Page 18 of Midnight Mate
Ever since Bayne had opened his eyes this morning, Clint had been fighting a losing battle with his thirst. At home was bad enough, but at the clinic? Professional disaster. Every time Bayne’s arm brushed his while reaching for something, or when he caught that wild, earthy scent, Clint’s focus shattered.
He’d never fallen this hard, this fast. Last night he’d been a vet trying to save a massive wolf. Today he was finding excuses to reorganize supplies just to keep his hands occupied because, otherwise, they might wander somewhere unprofessional. Like across those broad shoulders or down that firm chest.
The struggle was real.
Twice he’d caught himself staring, mouth slightly open, while explaining something to a client. His patients were the only ones in the room with an excuse to pant.
Halfway to Hash it Out, smoke billowed from under the hood of a silver sedan blocking the intersection. Traffic backed up in both directions, while the driver—a woman in her sixties wearing a floral dress—stood beside the car looking ready to cry.
“Pull over,” Clint said without thinking. Old habits from growing up in a small town where everyone helped everyone. “Give me a second.”
Before Bayne could respond, Clint was out of the truck and jogging toward the woman. Acrid smoke stung his nostrils, mixing with the smell of burnt rubber and hot metal.
“Mrs. Kowalski?” Of course it was one of his clients. The universe had that kind of humor. “You okay?”
“Oh, Dr. Clint!” Her hands fluttered like nervous birds. “It just started smoking and making this terrible noise—”
Behind them, Bayne appeared with a fire extinguisher he’d grabbed from somewhere. Without a word, he popped the hood and sprayed down the engine block. White foam covered everything, killing the smoke instantly.
“Radiator hose,” Bayne said, poking around inside the mess. “Split right down the middle.”
Mrs. Kowalski’s eyes went wide. “Is it expensive?”
“Not if you know someone who can install it.” Bayne wiped his hands on his jeans, leaving streaks of grease. “Tow truck’s gonna take forever with this traffic.”
Clint already knew where this was heading. His stomach had been growling for the past hour, and now lunch was evaporating like the steam from Mrs. Kowalski's engine.
“My nephew runs a shop two blocks over,” Mrs. Kowalski said hopefully.
Twenty minutes later, after helping push the car to the curb and waiting for the nephew to arrive with a tow strap, Clint’s hunger had evolved into something closer to homicidal irritation. Hash it Out would be packed by now. The lunch rush would mean at least a forty-minute wait, and he had appointments starting at one-thirty.
“My place is closer,” he said once they were back in the truck. “I’ve got leftovers. Maybe some actual food if we’re lucky.”
Back home, Mabel greeted them with her usual disdain, though she did wind around Bayne’s ankles twice before stalking off. Clint headed straight for the kitchen, desperate for something to do with his hands that didn’t involve touching his houseguest.
Refrigerator archaeology revealed pasta from two nights ago that still looked edible, half a block of cheese that hadn’t gone green, and bread that bent without breaking. Gourmet it wasn't, but it would keep them from starving.
“Grilled cheese and leftover spaghetti,” Clint announced, already heating a pan. “Living the bachelor dream.”
Bayne leaned against the doorframe, taking up all the space without trying. “Better than whatever Hash it Out would’ve served.”
“Liar. Their burgers are legendary.” Butter sizzled as Clint assembled sandwiches, trying to ignore how domestic this felt.
Making lunch for the wolf he’d saved.
Who was wearing his clothes.
In his kitchen.
While looking like sex on legs.
Professional. You’re a professional, so act like it.
Ten minutes later they sat across from each other at his small kitchen table, plates between them like a buffer zone. Bayne ate with focus, cleaning his plate before Clint had managed half his sandwich. Watching Bayne lick marinara sauce off his thumb should not have been a religious experience, but here Clint was, having revelations.
“Good?” he managed, voice only slightly strangled.
“Better than good.” Bayne pushed his empty plate aside, leaning back in the chair. The position pulled his shirt tight across his chest, outlining everything Clint had been trying not to think about.
