First Chapter: Unguarded
“Hey!”
The passenger window rattled in its rust-eaten frame, jerking me awake.
Son of a bitch.
“Piss off,” I grumbled and rubbed my knee, cursing the hand brake before hauling my leather jacket back around my ears in a futile attempt to maintain some body heat, because holy shit, this place got cold at night. The jacket was a typical Dion gift—soft as silk and screaming money, it hit all the right fashion and aren’t-I-a-great-boyfriend notes, without doing a fucking thing toward actually keeping me warm. Mind you, who knew Vermont hit blue-balling temperatures by the last week in September. My piercings were sporting fucking icicles.
“Hey!”
Goddammit.
I kept my head buried and flipped off whoever it was, doing my best not to expose a single inch of unnecessary skin. The fact my fingers still worked was an unexpected bonus since I couldn’t feel a thing south of my knees. An attempted toe-curl only confirmed my fears.
None of this was helped by a pair of painted-on leather pants, less than a whisper thick but which hugged my arse in all the right places; a multi-colored silk scarf with just the right amount of fabulous and minus a single drop of warmth; a neon pink fishnet shirt that drew all the boys’ attention to my perky nipples but whose holes could’ve let a complete Iditarod dog team through with nothing but net; and a pair of pink canvas sneakers minus socks.
But it wasn’t like I’d planned to bolt from the ninety-degree dance floor of Both And, one of the inclusive clubs my fuckwit boyfriend owned, and wake up in arse-crack, bone-rattling icy Vermont, newly single and minus a home.
Single.
Wow.
Could I get a hell yeah?
Quickly followed by a what-the-fuck-have-I-just-done?
Yeah, mostly that last one, since Dion was no doubt curled up in our, his bed in his soulless but ever-so trendy and warm Boston loft, with one or both of the sanctimonious twinks I’d caught him sandwiched between in his club office. On the other hand, I was here . . . somewhere just under the Canadian border and a memory foam mattress short of comfortable.
But shit happens.
Motherfucking, Dion-shaped, cheating, lying, three years down the drain, toad-wrangling shit . . . to be precise.
He’d be laughing his arse off if he knew I’d spent the night in a car. “But what if you break a nail?” was his standard snotty comment whenever I tried anything that might get my hands dirty. “This amount of pretty doesn’t need to think” was another favorite he used with his arsehole mates who regarded me as an amusing dalliance if they even acknowledged me at all. That was apart from the times they were trying to convince me to fuck them behind Dion’s back.
More rapping on the window. “You need to move. You can’t park here.”
A blatant lie, considering I’d been parked here for about six hours. Six ball-chilling, regretting-my-life-choices, uncomfortable-as-shit hours.
“I need you to open up, sir, right now.”
The tone finally caught my attention, and I peeked out from under my jacket, only to wince at the uniform. Fuck. I wouldn’t be buying a lottery ticket any time soon.
I popped the seat upright, managed a quick check in the rear vision mirror, and holy shit, I looked even worse than I felt. I scrubbed at my face and dropped the window just enough to exchange a few words without exposing the poor man to an unfiltered serve of morning breath. Not to mention I smelled like a drag queen’s tuck after a pride parade. Don’t ask me how I know that.
“Yes, Officer?” I mustered the best law-abiding look I could, considering my outfit screamed rent boy more than respectable rural-Vermont citizen. But whether it was my obvious exhaustion, ludicrous attire for the climate, or the tear-carved ravines in my cheeks, the officer’s severe expression softened. It clearly wasn’t his first rodeo.
He gave a puff of a sigh that misted into the car and the corners of his eyes crinkled in a sympathetic half-smile. “License and registration, please?”
“Oh, sure.” I patted my jeans and desperately tried to think where I’d shoved my wallet. Nothing in either of my pockets—no surprise there since a fucking ant couldn’t fit inside without donning some shapewear. Nothing in my jacket either. Shit.
The officer’s brows crunched. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess you’re not a Vermont local?”
“No. I drove from Boston last night.” My gaze swept the car. Where in the hell had I put it? I spied the glove compartment and remembered. But as I reached, the officer’s hand went to the gun on his hip.
“Whoa.” I raised both of mine in the air. “Sorry.”
“Slowly,” he said, his hand hovering.
I did, very slowly.
“You have an accent.”
“Yeah, I’m originally from New Zealand.” The glove box popped open and I carefully retrieved my wallet and papers and handed them over. At least Dion had put the piece-of-shit car in my name.
The officer flicked through and eyed me up and down, clocking my state of relative undress. “If you slept in there, you’re lucky you didn’t freeze.” He arched a brow. “You’re a New Zealander living in Boston, then?”
“Yeah. I was born in Dallas while my dad worked for an offshore oil and gas company, so I’m a US citizen. But I grew up in New Zealand. Came back about three years ago. My passport is at the back.”
He took a look, then returned my wallet. “You working in Boston?”
At fucking up my life? Absolutely. “Not at present.”
“So, what brings you to sunny Burlington?”
Is that where I am? Also, excellent question. I thought about fobbing him off with some cock and bull story but decided against it. He listened politely and nodded in all the right places, barely flinching at the leaving the ex-boyfriend part, which earned him some credit.
“Hell of a night, by the sounds of it.” He frowned. “Are you in any danger?”
“Not in the way you mean.”
He studied me for a minute, then gave a brief nod. “Okay, well this is a dedicated one-hour parking lot, and although I appreciate your situation, you need to find somewhere else to park while you . . . sort things out, understand?”
Only too well. “Right. Sorry. I’ll get out of your hair. Can you point me in the right direction, maybe?”
He studied me for a minute, then sighed. “If you want to park for more than a couple of hours for free, you’ll need to head that way a few blocks.” He indicated further along the road. “And here’s a tip for nothing. There’s a great bakery in the Church Street Marketplace about a hundred yards from here, The Maple Factory. Head down this street and turn left. The street’s closed off to cars for a couple of blocks; you can’t miss it. And you won’t have to sell your soul to get a maple cruller that’ll fill you up until lunch.”
“Thanks.” The small kindness had fucking tears welling in my eyes. Jesus, I was a mess. “I’ll get out of here.”
He gently slapped the door of my car and said, “You do that. And take care. There’s a good hostel in town if you need one. And get yourself some warmer clothes while you’re at it.”
“I will.”
He slapped my door once again and headed out of the parking lot.
I steered my death trap of a Civic toward the free parking and cursed my arsehole of an ex yet again. Dion drove a fucking Mustang, and what had he given me to do his club errands for him? Twenty years of rust and goodwill all wrapped up in a metal can and bumping along on a dubious set of balding tires. On a more positive note, it had spent most of its life parked at Dion’s club which meant I’d had a getaway option after barging in on his cheating arse. So, I guess there was that.
* * *
The Marketplace turned out to be an attractive three or four block outdoor pedestrian shopping and dining mall, and clearly the heart of Burlington’s downtown. I found The Maple Factory easily enough and the maple cruller lived up to the hype. I was still licking my lips five minutes later as I leaned against one of the massive stones that spotted the Marketplace, and tried to defrost my brain.
Although still a month away, Halloween was already alive and well in the town with a banner advertising something called Nightmare Vermont strung across the Marketplace. Oversized pumpkins crowded retail windows, fighting for space with well-dressed scarecrows and cutesy witches and ghosts, all designed to reel in the kids and empty the parental wallets.
I snorted. The last Halloween event I’d attended had been a clothing-optional private party in one of Dion’s clubs. As far as I was concerned, clothing was never optional, no matter how much Dion wanted to parade me around buck naked in a collar for all his mates to see, and the argument had been protracted and nasty. But it was one of the few times I hadn’t given in and I’d won. The treat basket at the entry door had held a selection of weird and wonderful sex toys to make use of during the night. And the trick part had come in avoiding Dion’s handsy mates who’d apparently decided I classified as one of the treats whenever Dion wasn’t around. G-rated, it definitely wasn’t.
Nightmare Vermont looked a whole lot more fun.
Standing and shivering in little more than fifty degrees, I really, really needed to do something about the threat of encroaching hypothermia. There was just one tiny little problem. When I’d tried to pay for the bakery cruller from my own tiny account, my card declined. For a second, I’d just stared at the machine, my gut clenching. Then when the credit card Dion had given me for emergencies was also declined, I just knew.
That fucking son of a bitch. He’d cleaned me out. In my very first week in Boston, when I was all starry-eyed over this sophisticated man who seemed to worship me, I’d handed Dion my bank details and pin so he could transfer money when I needed it, or so he’d said at the time, and I always kept a spare debit card in the loft. I may as well have bared my fucking throat to his blade.
Which currently left me the three hundred dollars he’d stuffed in my wallet the night before—my damn pocket money for the club—and that was it.
A snort of disgust broke my lips. Jesus Christ, had I really become that guy?
Unfortunately, yes. Twenty-seven years old and some dude’s fucking paid-for arm candy. Pathetic meet just plain embarrassing.
It wasn’t that I needed him, not really. I’d been more naïve than anything. I’d trusted him. Believed I was loved. Believed this was it, the big romance, the be-all and end-all. Believed it enough to follow Dion back to Boston after his holiday in New Zealand. Believed it through the first time I’d caught him fucking some guy in our bed a year later. Believed the apologies, the promises, the dance of a future dangled in front of me. No need to have friends of my own—we were a couple, right? No need to work—he earned enough, right?
No need for monogamy—it’s not like I could just up and leave, right? How the hell would someone like me survive without him?
Motherfucker.
It had been so easy to simply close my eyes and believe. Pretend I didn’t notice the smug looks and pitying smiles his mates sent my way. On some level, I’d known. They said you always did.
Which left me leaning on a rock worthy of a Flintstones movie in the middle of an outdoor shopping mall in a town I’d only just learned the name of, my nipples frozen to my goddamn mesh shirt, and mulling over my foolishness. There was a lot to mull.
I was broke, homeless, alone, and fucking freezing. A quick sweep of the nearby shops revealed a well-known outdoor supply brand that I couldn’t afford to buy a pair of socks from.
A rainbow flag in the window of a bar next to The Maple Factory caught my eye, and I glanced up at the sign. Vino and Veritas. The next-door bookstore sported the same flag and the two shared one entry. Huh.
As I was studying the book display in the front window, lights flicked on inside and a cute guy wearing a brown beanie, flannel shirt, and looking pretty damn country delicious—a gay varietal not frequently seen on the club floors of Boston—appeared through the doors carrying a sandwich board advertising some book thingy. He put the board in place and did a bit of a double-take when he saw me standing there staring. Then his brows raised as he clocked my outfit, and his lips quirked up for a second before he nodded and disappeared back inside with an audible chuckle.
Great. Winning friends and influencing people.
I continued my vigil, ensuring the rock had zero chance of a sneaky escape for another five minutes while I watched Mr. Beanie getting the bookstore ready for customers. But casual interest quickly turned to burning need the minute I saw him warm the espresso machine.
Fuck it. I could afford a damn coffee, maybe even two. How much worse could things get? Not to mention the place had to have heating. I pushed off the rock and made a beeline for the front door.
The coffee was delicious and the heating toasty. Which left me, an hour and a half later, deftly avoiding Mr. Beanie’s—Briar, according to his nametag—slightly concerned gaze as I continued to take up space on one of the sofas located close to a heating vent. I even had a book in hand to look the part—about what, I couldn’t tell you.
The idea he might throw me out seemed a little extreme for a man who looked, if not quite understanding, at least curious.
Like he knew I had nowhere to go.
Like I had Fucked Over By My Lover tattooed on my forehead in big fat neon letters.
I’d have been mortified if I weren’t already too busy freaking out about being homeless and broke.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, again, and I pulled it out to confirm what I already knew. Message 993 from Dion. I’d only bothered scrolling through the first dozen or so he’d sent the night before, before muting and pocketing the thing.
But this latest one caught my attention.
What the fuck are you doing in Burlington?
Shit. I flicked to settings and turned off location services before I texted back.
In case you didn’t get the memo, we’re done. Piss off.
You’re such a fucking drama queen. It was a mistake. Didn’t mean anything. I’ll take you to Pierre’s to make it up to you.
Fucker. I texted back.
How is a restaurant going to make up for cheating on me, again? We’re done. Over. Finished.
I canceled your card.
I know.
You don’t have any money.
I’ll be fine.
Don’t be a child. What are you going to do? You need me.
Like a hole in the head. Stop texting me.
I pocketed the phone without reading his reply, but the anxiety ate at me. I didn’t like that he knew where I was, and the phone was under his account. Could he log in and switch it to lost mode and locate me? I had no freaking idea. I needed to ditch it, like I should the car, but I needed somewhere to sleep and I couldn’t afford a new phone, not yet. The car was in my name so he couldn’t say it was stolen, but the phone was a problem.
Dion had never been physical with me, never hit me. It was more that I didn’t trust myself not to cave and let him take me back if he found me. Because he was right. I had no idea how the fuck I was going to survive with no money. He was clearly pissed I’d walked away. And even though I’d told him we were over in no uncertain terms—cue an accurate shot to his head with the glass of Glenfiddich I held while he was still balls-deep in a twink—he’d struggle to believe I’d actually leave.
Which reminded me, I needed to find somewhere to be tested. God knew where the hell Dion’s dick had been and whether or not it had been clothed at the time. Motherfucker.
“Can I get you another coffee?” Briar collected my empty cup and wiped the table.
My gaze shot to those lovely eyes and the gentle smile beneath.
“Cold enough for you?”
I rolled my eyes and glanced to the heavy gray sky, ripe with rain, brooding over the city. “Do you really need an answer?”
His smile broadened. “Figured as much.” He perched on the other sofa and studied me. “I’m guessing you’re not local?”
I snorted. “What gave it away?”
“The accent, closely followed by the shirt.” His gaze lingered on my chest. “Don’t see that shade of pink around here very often, and certainly not at nine on a Thursday morning.”
My turn to laugh. “But it goes so well with my sneakers, don’t you think?”
He chuckled. “Definitely not local. If I had to guess, I’d say Boston city slicker.”
“Touché. You’re good.” It was hard not to like the guy.
“Yeah, well, I’m an old Springfield boy, myself. Up here they call guys like us Massholes.”
I snorted. “They might not be far wrong. But if that’s part of the City of Burlington’s welcome patter, I have to tell you, it needs some work. And to answer your question: New Zealand for the accent; Boston for the last three years. Drove up last night.”
He studied me in silence. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and say it wasn’t planned.”
I stared out the window and watched as a pretty woman in her forties drew her coat tight across her chest and laughed to whoever she was on the phone with. “And you’d be right.” I turned back to face him. “Suffice to say my love life took a sudden dive. And why I’m telling you any of this, I have no idea.”
“It’s my disarming personality,” he deadpanned. “You never had a chance.”
I narrowed my gaze. “I’ll bear that in mind.” My eyes landed on a stack of Out magazines on a nearby bookshelf and then lifted to the dark interior of the wine bar. “Is that a gay bar?”
He shrugged. “Inclusive. Same with the bookstore. There’s live music some nights, if you’re interested.”
I shrugged. Hard to see me having money to waste on that. “Cool. And about the clothes thing? There wouldn’t happen to be a thrift shop somewhere close?”
He nodded. “Head that way a block.” He pointed up the mall. “Take a left, walk two blocks, and you’ll find The Wardrobe. Claudia should still have some jackets this early in the season, but I wouldn’t wait. There’ll be a few people headed that way after this cold snap. And while you’re here—” He pulled a card from his pocket and wrote something down before handing it to me. “These are a couple of hostels in town . . . just in case.”
I stared at the names on the card, then pocketed it, wondering how the hell this had become my life. “Thanks. And sorry if I’ve overstayed my welcome. I just—”
“Stay as long as you like.” He pushed to his feet. “How about hot chocolate? We do a really good one.”
“Oh, I can’t aff—”
“On the house.”
My cheeks fired hot. Well, shit. “In that case, thank you.”
“Your welcome. I’m Briar Nord, by the way.” He offered his hand and we shook.
“Tai Samuels.”
“Well, Tai, in case you decide to stay awhile and maybe sample some more of Burlington’s renowned hospitality—” He gave a cheeky smirk. “There’s an unemployment office on Pearl Street just up the road from the thrift store.”
We locked eyes for a few seconds and I felt very seen, like this guy knew something about the mess I was inside. “Thanks. You never know. You don’t happen to need someone around here? I can make a pretty good coffee.”
He shook his head. “We’re good at the moment.”
Shit. “No problem.”
A few minutes later he delivered a steaming mug of excellent hot chocolate and the world looked a bit brighter. The idea of running home to New Zealand was tempting; my parents would make sure I got there, but it also felt way too much like admitting defeat.
Mum and Dad had thought I was making a big mistake with Dion and tried to talk me out of it. Turns out they were right. But I liked living in the States, and I wasn’t ready to leave. There was a whole country outside Boston that I hadn’t seen. Maybe I’d go home eventually, but I didn’t want it to be with my tail between my legs. I just had to work out how I was going to manage that.
I kicked off my sneakers, curled my legs beneath me on the sofa, and watched the world pass by on the other side of the window. People didn’t seem to hurry in Burlington. They ambled, strolled, moseyed, even drifted, but rarely rushed. It was kind of cute.
Which was why my attention was quickly drawn to an attractive man in an outdoor coat that wouldn’t have looked out of place summiting Everest. He was armed with a cat carrier and a troubled expression and headed for the bookstore at a veritable canter.
And he was also, not to put too fine a point on it, fucking gorgeous—every harried, tousled, flustered, mouth-watering inch of him. A little taller than my five foot ten, he looked to be in his thirties with unruly blond waves that caught in his lashes and dipped to his collar, a pale, almost peaches-and-cream complexion and a strong frame, not heavily muscled just . . . solid. The kind of body that could easily cage you against the wall if you were inclined to allow it, which, for the record, I would, in case the question ever came up.
Just, damn. I swallowed a hit of hot chocolate and sighed. The morning had taken a turn for the better.
The man hit the entrance to the bookstore like a cyclone, sweeping inside and straight up to the counter, draughting two old ladies in his wake, both of whom looked a little surprised to have gotten there so fast. Briar greeted the handsome man like he knew him, but try as I might, I couldn’t hear a damn word that passed between them. A minute later, Briar pointed out back and the man with the carrier disappeared down a hallway.
I scooted around in my seat and put my back to the window to watch for his return. Not that I was creeping on him or anything, but it wasn’t like I had other more pressing matters to attend to, and hey, gorgeous guy. Merely appreciating that fact had me feeling somewhat normal for the first time since I’d left Boston.
Behind the counter, Briar caught my eye and arched a brow.
Busted.
I batted my lashes innocently and he chuckled. If the guy wasn’t gay, I’d eat my hat. I may not have much to brag about in my arsenal of life’s attributes, but good looks, a cheeky disposition, a truckload of snark, and an accurate-as-fuck bullshit barometer got me through most of life’s challenges, other than Dion. There, my bullshit barometer had hit a glitch. Or maybe I’d simply not wanted to hear.
By the time the good-looking stranger reappeared with a yowling gray cat in the carrier, Briar was knee-deep in customers, and Mr. Gorgeous was left hopping from foot to foot looking antsy. His gaze swept the shop, landed on me, and paused.
Huh. I sucked in a breath because, damn, if I’d thought he was easy on the eyes before, it was nothing compared to having those baby blues focused exclusively on me. And when they dipped to my mouth for a long second, I deserved a fucking gold medal for not stripping on the spot and asking him to fuck me over the science periodicals on the table next to me. But the way my luck was running, any chance of the guy batting for my team was frankly zero to none and I needed to not add another shit show to my day.
I glanced away and acted as . . . ungay as I could, which, let’s face it, was a complete waste of time so I glossed my lips instead. Never said I wasn’t complicated.
Seconds later, a pair of jean-clad legs appeared in my line of vision and I looked up to find a pair of china-blue eyes studying me. Fuck me, the man was beautiful. Not classic cover material. No killer cheekbones or hard muscle or bedroom eyes. More disheveled cute, with a side order of endearing nerd and a shy smile. Never thought that was my thing, but I was sold.
“Could you keep an eye on this little one for me while I duck to the bathroom?” He placed the cage with the mewling cat on the floor at my feet.
Fresh soap, musk, and something vaguely antiseptic drifted between us, and I forced my gaze down from all that creamy skin to the moth-eaten feline glaring up at me. “Sure.” I cleared my throat. “But you realize it’s in a cage, right? I mean, it’s not going anywhere.” I arched a brow pointedly.
A flush of red brimmed at his collar, and oh god, dimples. “She, and yeah. It’s just that she’s a bit stressed as you can probably tell from the noise. She might be quieter away from the desk and if she can see someone.”
I held up my hands. “Hey, no problem. She’s safe with me.”
He almost sagged with relief. “Thanks. It’s been a day.”
Tell me about it. “You’re welcome. I promise I won’t abscond with . . .” I raised a questioning brow.
He shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. Briar found her out back this morning. She was all tucked up in her tummy and not really moving, so he called me to come get her. I’d say she’s been on the streets for a bit, but she let me pick her up easily enough, so maybe someone’s missing her. I’m a veterinarian. Emmett Moore.” He offered his hand.
His clasp was warm and dry, and if I held on a little longer than necessary, no one could blame me. “Tai Samuels. So, Emmett, you’re her knight in shining armor, at least for today. Tomorrow she’ll likely hate you for even presuming she needed rescuing, but that’s women for you, right? Or so I’m told. I wouldn’t know much about that . . . as it happens.” Holy fuck. My gaze slid away in pure mortification. I didn’t ramble or get tongue-tied. Ever.
“Okaaaay.” He looked at me sideways. “Well, I won’t be long.”
He disappeared in a flash of blond waves and denim, and I stared down at the cat who had quieted somewhat and was regarding me with considerable distaste through a pair of piercing blue eyes.
“Hey, don’t get all hoity-toity with me.” I wagged a finger at her. “Unless your arsehole boyfriend threw three years of your life down the toilet by playing guess-whose-dick-is-where with two twinks, a truckload of lube, and Mariah Carey playing through his office speakers, you have nothing to complain about.”
A mournful yowl rang out like fingernails down a blackboard and Briar threw me a concerned look while several customers covered their ears.
“Dion, if you must know.” I answered what I presumed was the cat’s pressing question about the name of said arsehole boyfriend. “And yours?”
Another yowl and I peeled my brain off the ceiling for the second time. “Tom, you say? Well, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but with that name, he’s going to be a bitch to pin down in your part of the animal world.”
She flopped on her side and turned those mournful eyes my way.
“Yeah, tell me about it. Men, right?”
We sat in blissful silence, and I finally risked poking a finger through the grill. After a few seconds of suspicion, she gave it a wary sniff, then jerked back.
I narrowed my eyes. “No need to be rude. You’re a shampoo and spa day short of presentable yourself, so I wouldn’t get too judgy there.”
Her pinched blue eyes dulled and I remembered Emmett said she might be sick.
“Okay, so I admit you might be having an equally crap day,” I said softly and waggled my finger. She took another sniff and let me scratch her under her chin. I felt oddly worthy. “But at least you’ll get to sleep in a warm place tonight.”
“Depends if the shelter has a place for her.” Emmett reappeared beside me.
“Shelter?” I withdrew my finger and gawped up at him, because of course I did. “But aren’t you taking her back to your—” I waved my hand around. “—clinic thingy.”
He bit back a smile. “Yes, for now. I’ll take a look at her, treat her for worms and fleas, get her vaccinations done, and then see if she needs some antibiotics or other treatment. But essentially, she’s a stray, and as much as I’d like to, I can’t keep every stray I get handed. We’ve got a good shelter in town. They’ll do their best to home her. Anyway, thanks for watching her. I guess I should be getting back to the clinic.”
“Oh, right, sorry. Well, it’s been nice to meet you, Emmett.”
“You too, Tai.” He stared at me for a second as if he was about to say something else, then smiled and left, crate in hand. He stopped at the counter briefly to speak with Briar and then headed out without a backward glance.
I sank into the sofa and watched his back all the way up the street and around the corner. There was no denying the man looked good either coming or going.
“You okay?”
My gaze shot sideways to find Briar standing there with a knowing smirk on his face. I scowled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sure, you don’t.” He grabbed the empty mug and wiped the table. “But I get it. Emmett has great . . . attributes.”
Huh. That answered that. I looked a bit closer. Briar was a handsome man. He didn’t do it for me like the vet did, but he was cute. “He does indeed.”
“I thought I’d check if you were thinking of hanging around Burlington for a bit?”
I shrugged. “I have no clue what I’m going to do past hitting that thrift shop very shortly, so all avenues are open. Why?”
His gaze swept the bookstore, then slid to the Marketplace outside before landing back on me. “Do you like animals?”
I arched a brow. “Excuse me?”
“Simple question. I saw you talking to the cat, so I figured maybe you liked them?”
What the hell? “Sure, I like animals. Doesn’t everybody?” I mean, I didn’t not like animals. I just hadn’t had much to do with them other than an old Collie my parents owned who died when I was four.
“Oh, well, that’s maybe good news.” Briar’s cheeks pinked. “Because Emmett, the veterinarian you were talking to—”
“Emmett of the . . . attributes?”
Briar rolled his eyes. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I? Yes, that Emmett. Well, his receptionist left him in the lurch this morning and he needs help. He asked if I knew anyone who could look after the front desk, answer the phone, maybe help wash a few dogs for the groomer—”
Wash a few what?
“—just for a week until he can get a new person, and for some reason I thought of you.”
“Me? You did?” I was kind of gobsmacked. “And this is because I just scream animal management skills in my pink net top and leather condom trousers, right?”
He snorted. “No. It’s because you scream ‘I need the money with few skills to offer.’”
I gave him my best eye roll. “Everyone’s a fucking comedian.”
He paused and looked me over. “Look, forget I said anything.” He turned to leave.
Shit. “No, wait, please. You’re right. Obviously, I do need the money. And for what it’s worth, I am trustworthy. A week’s work would help a lot, you have no idea. Not to mention give me some time to get my head around . . . a plan.”
He studied me for a moment. “So, you’re okay about the animal thing, then?”
I waved his concern aside. “Pffft. Not a problem.”
I needed my head read. I knew nothing about animals other than they smelled, had nasty teeth, shit everywhere, merino sweaters were the bomb, and chinchilla fur made great ear warmers. Not to mention I couldn’t always be trusted to wash my own hair let alone another creature’s. But regardless of all that, I needed a job, like really, really needed one, and Briar might’ve just saved my life.
Oh, and the vet was crazy hot, so yeah, there was that. Maybe I’d fuck it up, but I wasn’t exactly in any position to turn the opportunity down. How bad could it be?
Briar looked relieved. “Good. I figured it could maybe work out for you both. I’ll call Emmett and let him know to expect you, but you’ll have to take it from there.”
I was so fucking grateful. “Thanks, Briar. I can’t believe you did this.”
“Well, you seem like you could do with a break, and Emmett’s a good guy. He’s had a hard time of it since his wife died four years ago, and he has a cute kid.”
Most likely straight then. Eye candy it would have to be. “I’m just grateful for the chance.”
He nodded crisply. “Good. And if you do decide to hang around, you’re welcome to join our romance book group, Booklovers.”
I bit back a smile. “Romance books?”
His jaw set. “Yeah, romance books.”
“Okay, well, that’s . . . cool.” Holy crap. “Can’t say as I’m a great believer in romance though, so I wouldn’t hold your breath.”