Page 38 of Enemies to Lovers

He nods, his lips pressed together as he thinks. His beard has grown over the last few months, but he trimmed his hair. It’s not an overgrown mess, but the perfect length to run my fingers through.

Ugh… shop talk. More shop talk.

I look at Brewster and attempt to unclip the leash as he frolics around Hershey. “I know we can’t do any tests here, but maybe a general exam?”

I pray he doesn’t ask me why I don’t examine Brewster myself. I don’t want to admit that my dog doesn’t like me. Miles furrows his brows at whatever expression I’m donning, and my prayers are answered.

“Good idea.” He pats his leg, and Hershey stands. “I’ve got a setup in the basement.”

He leads me through an open living room and kitchen area, and I adore the random, unmatching furniture. Like they were all brought in from a thrift store, that each sibling picked something out. A yellow jacket rests over the back of a faux leather chair and a pair of slippers sit in front of a microfiber loveseat. Blankets, folded and unfolded, cover certain spots, and an open laptop with a running screensaver of pictures sits on the gray ottoman.

“Are your sisters home?” I ask, hoping I’m not intruding on anything.

Miles leads me to a descending stairway just to the right of the kitchen. He shakes his head as we start down. “Sammie’s working, and Emerson is probably out with her friends.”

“They won’t mind Brewster, will they?”

He lets out a solid laugh, his hair moving freely with the action. No product in it today.

“I think he’ll mind them sooner. They’ll snuggle him to death.”

“Yeah… he is not a snuggler.” Much to my dismay.

The dogs bound down the steps, Hershey taking each one delicately while Brewster sounds like an oncoming train. I dodge him, but he runs solidly into Mile’s legs, making him stumble down the last couple steps to catch himself.

“Yeah, should’ve warned you about him and stairs,” I say through a grin. I’m a pro at dodging him now.

He laughs and gives Brewster a pat. “You like stairs, huh, boy? Not many of those at the shelter.”

“Loves them. The carpet on my stairway is so matted. You’d think he’d be used to it by now.”

Miles tilts his head. “He might be soaking them up while he can. He’s been returned a few times.”

My heart sinks, and I watch my troublemaker pant and bounce on his front legs, excitement barely contained. It is Miles? His scent? His presence?

Because I get it.

We round a corner, and I get a good look at a giant theater-style room. I pause and let my eyes drift over all the furniture, blankets, the projector…

“Wow. Is this where you guys… what’d you call it? Binge night?”

He pauses, the corner of his mouth turning upward. “Yeah. We just had one last night, so you’ll have to forgive the mess.”

“I love the mess.” It’s homey, lived in, friendly… and a surge of jealousy turns my insides green. A well-used notebook sits open on the beanbag chair, Miles’ handwriting adorning its pages. A vision of him resting in that chair tugs on my heartstrings.

Ugh, no. I rip my gaze away from the room, keeping my eyes on Brewster instead. I can’t get attached to anything Miles. I’m only here to get Brewster checked out.

Miles pushes his sleeves up, displaying the muscles in those damn forearms before twisting and leading me down the stretch of hallway to a room at the end.

The door is wide open, and I catch a mattress and stop dead in my tracks. “Are you taking me to your room?”

A flush of red fills the nape of his neck, and he throws a sheepish look over his shoulder. “Kinda. My bathroom. It has the largest counter…”

My shoulders relax. There is no romance in a bathroom. No romance in talking dog poop. No romance to be had, so my body won’t respond in all those traitorous ways.

“Perfect. Hopefully, he stays up there.”

“You bring the lobster?”

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