Page 48 of Enemies to Lovers

I run a hand over my chin. “It was getting long.”

She doesn’t comment further, casting her attention on the computer. I see lab results pulled up.

“You test the sample already?”

She nods. “No parasites or signs of shigella or salmonella or e coli…”

“Then why the frown?” I tease, leaning over her to scroll through the results. She sucks in a breath but doesn’t move away.

“I’m… Well, I still don’t have an answer. Other than Brewster just doesn’t like me.”

I give her a look. “That pup loves you.”

“He loves everyonebutme. He cuddled with Logan last night on the couch. Logan is the least cuddly person in the world, and he just padded his way over and jumped in his lap.” She makes a face at the screen. “Damn picky pup.”

The pull of her lips gets me. I remember praying for a day I’d see her frustrated or flustered. I wished to see her fail. I’m disgusted by those thoughts now that I know her better, have seen the many different sides of her.

Her frustration tugs at an emotion that isn’t exactly unpleasant… She’s so good at being vulnerable, and I want to learn from her, be like that with her.

My hand slips from the mouse, and I hold on to the edge of the table with only my thumb, keeping my nails from reaching for my face. “Uh… Val? You think we could—”

The door to the lab swings open, banging against the wall. A girl, maybe sixteen, seventeen, rushes in, holding a giant ball of white fluff in her arms. “They… they told me to come here,” she stammers to Professor Clark and Dr. Goff. Val straightens next to me, and recognition hits me.

“That’s the cat—”

“Mr. Chonk,” Val says. She named the obese stray when we worked on him a few weeks ago. We hurry around our station and meet up with the girl at the front.

“He’s drooling a lot,” she says, worry evident in her voice as she hands Mr. Chonk to Val. “I found him vomiting outside the Starbucks. The owner told me to take him here…”

I push back the fur covering Mr. Chonk’s eyes. Water has crusted and gathered in the corners, and drool dribbles from his chops. He hangs limply in Val’s arms, but there’s life in him.

I look at Dr. Goff, and he nods, giving the go-ahead to treat. Val’s fingers press against the stomach as she holds him, and she meets my eyes.

“Theobromine?”

“Possible.” I turn to the girl. “You found him outside Starbucks. Was there any food left out there?”

She lifts a shoulder, tears welling in her eyes. “Maybe. I… I mean, the outside seating can be a mess, and he was hanging around there.”

Val gives the girl a sweet smile and sets a hand on her arm. “Thank you for bringing him in. It’s very thoughtful of you.”

“He was so… I mean…” Her breath hitches, and she reaches to stroke the cat. “Will he be okay?”

Promises are hard to make, especially without an official diagnosis. I’ve run over this scenario many times, but this is the first I’ve dealt with the “parent” of a pet. Even though Mr. Chonk is a stray, it’s easy to see this girl is attached.

“We’re going to run some tests and treat him as best we can,” I say, hoping my bedside manner is up to par. Not just for Dr. Goff, Professor Clark, or even this girl. I have to admit, I want Val to have a good partner on her side, because I know she’s a stellar one for me.

We take the cat to the station while Professor Clark offers to take the girl out for a drink or something. Dr. Goff observes from a distance that says he’s not going to take control, but he’ll be there if things go south. I respect that a lot, and I swallow hard, hoping my anxiety doesn’t rear its ugly head.

Val gently settles Mr. Chonk on the exam table, and I check his pulse.

“Two-twenty,” I tell Val, and there’s a slight curve in her lips that tells me it concerns her, but it disappears quickly. Another thing she’s so good at—I wear my emotions on my sleeve, but she knows when to express them. And right now, she’s in treatment mode.

She examines his eyes, cleaning the crusted tears with a tissue. He lets out a low mewl, deep and slow. I collect some drool for a test, and she takes his blood. He’s a subdued patient—a complete one-eighty from his previous exam.

“Inflammation here,” Val says, running her hand along the underside of Mr. Chonk’s neck.

“From the vomiting?”

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