Page 68 of If Love Had A Manual

But I’ll take it.

“Great because he’s not staying here.”

I hold the dog a little closer. “Obviously. I wasn’t going to—”

“Lena.” His voice drops. It’s that low, gravelly dad register he’s gotten really good at.

I glance up and there it is. That stare. That accusing, slightly amused, gorgeous bastard stare.

“You’re already attached.”

“I am not.”

“You’re holding him like he’s your child.”

Okay. Fine. He’s got a point.

Before I can make my case, the puppy scrambles up my chest and heads straight for my shoulder, only to get his claws hopelessly tangled in my hair.

“Ouch,” I hiss, scrambling to dislodge him while keeping hold of his squirming butt.

With a frustrated sigh, Wes steps forward and gently untangles the puppy’s claws from my curls. His fingers brush my shoulder before he tucks my hair back as if he’s done it a thousand times.

Realizing what he has done, and likely aware that we’re making physical contact that feels a touch too intimate, he freezes.

And then I freeze.

His gaze drops to my mouth and lingers there. My breath forgets how to function, and my knees whisper, “We’re done here, babe,” and threaten to give out.

His fingers graze my collarbone, and time just stops.

My brain:What is happening?

My ovaries:We have notes.

Forcing my soul back into my body, I clear my throat and take a tiny step backward. “Look, it’s not like I’m keeping him. I’m just helping him out.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re being judgy.”

“I’m being realistic.”

He’s probably right, but I can’t help how my chest softens when the puppy snuggles into me. Or the fact that Wes is still standing stupidly close, and I can smell whatever shower gel he used this morning.

“Fine. Take him to the vet. But if he pisses on my floor, you’re cleaning it.”

I can’t help the grin that forms on my face. “You’re such a softie.”

“Lena,” he warns, voice stern.

As if that ever works on me.

“You pet him.”

“That was an accident.”

Oh, this is just too easy.

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