Mag: I was at the townhouse yesterday and changed the batteries in her smoke detectors.
Mil: Kiss-ass. You just wanted to raid her fridge.
Mag: I would never! How dare you, sir?
Me: We all could have done better to help with the upkeep after dad
died, and we won’t let it happen again. Now, recommendations?
Mav: Right. I’ll text you the number of a few trustworthy guys.
Me: Thanks, man. Later.
I slid the phone into my pocket when it felt like fire ants were biting my left ankle. Dancing back a step, I looked down to see Phoebe scampering up my pant leg, just as impatient to see Jenna. Fumbling to untangle her claws from my jeans, I managed to grab my wallet and keys, making it to my Tahoe before realizing I didn’t have a carrier. I was going to have to stop at the pet store again on the way home.
The drive to the clinic was uneventful, with Phoebe sleeping in the seat and me glancing over every five minutes to make sure she was okay. The clinic parking lot was pretty full, but I found a spot close to the entrance. When I opened the door, a dog barked, and it took me a minute to figure out it was a chime over the door.
Cute.
I checked in, cradling Phoebe as best as I could. She kept squirming and trying to burrow deeper into my shirt. Her little needle-claws were digging into my chest, letting me know she was pissed, so when a tall woman with jet black hair called my name, I was more than happy to leave the busy lobby for a quieter exam room with purple walls.
The vet tech introduced herself as Melissa and entered her vitals, laughing when Phoebe bared her teeny tiny teeth and hissed before saying she was taking her to the back for tests. I nodded as she left, keeping my eye out for any sign of Jenna.
I paced for a minute, taking the time to smooth down my shirt and run my hand over my short beard. Ugh, I should have taken more time to check myself in the mirror before I left, but I was too pissed at the whole termite situation.
Jenna didn’t keep me waiting long, and when she walked in, the subtle scent of peaches followed her, making my mouth water. She was holding Phoebe, dressed in scrubs that matched the walls and smiling. Those scrubs hugged every sweet curve, showing off her sexy-as-sin hourglass figure. Her purple framed glasses paired with strawberry-colored lips made her look like a sinfully delicious dessert. It made me want to savor every morsel, then lick the spoon clean.
The harsh light of the exam room only accentuated her features, showing off one dimple and making me realize I’d missed her. Her smile and her eyes had left an impression, and seeing them again released some of the knotted tension brewing in my body.
“...worms,” Jenna said.
I hadn’t heard a word. I was too enthralled with her and the way her hips filled those purple scrubs—hips I wanted to grab and dimple as I kissed her lips to see if she tasted as sweet as she smelled.
“Hmm?”
“Worms, Mark. She has intestinal parasites. The dose I gave her last week didn’t do the trick. It’s probably making her belly hurt, and that’s why she’s not eating. I want you to mix a bit of baby food with her kitten formula. She’s too young for any vaccinations, but we ran an in-house blood test to check for anemia. Her bloodwork’s fine, so we’re going to treat the parasites, and she should be back to normal in a day or two.”
“Worms?”
“Um, everything okay up there, Mark,” she asked, passing Phoebe over and squeezing my arm.
“Yes. Fine. Sorry, I’m distracted.”
“Distracted? Why? Are you both not settling in together well?”
She leaned closer and put one hand on her hip, waiting for my answer. The scent of peaches was distracting. She was distracting.
Oh shit. Well, I can’t say, “Sorry, Jenna, your hips distracted me.”
I wracked my brain for an excuse, any excuse, while she raised her eyebrows and squeezed my arm again, almost kneading my aching muscles. The soft fingertips of her hands short-circuited my brain until there was nothing but her touch. Not the buzz of the industrial lights or the hum of the air conditioner. Her short nails dug into my skin, the mild pain enough to leave me desperate for more.
Fuck, that feels good. I’ll give you an hour to stop, Dr. Cutie.
I was putty in her hand as I imagined the desperate, breathy sounds I would draw from her body.
“Woah,” Jenna whispered, stepping away and grabbing her clipboard from beside the computer to fan her face.
“Hmm?” I reached forward, grasping at the air, searching for her elusive hand that disappeared long before I was done with it.
