Page 51 of Sexy Bad Neighbor

“So tell me what happened to her,” the vet says.

“I...”

“She was hit by a car. I don’t think the car was going very fast, though.”

Paynter’s covering for me.

The vet purses his lips and does some more poking and prodding, much to Spot’s annoyance. “I’d like to take her to the back for x-rays, see if there’s any internal damage, and to check out this leg. Then I’ll set the leg in a cast and let you know if I need to do anything else. Okay?”

“Sounds good,” Paynt says before I can, and then with a nod, the vet and his assistant both leave the room, taking my bleating goat with them.

Our goat.

“Why didn’t you let me admit I hit her?”

He shrugs and slouches lower in his chair. “Does it matter who hit her? To him, I mean?”

I guess not. I didn’t do it on purpose. The vet doesn’t have to fear animal cruelty. “How did she get out anyway?”

I’m surprised by Paynt’s blush. “The pen isn’t done, so I had her outside on a lead. I was running late to meet James and I forgot I left her out until I got to his office. The lead was a chain, so I thought she’d be okay. But I guess she figured out how to get out of her collar.”

“She certainly appears to be an escape artist. Our goat is Houdini.”

“She is. Our goat.”

Canting my head, I look at him and say, “Why does it sound like we’re talking like we’re a family?”

“Maybe because we are. Or at least I am. Because I think that’s what I want. You and me, taking care of Spot. Together.”

My heart pitter-patters. Is he saying what it sounds like he’s saying?

“But.”

Uh-oh. I hold my breath while he pauses.

“But first, I need you to be you. This thing I want, I want it with you. The real you, not the person you try to present to the world. I want the woman who hangs her laundry on the line, who’s comfortable walking around in sweats and her hair up in a ponytail. Or better yet, in my sweatshirt. God, you are sexy as fuck when you’re wearing my clothes.”

I lift my right leg. “I wore cheap boots today. That has to count for something, doesn’t it?”

“I’m not talking about your clothing choices, Chloe. I’m talking about your state of mind. You said you and that asshat were the couple Bernadette was trying to turn the two of us into, but I don’t think you were happy as that couple. Were you?”

Was I? I mean, before I knew Marcus was a backstabbing bastard, was I happy? “I think ... I think I got caught up in the dream. I wanted to be this ... this strong, powerful woman, and the only way I figured I could do it was through my career. So my entire life has been about my career. I’m not even sure I was in love with him in the first place. I think I was into the idea of being in love with someone who was just like me.”

“And are you happy?”

“With my career? Yes, actually.”

“Are you happy?” He drapes his arm across the back of the chairs and leans toward me, his eyes serious, his beautiful face pensive.

I know what he’s asking. Am I happy in general? Is my life complete? Or am I missing something? Something big.

“Like love.”

“Huh?” he says, confusion crawling across his face.

I turn my body toward him and reach out, grasping the lapels of his coat. “I am happy. But that’s because I met you. I’m happy in my career and my personal life. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before. Hell, I didn’t believe I could actually have both things, not after Marcus.”

His grin is slow and cocky, at least it is until I jerk him forward so that his lips crash into mine and his glasses get knocked askew. He’s a quick study, though. It takes him no time at all before one of his hands is tangled in my damp hair while the other slides along my hip to squeeze my ass. With our lips still locked, I climb into his lap, straddling him and the chair, stabbing my fingers through his hair, tilting my head, my tongue warring with his, while I grind against his erection like a sixteen-year-old who desperately wants to lose her virginity.

---