Page 2 of Just the Tipsy
A middle-aged man who looks to be waiting for his pet adjacent to where she’s sitting smiles at me, catching my attention. I blink back at him.
“Are you Miss Gloria’s niece?” the man asks.
“Yes?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Ah, I thought so.” His smile stays on his face. “I knew Dr. Stryker was caring for her dog after she passed away, but I didn’t realize her family had come into town. Sorry for your loss. She was a sweet lady. We always saw each other around town.”
“Thank you.”
This town must be really small for this guy to know all of that. The guilt of only keeping in touch with her on the phone around Christmas or her birthday starts creeping in again. This stranger probably knows more about her than I do.
“Her dog is a good dog too,” he says. “Very sweet. Used to be with Gloria all the time.”
I just nod. I forgot how to have small talk like a normal person. It’s not like people in LA or any of the other cities I regularly go to are itching to talk. In New York if a stranger started talking to me, I’d assume the worst.
But this man seems like he genuinely cares.
A few moments later, a warm, masculine laugh floats from the hallway, followed by the sound of a dog scrambling on the tile floor. Eventually a dog with a cone around his neck appears first, followed by the man who laughed.
As cute as the dog is, my eyes go straight to the man. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, with a thick muscular build. The kind of body that’s naturally strong-looking. His dark hair is slightly curly, falling into his forehead.
I’ve seen a lot of hot men, to the point where I’m desensitized to them. But this man is breaking right through and hitting a nerve I didn’t know was exposed.
The man who was sitting without a pet hops up and reaches out for the dog, who can’t decide whether to pay attention to the man or her owner.
“She did really well,” the man in scrubs says, squatting down to the dog’s level. The dog tries to lick his face, but she can’t reach with the cone.
He scratches the dog’s backside as he gives the owner instructions, getting whipped with her tail. If I were a dog, I’d be wary of a nurse or a vet, but this dog seems to love him. He gives the dog a few more pets before the dog and owner head out.
He finally notices me gawking at him and blinks, like he’s a little stunned. My whole body heats up like I’ve never made a man stop and stare at me. Then again, I usually don’t feel just as stunned looking back at the man, though.
“Hi, are you Bianca?” he asks. I nod and he gives me a polite smile, his cheeks flushed. “I’m Waylon — Dr. Stryker. I’m guessing you’re here for Sadie.”
“Yeah, hi.” I stand up. He’s a lot younger than I expected, maybe four or five years older than me.
“Great — let me run to the back and get her. Then we can chat about her care.”
He disappears, then soon rounds the corner with a small, fluffy dog in his hands and some papers under his arm.
“Let’s go in here,” he says, nodding to an empty exam room.
He lets me go first, then steps inside and shuts the door. Being in this small room with him makes me realize just how tall he is. I’m 5’11” and he’s several inches taller than me — maybe 6’4” or 6’5”.
I never feel self-conscious around men, unless they’re responsible for booking me for a show or a campaign, but now I’m way too aware of everything about myself. Especially my expression. If I plaster on a smile, I look like I want to commit murder. But if I default to my regular expression, he’ll probably think I hate him for no reason.
Usually I don’t particularly care if men like me, but with him, I do.
“This is Sadie,” Waylon says, putting her on the table.
Sadie is adorable — a Pomeranian, with cute little fox-like features. Her tawny brown fur is trimmed a little shorter than what I’ve seen Pomeranians with in the past.
My hands start to sweat for literally no reason. What is Sadie going to do? Bite me for fun? I put a finger out and she eagerly sniffs it, her tail wagging.
“Hi, Sadie,” I say, petting her between her ears. Waylon pets her too.
“She’s an easy dog,” he says. “Really friendly and likes other dogs. You can pretty much bring her wherever you want, as long as she’s allowed. I have all her stuff in my trunk.”
Sadie turns and I notice her butt is pretty hairless, stopping a little way up her tail and halfway down her legs. “Is she okay? She’s missing fur here.”
