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In my fearful state, I can barely remember what Pansy said about the pup’s recall abilities. Is he good at returning to the sound of his name, or poor at it?
I’m hoping for the former as I cup my hands around my lips. “Outlaaaaaww! Outlaw, baby, come on home!”
“Looking for this guy?”
I whirl around and spot Nick. He’s got a very sleeping-looking pile of dog in his arms, and a bemused look in his brown eyes. His scrubs are robin’s egg blue. The top’s sleeves are short, and I can see sinewy ropes travel over his bicep as he holds the dog up. His dirty-blond hair shimmers with the first rays of sunlight.
Relief floods through me as I bustle over to the two of them.
He lowers Outlaw to the ground. I waste no time hooking his leash to the runaway’s collar. “How did—what…”
Nick chuckles. “He earns his name in so many ways. Escaping houses he’s supposed to stay in. Breaking into homes that aren’t his. Stealing cat food. Just to name a few. Let me guess: you left the den window open?”
“Living room.”
“He loves screens. One swipe of those baseball-mitt paws and he’s free to roam. Pansy should have mentioned that.”
“So, what do I do?”
“My advice is close the windows right before you go to bed. Or get used to coming over to my place to collect your new charge. He showed up around one a.m. I didn’t have the heart to wake you up and return him, so I let him stay up in my bed.”
He kneels and rubs Outlaw’s head. “Thanks for keeping me company, big guy.”
I have zero mental discipline right now. For a moment—a split second—I forget that Nick isNick, and think of him as merely a hot doctor talking about his bed.
Butno.
Nope.
This relationship issonot that kind of relationship.
Yes, Nick looks great in his scrubs. His arms look bronzed and the muscles pop, and his chin is strong and defined… and glasses are my Achilles’ heel, when it comes to men’s attractiveness. I fall for them every time.
But every time cannotinclude this time.
Right now, I’m standing—yikes, in my pajamas—talking to a guy I used to be friends with.
A guy I’m becoming friends with all over again.
I refuse to let any physical attraction enter the mix.
Besides, I’m only getting swoony about his broad chest and shoulders and the way he smells like pine body wash because it’s early.
I barely dragged myself out of dreamland before going out on my Outlaw hunt. I haven’t had my coffee yet, nor breakfast, and therefore I don’t have the brain power to think logically.
“He’s a good cuddler,” Nick adds, as he gives Outlaw one last rub and then stands.
Nope. Comments about cuddling are not helping my situation.
“Is he? I guess we haven’t gotten there.”
“Let him get to know you. Soon enough he’ll be climbing up into bed, snoring in your face. He does this thing where he falls asleep with his facehere.” He holds his palm so it’s two inches from his nose. “Adorable. Also, distracting.”
“What, dog breath isn’t conducive to sleeping?”
“Not exactly.”
“Sorry he kept you up, then. I’ll be on window patrol tonight.”
