Page 9 of You and Me, For Real
The grimy dog lifts her head from the seat, and wrinkles appear on her forehead. A Pit-Boxer mix, I’m almost positive of it. Her tan fur is caked in dirt, masking her white chest. She’slying on a rumpled shirt, which is semi-wrapped around her hind leg.
“Hey, girl, let’s get you inside so I can take a look, okay?”
Her head tilts, and her floppy, point-tipped ears perk. I give her a scratch on the head.
“I’ll carry her inside for you.” The man reaches into the vehicle and hoists the dog in his arms like it’s nothing.
Guess those muscles aren’t just for looks.
“Son, we don’t have time for?—”
Topaz Eyes shuts the door with his hip, clipping off the man in the backseat. “Lead the way.”
The driver starts to follow us.
Muscles spins to the driver. “I’ll be fine. Can you park the car? It’ll just take a few minutes.”
The driver smirks but says, “Sure thing, boss,” in an accent distinctly Southern, then rounds the SUV to hop back into the driver’s seat.
We’re on the back side of the clinic—where I made my unfortunate exit earlier. Rather than making him carry the dog to the front, I lead him through the back door. My heart rate accelerates, thinking of the news cameras and the possibility of them still being here. Bringing in a celebrity will only complicate things.
“This way.” I enter the closest examination room, which also happens to be the farthest from the entrance where I last saw Lynn.
He heaves the dog onto the stainless-steel examination table. A button from his shirt pops off and skitters across the table. He smacks his hand on the table and clutches it. He clears his throat as if it’ll distract me from the wider expanse of skin now exposed near his pectorals.
Having a nearly shirtless man this uncomfortably close makes me blurt the first thing that comes to mind. “Did youaccidentally put your shirt in the dryer?” Well, that’soneway to address the elephant in the room.
His eyebrows rise as if to say, “Excuse me?”
“I mean, it’s happened to me before. You’re in a hurry, you throw it on. You don’t realize it’s shrunk until you’re already in your car and late.” Oh. My. Gosh.Please stop talking.
His eyes sparkle with delight. “That must be what happened.”
“You should probably fire your laundress.”
“That’d be my cousin.”
“Ouch. That’s too bad for them.”
He pinches the shirt. “Even more unfortunate is that this is actually a brand-new shirt—a gift.”
“The person who gave it to you didn’t realize you’re a full-grown man?”
He outright laughs.
What am I saying right now? Who is this person?
I scamper to the cabinets on the back wall and retrieve a basic cleaning and suture kit, along with a pair of latex gloves. Keeping my back to him, I say, “I didn’t catch your name, Mr.…”
I spin around, carrying the supplies, and bump directly into his solid chest.
Ooof. This man is a brick wall.
Supplies scatter to the floor. Reaching for the tools at the same time, our heads collide and we apologize in unison.
“I’m sorry?—”
“I’m so sorry?—”
