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I get hard when I conjure her. Time for a shower.
CHAPTERFOUR
Evanee
It’s another retail therapy day and I’m shelving my new purchases (bandages, surgical gloves, and a new pair of Amina Muaddi slingback pumps) in the storeroom. Well actually, I’m shelving the vet supplies and admiring the shoes in the mirror. My feet and legs were made for heels, I decide.
My Zen zone is interrupted by a commotion at the front door. I freeze as my heart thinks about stopping. I left the door unlocked and while I’m not normally the nervous type, I’m not always popular with the humans who used to belong to my sweet, rescued animals. Only some of my sweethearts come from the rescue society.
Other times, when urgency’s required, I’m forced to eliminate the middle-man and escort the darlings from their current hell with the help of my duffel bag. It’s stocked with bolt cutters, a screwdriver, a hammer, gloves, leashes, animal treats, a loaded Smith & Wesson .38, and running shoes.
A loud unhappy ‘woof’ followed by an offended ‘meow’ gets me moving to the front.
I jog out in my new heels, which I have to admit look pretty good with my Devi tuck shorts and white sheath top, only to come skidding to a stop at the scene in front of me.
There are twins for starters – tall, blond, and beautiful – young though, and not quite grown into their potential. They’re like bodyguards flanking the woman standing between them. She’s a small, perfectly formed porcelain doll and while the twin girls practically beam at me, the woman eyes me with open curiosity and a marble countenance. All of that is irrelevant because a gorgeous Neapolitan Mastiff is leading their party. Its joyful bark sends a cupid’s arrow straight into my heart and I risk getting drooled on as I crouch down and greet it like a long lost dearly-loved relative. “You are the most beautiful animal I’ve ever seen!”
In a dry, slightly mocking voice, the little one interjects. “Great. A blind vet.”
Apparently Cujo thinks so too as he peeks around the corner of the reception desk and gives a tentative high-pitched yip. Poor guy’s a dalmatian in a Rotti body.
The twins giggle and I wonder how they can resist patting their little friend’s head – I mean the woman, not the mastiff. “His name is Freud,” one of them says.
“Freud,” the other echoes.
I stand, pleased at how long I’m able to squat as I get a visceral vision of naked me with my new heels on, crouching in front of Trigger, our eyes locking, his hands pulling my hair as he forces me to swallow his cock. I clear my throat. “I’m Evanee.”
“I’m Maddy,” one of the twins says. “And this is Emma.” She gestures to her sister, who repeats, “Emma.”
Since they’re not wearing matching sailor suits, knowing their names makes it easier. In fact, Maddy is wearing an Etro short sleeve romper that probably cost $3000 dollars, and the other, Emma, has on the sweetest Charo Ruiz pink mini dress, which beautifully complements her colouring. I have the sense that these two are kindred spirits.
The little one not so much as she says, “Is the real vet in?”
I frown at her. She’s kind of cute, but her vibe is remote, like she’s there but not there. “I’m the real vet,” I reply, trying to keep the annoyance from my voice. “Dr. Evanee Whittaker.”
“Oh,” the woman replies with a ghost of smile that says, I’m fucking with you. Then she adds, “The vets I’ve encountered in past are old and ugly.”
My animosity vaporizes.
The twins giggle. “I can’t believe you of all people are generalizing, Bryce,” one of them says.
“Yeah,” her clone agrees. “It’s like saying all thieves are male and smarmy.” Even their voices sound alike.
Bryce takes exception to the statement. “I’ve never met a smarmy thief.” She thinks for a moment. “But you’re right. Not all thieves are as talented as me.”
I’m intrigued by the possibilities. “Please tell me you really are a thief.” I’ve never met a thief before and hold on to my excitement that she’s more than just a shoplifter.
“Oh, she’s real, alright. She steals jewels,” Maddy says like she’s taking credit for everything the thief knows.
“And money,” her sister adds in the proud tone.
“And collectables.”
Emma turns Maddy. “Didn’t Jess say she stole a puzzle box?”
“I’m right here, girls,” Bryce says, then looks at me. “And I’ll deny everything the under-age, over-giggly, monozygotic peaches have just told you. Besides,” she adds. “I have retired.”
“Bryce is our brother’s girlfriend,” Emma says as she shares a shy intimate look with Maddy. Then the twins turn from bubbly to pensive, their smiles falling, their faces reddening, their blue eyes dulling.
