Page 52 of Sexy Bad Neighbor

What I really want is to lose these clothes. All of them. I want to be skin on skin, touching every part of him, while he explores every inch of my body. I want to feel him all over me, inside me. Oh, how I want him inside me.

“Let’s get naked,” I mumble around our kiss while I begin working at the buttons on his shirt. He laughs and clamps his hand over mine.

“We’re in the vet’s office, Chloe. Not exactly the right place.”

A throat clearing from behind me makes me cringe. Reluctantly, I glance over my shoulder at the white-haired doctor holding a sedated and freshly bathed Spot in his arms. Her back left leg is wrapped in white plaster. The lady in scrubs who was in the room earlier is standing behind them, holding what dog and cat owners call a cone of shame, which I presume is for Spot. Poor kid.

I climb off Paynter’s lap, smooth my skirt and hair, sit down in my own chair with as much dignity as I can possibly muster, and force myself to look up at the older gentleman as if he hadn’t just caught us making out in one of his waiting rooms.

“Keep that up and you’ll end up making some human kids to keep this one company,” the vet pipes up before chuckling and placing Spot on the stainless steel examination table. Paynt snickers and I punch him in the arm.

“Okay, now that you’re composed, tell me something. How did you come about this goat?” the doctor asks.

I glance at Paynter. “Uh, she was wandering around in my backyard.”

He nods. “Do you live anywhere near the Gibraltar Goat Farm?”

“Gibraltar Goat Farm…” I repeat slowly, trying to place it in my head.

“Yeah,” Paynt says. “It’s across the lake from us. Probably ten, fifteen miles driving, but if she wandered through the fields and around the lake, it’s not too far.”

“How do you know that?” I ask him.

“I told you I was into goats when I was a kid. That farm always took a ton of ribbons and trophies at the 4H fair. They breed some pretty impressive animals.”

The vet nods again. “Including this one. They reported her missing about a week ago.”

My heart plummets to my feet. We have to give up Spot. I hate the idea. I feel like Spot may have brought us together, and I want her to be part of our family.

He extracts a business card from his pocket and offers it to Paynter and I. “I’ll let you call them.”

I stare at the card, embossed with the picture of a shaggy white goat. “What do goat farms do?”

“This one raises angora goats. Uses their coats to make clothing. They also produce milk and cheese. And occasionally, meat for dog food.”

“Meat for dog food?” I turn to Paynter, wide eyed.

“Relax,” he says, squeezing my shoulder. “She’s just a baby. They aren’t going to chop her up for dog food.”

They better not. Not my Spot.

Our Spot.

“Okay,” the vet says, motioning for us to join him at the stainless steel table. “Come on over here and let me explain what’s going to happen here. This little girl is going to need some T.L.C. over the next few weeks, and once the sedatives wear off, she’s probably not going to be too happy about it. Let me give you an idea of what you’re in for...”

Paynter and I both stand. I glance at him. He smiles. And then he grasps my hand, squeezing.

“We can handle this,” he says.

I hope he’s right.

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