wilby wanders over to us. "Try the world, mate. This pie will blow your fucking tits off."

I groan. After the things I've seen this morning, I'm full up on my quota for gross visuals.

Mrs. Mangle rings up the order, and even though Muir and I both reach for our wallets, Wilby insists on paying.

Once we're back out in the stifling heat, Muir eyes the bag Wilby's holding, which contains the pies. "We could wait until we get to the clinic to eat them, or we can eat them now as we walk."

"Now!" Wilby and I reply in unison.

He chuckles as he hands me an individual-sized pie and a small tub of tomato sauce. "You holding up okay, mate?" he asks me. "You looked like you were going to pass out before."

I squirt some sauce on my pie. "Eat first, talk later." Then I shove half the thing into my mouth.

He barks out a laugh. "Go for it. I've got plenty to go around."

We stuff our faces as we walk down the block to the clinic. "Want to come in for the grand tour?" Wilby asks as we get closer.

"Sure." I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand to make myself presentable. "I'd love to."

We step inside into a small waiting room. It's empty. "Where is everyone?"

"Probably in a consult," Muir replies, and when he sees my eyes travel over to the empty reception desk he says, "No receptionist around here, mate. Times are tough. We all chip in answering the phone and dealing with customers."

"Right. And how are you with taking down messages?" I ask, looking at Wilby. "You're at, what, third grade level spelling?"

"Iammm," he says, grinning, playing along without missing a beat. "And today's word of the day is F. U. C. K. Do you know what that word means, Col, or would you like a demonstration?"

All the oxygen in the room gets sucked up.

"I, er, might take these pies into the staff room," Muir says, grabbing the bag off Wilby and racing down the hall.

"I might need a demonstration tonight," I whisper, even though we're alone.

"Oh, you'll get one. Or five."

We kiss, before Wilby slips his hand in mine and leads me down the same hallway Muir escaped us from.

"This is our boss's office," Wilby says quietly as he pushes the door open. "If he's short or dismissive, don't take it personally. He prefers animals to people, and is going through some shit."

A well-built, attractive guy, probably in his late thirties, is sitting behind the desk. He looks up as Wilby waltzes in. "What?"

Wilby plonks a small paper bag on his desk. "Picked you up a donut for a three o'clock pick-me-up. Tim Tam flavoured, natch."

The man smiles. "Thanks. Sorry, mate." He pushes away from his desk. "I'm up to my eyeballs in finance shit. I don't understand how we can be run off our feet and still be los–– You know what, forget it. It's not your problem."

He notices me standing awkwardly by the door and gets up. He walks over to me and shakes my hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm Linus Stevenson. You must be Col."

"I am. Good to meet you, Linus."

"We'll leave you to it. I'm just showing Col around the place. He tagged along with me and Muir this morning."

Linus blinks a few times, touching his temple. "Sorry, I'm just processing that. Someone actually wants to be in your company."

Wilby laughs. "Fuck you, boss."

And with that, we leave his office. Wilby's hand lands on my lower back as we head down the hallway when a guy in a koala bear onesie pops out of a room, scaring the shit out of me.

"Fitz," Wilby calls out, greeting the guy with a high five. "This is?—"

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