Read The Hot Seat Online Free by Loni Ree

All I have to do is not think about the kiss. Or the way he growled my name. Or the plans for Friday night that make my heart beat double time.

After my first patient, I hide in my office and pull out my phone to shoot Beckett a text. Sue me. I need to check on my patient.

How’s the little faker this morning?

Hottie

The little shit already tried to steal an entire sleeve of graham crackers off the counter.

Glad to hear he’s back to normal.

Hottie

I was just about to text you and check how your morning is going.

It’s a typical day. How’s your day?

Hottie

Typical day here too.

Hanna sticks her head in the door. “Mr. Evans’s pet goat ate a sock.” I roll my eyes and quickly send one last text.

I’ll have to get back to you later. I have a goat emergency.

I see his thumbs-up emoji as I drop my phone back in my pocket.

After a long, busy day, I drag my exhausted body up the cracked steps to my apartment, and I know I’m in trouble.

My arms are full of paperwork and a lunch bag I never got around to opening. My feet are barking, and I’m ninety percent sure there’s a huge bruise on my cheek from the goat head butting me.

I barely manage to get the key in the lock before Mr. Snugglebutt bolts out from behind the door and launches a full-frontal ankle assault.

“Jesus!” I yelp, almost dropping everything I’m holding. He weaves between my legs, fluffing up and letting loose a meow that could shatter glass. If hunger were an Olympic event, Mr. Snugglebutt would have multiple gold medals.

I dump my stuff in the entryway and squint into the half-dark. My apartment looks exactly the way I left it, messy chic. Shoes by the couch. Cat toys everywhere.

Mr. Snugglebutt lets out another screech, louder this time. If I don’t feed him in the next thirty seconds, I’m pretty sure he’ll start gnawing my toes.

“Alright, alright, keep your pants on,” I grumble, shuffling to the kitchen.

He’s already parked on the counter, glaring at his empty food bowl. I pop open a can of premium “Tuna Krill Supreme,” and he goes full goblin-mode, inhaling the food before I place the bowl on the floor.

Once His Excellency is appeased, I flop against the fridge and take a second to catch my breath.

My stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t had anything since the sad granola bar I ate at the ass crack of dawn. I pull open the refrigerator door and start rooting around for anything edible, then remember the sad microwave dinner I impulse-bought last week in a fit of optimism.

I throw the tray on the counter and mentally prep myself for the world’s least exciting dinner.

That’s when there’s a knock. I freeze for a second, wondering who in their right mind would visit me at this hour.

I peek through the peephole and almost swallow my own tongue.

Beckett. My entire body instantly forgets how tired it is.

“A little birdie told me you didn’t have lunch today.” He holds up the bag, and I catch a whiff of what’s inside and almost faint. Fiesta Frolic. Not just good Mexican, but the absolute best in all of Riverbend Ridge. I can smell salsa, melty cheese, and the citrus zip of fresh-squeezed lime. This bag is carrying me straight to heaven.

I clutch the doorframe, blinking. “How did you even know how much I love Fiesta Frolic⁠—”

He grins, wolfish and pleased with himself. “The same little birdie told me you’re obsessed. Word is, you’d sell state secrets for their enchiladas.”

I laugh, and it comes out way too giddy to be cool. “Oh my God, I owe Hanna a raise.”

Behind my legs, Mr. Snugglebutt finally notices we have company. He creeps forward, belly low, eyes fixed on Beckett like he’s a mountain lion and Beckett’s the fresh kill. The cat’s tail puffs up to double its size.

I can’t help it—I laugh again. “Careful. He attacks anything that threatens his reign of terror.”

Beckett’s mouth twitches. “I think I can handle the fluffball.”

Mr. Snugglebutt inches closer, then pauses—close enough to sniff, but far enough to retreat if the mountain of muscle at my door makes any sudden moves.