“So, wanna hold him while I microchip him and give him his shots?”
Cash nodded and positioned himself so he had a solid grip on Dog.
I prepared the shots, then paused. “You’re not gonna pass out again, are you?”
Cash huffed and rolled his eyes so hard I swore I heard them bouncing off the back of his skull. He shrugged one shoulder in ahurry upgesture, and I took the hint.
I gave Dog a treat to distract him, then delivered his shots. Dog gave a single indignant yelp before turning his attention back to the treat, and when I slipped the needle with his microchip under the skin between his shoulder blades, he didn’t even notice.
“Done,” I said, lifting Dog down from the table. “Nobody else can claim him now.”
I was expecting Cash to fuss over Dog, so I wasn’t surprised when he came around my side of the table. But I wasn’t expecting him to pull me into a hug instead of Dog. It wasn’t quite like the hug he’d given me last week, which had been steady and firm. This one felt different, and it took me a moment to realize that this wasn’t Cash lending comfort, this was Cash asking for it. The threat of Dog getting taken away might have vanished, but his body’s physical response to that sharp moment of fear—that surge of adrenaline and cortisol—would take a little longer to settle.
Cash pulled out of the hug before I was ready to let him go, and the memory of his touch lingered even after he left the treatment room with my new dog at his heels. He was back a moment later, holding a garish knittedsomethingthat was made up of too many clashing colors and a lot of shapes that made no sense.
“This is for Dog,” he said, holding it out to me.
“Did you make this?” I asked, holding it up. It was possibly meant to be a sweater.
Cash shook his head. “Grandma. I was gonna put it in his cage, but…” He shrugged.
I snorted. “Yeah, he sleeps upstairs with me. Thanks, Cash.”
I held the not-a-sweater out to Dog, who sniffed it once, then grabbed it out of my hand and danced out the door with it firmly clamped between his jaws. I watched him go and said, “Shit like that is why people think dogs are colorblind.”
Cash snorted and bumped his shoulder against mine. “They’re not, not really,” he said.
“I know. Except maybe Dog is. What even was that thing?”
Cash turned his head to answer me, and I dropped my gaze to his mouth, suddenly transfixed. It was one of those moments where something had shifted so that everything seemed instantly charged with a new energy, as though the air itself was humming with expectation. Cash’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and then his lips parted slightly, and any question I’d had about whether the attraction between us was mutual was answered in that one tiny movement. He leaned infinitesimally closer, and I held my breath. It felt somehow both crazy and inevitable that we were about to kiss.
And then Dog came racing back into the room, his claws skittering on the linoleum, and smacked into the back of my legs like a wrestler trying to bring me down, and the moment was gone.
Cash stepped away from me, his cheeks pink. He gestured at Dog. “I, uh.”
For once, it wasn’t just him that couldn’t get his words out.
“Yeah,” I said, examining the back of my hands before glancing up.
Cash’s mouth twitched, and he leaned down and scooped Dog up and left the room. Moments later, I heard the kitchendoor open and close and figured he was throwing a ball in the yard.
Which was probably for the best, given I had no idea how I would have navigated that moment if Cash and I had kissed, and I was willing to bet everything I owned that Cash would have been even more out of his depth than me.
Still, the idea of the kiss lingered long after Cash had gone.
CHAPTER 8
CASH
Ididn’t get much sleep, but it wasn’t because of nightmares for once. It was because of Dog. I hadn’t gotten to keep him after all, and it left an ache in my chest that had no right being there. And I knew it was stupid, but it stillhurt. I’d known the chances of me keeping the dog were slim, but I’d gone ahead and let myself hope anyway, and now I was paying the price.
I tried to remember that the universe mostly got things right. I’d seen the way that Mason lit up around Dog, and I figured that while I’d wanted Dog, maybe Masonneededhim, more than I did. I knew Mason would take good care of him, and he’d said I could go and visit. It wasn’t as much comfort as I’d hoped, but I clung to it anyway.
I found myself thinking about Mason, and how he’d said Dog wasn’t the only one who enjoyed my company. And that led to thinking about Mason and the way he’d looked at me in the treatment room—like he’d wanted to kiss me, maybe.
And how I’d maybe wanted him to.
Which was confusing as hell because kissing guys wasn’t a thing I did. Kissinganyonewasn’t a thing I did. It was like horse riding, or maybe like Grandma Jane with knitting—I knew lots of people enjoyed it, but it wasn’t for me.
