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Oh great. We go by one name, do we? Like Prince? Fine.
“Listen,Slate. I don’t fancy being bit by your dog. I believe we’ll both agree we’ve had enough blood for the evening.”
His face goes earnest on me, with a voice to match. “Hey, I’m not messing with you. This puppy shows up on my doorstep last night and I took him in. He was pretty banged up and it looked like someone took a shot at him. So, I stitched him up. I think you and he will get along fine as long as you drop the attitude. Dogs sense shit like that.”
Maybe I should let him bleed out.
“I’ll be right back,” I smile sweetly and slam the damn door behind me.
Attitude? He hasn’t begun to see attitude. I stomp across the paving-stone path, up the deck stairs, and open the double glass doors. Suddenly, an English Sheepdog places oversized paws on my chest and slobbers all over my face.
“Well, hi there, baby. How ya doin’? You’re such a good doggy.” Laughing, I squat and let the puppy give me a few more licks before trying to follow Slate’s directions.
The kitchen is bigger than the whole guest house with granite countertops, two islands, and enough counter space for a TV celebrity chef. I turn left at a long hall, pass at least six doors and find the bathroom. After searching multiple cabinets, I finally locate alcohol, clean bandages and a tube of antibiotic cream.
Before I go, I have a second thought and stop in what must be Slate’s bedroom. There’s a pair of boxers on the floor and I grab his jeans as well. I really do need this job and any kind of sexual attraction will just screw things up.
However, I’m not blind. I can’t help but note there’s just one pillow and not one girly decoration in the room. The fact he probably lives alone makes the girls between my legs cheer, but I am not amused.
“C’mon boy.”
I open the door and the puppy gets away from me. He bolts halfway across the yard, turns and barks. Then, he returns with a bound and presses his head to the back of my knees to urge me on faster.
I have to laugh, despite the completely screwed-up situation. After I make sure Mr. Sexy is not going to die from loss of blood, I’ll pack my things and… I don’t know. I guess I’ll find some park and sleep in my car. It wouldn’t be the first time.
By the time I get to the little cottage, the pup is sitting next to Slate. His tail thumps while Slate gives him plenty of love. In the light, I notice the puppy’s bandaged too.
Like owner, like dog.
“Okay, let’s have a look-see.” I pull away the pillowcase, our hands connect again, and my lady-lips do somersaults. This makes it more difficult to get serious and inspect the bullet wound.
“How long ago did this happen?” I pitch my voice professional and detached.
“A couple weeks.” He opens his legs so I can step between which is the right thing to do but way too intimate given the fact he is sexy as all hell and naked except for the sheet wrapped around his waist.
“Okay. I’ll repair the stitches that broke open, but you should see your regular doctor in the morning.” If he can ignore the attraction, so can I. Besides, I feel bad I was the one who caused him to bleed.
He grunts something which could be agreement or dissent.
“This is going to sting.” When the denatured alcohol sinks in, he hisses and glares.
“Sorry.” While I work, he studies me so hard he either wants to become a doctor or is worried I’m incompetent.
I cut the thread and he nods with a look more suited to a professor than a patient.
“Not bad.” He leans onto his elbows to get a better look, this time at me.
Quickly I step out from between his legs, sweat rolling down my back. The suitcase on my bed reminds me I need to go.
“I, uh. Okay. Mr. Slate. I’m heading out.”
“Where to?” He looks at an old clock on the wall, then checks his wrist. “Now, it’s three in the morning.”
He stands as if that were that and, well, it’s not. “Listen, it’s obvious this job isn’t going to work out. Best if I just go, but thanks.”
For nothing.
“Knock on my door when you wake.” He turns on his heel, grabs my car keys off the kitchen table, and strides out of the house.
