Page 18 of Animal Instincts
Bingo barked, and wriggled.
“The cuts… Yes, the lacerations… They’re healing well.”
Oliver’s voice was too loud for the consulting room, which seemed to have shrunk making it too small, too hot, too airless.
“I’ll just re-bandage. Keep them on for a few days more, and the socks, just to be sure.”
Joss held still, looking down at Bingo and whispering words of encouragement to the little dog. Not that he needed any, as he appeared to be enjoying all the attention he was getting. Oliver all but stumbled back, and Joss looked down at Oliver’s handiwork, which was a little more rushed, and less pristine than it had been yesterday.
“Thank you. And despite what you said, I still feel I should pay your fee.”
Oliver shook his head. “No. Your help with the admin was more than enough.”
Joss shuffled from foot to foot as Oliver busied himself with tidying up and washing his hands.
I should go, Bingo’s been sorted…
There was no reason to hang around…
“I’d better go and let you have your dinner and get on with your evening.”
Oliver snorted. “Another frozen meal for one, and the telly.”
“Oh!”
The sour confession took Joss aback. He didn’t have much himself to look forward to this evening other than watching re-runs of Gran’s much loved cozy mysteries as they finished up the leftovers of yesterday’s dinner, but it was way better than what faced Oliver, who kept his head bowed as though appalled by his own admission.
“I’m sure you have something much more exciting ahead of you this evening, so please don’t let me keep you,” Oliver muttered.
Joss tipped his head to the side. The priest who was a part-time sleuth, Gran cackling that she could solve the crimes with her eyes closed, and left over pasta and bacon bake, which had been stodgy and claggy to begin with… Joss’ stomach let loose a long growl, in protest at what awaited him at home.
“Not really. Do you fancy getting something to eat at The Fisherman’s Arms? It’s pie night,” Joss blurted out.
“Pie night…?”
“Err… Yeah.”
Why would Oliver Strachan want to eat pie, chips, and peas with him in the pub? Oliver was staring at him as though he’d made some outlandish and possibly illegal suggestion.
“Sorry, just an idea—”
“It’s a lot more tempting than a frozen chicken madras that’s been in the back of the freezer for god knows how long. Are you sure?”
Joss was more than sure, and he answered with a nod.
Tempting…Maybe the warm feeling deep in his stomach wasn’t just about the pie, after all.
TWELVE
“If you’re after a table, you’re out of luck…”
The young barman at The Fisherman’s Arms scowled down at a paper diary and shook his head. He looked to be around Joss’ age, but that was where the similarity ended. As broad as he was tall, his muscled, tattoo-covered arms bulged from his T-shirt, and Oliver wondered if those muscles came in handy at the end of the night, when time was called.
Oliver leaned in towards Joss. “I’m sure we can get a table at—”
Oliver stumbled back as Joss thrust Bingo into his arms before he bustled tight up against the bar and leaned over. Any closer and he’d be crawling onto the other side.
Joss smiled up at the barman, his lips parting slightly. The young guy’s scowl fell away as his mouth curved up in an answering smile, and his eyes darkened as they dropped to gaze at Joss’ lips.
