Chapter 34 An Acquired Taste
An Acquired Taste
Quinn
Marlowe
Did you find some humans to have fun with?
Possibly.
Oh, you totally did. Leave nothing out. I want all the dirty details.
I’m not detailing my sex life over text message
*gasp* You’re having sex? With who? Is it the hot cowboy who took you to supper?
Jesus, Marlowe.
That’s a yes. Sounds serious. I need to come meet him.
It’s not serious... he’s helping check things off my kinky bucket list.
I should be surprised that you have a list for that, but I’m not even a little bit.
Ishake the bottle, depositing Pops’ medication into his hand. He swallows it dry before shuffling slowly to the kitchen table. My little rendezvous with Tripp outside the barn has been running through my head for the last week.
That night had been the fastest I’d fallen asleep since I’d gotten here. I’m usually scrolling on my phone or running through all my to-do lists a million times before I finally crash. But after he’d fucked me against the barn, I’d slept like a baby.
The connection was mind-blowing. And already, I can feel my neat little compartmentalization quickly unraveling where he’s concerned. This feels like we’ve entered dangerous waters.
I have no idea how he understands exactly what my body wants—needs—so soon, but he’s quickly become an expert in me. Every touch, every word, every heated look is perfection. It's exactly what I’ve always wanted.
We’ve both been too busy to do more than sneak brief touches and kisses here and there, but I’m going stir crazy being stuck in the house with Pops at his most ill-tempered.
“What do you have for me this morning?” Pops asks.
I snort. I’m starting to wonder how he got by at all without me here to feed him three square meals a day. I’m sure there was a lot of canned soup and diner meals when Sawyer didn’t make him supper.
I set the short stack of blueberry lemon pancakes on his plate.
“Any bacon with that?”
“No, Pops. No bacon today.”
If I did give him bacon, he would just complain that it’s turkey bacon instead of real bacon.
“Don’t forget you have rehab today,” I add as I scoop a forkful of pancake into my mouth.
“I know. I have heart disease, not dementia.”
“Hey now, no need to get so feisty.”
Pops’ nose wrinkles. “Did you put sand in these pancakes?”
I roll my head back and forth on my shoulders, praying for patience. “Why would I put sand in the pancakes?”
Pops stabs at his plate with the fork like he’s looking for proof. “Well, I have no idea now, do I? But they taste like sand.”
I take another bite of pancake. “They taste fine to me.”
He makes a face, chewing with exaggerated misery. “Maybe it’s an acquired taste.”
“For pancakes?”
“For these birdseed pancakes.”
“You’re an acquired taste,” I mumble under my breath.
The screen door screeches open, and for once I’m grateful to see my brother.
“Look, Pops. Wes is here,“ I say with exaggerated brightness.
“I already told ya it was my heart that was the problem. My eyes are just fine. I can see Wes is here.”
I let out a low growl and skewer Wes with a look that’s sharp enough to draw blood. He pauses just inside the door, taking in the standoff at the table.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I’m starting to regret volunteering to help with him,” I say, pointing at Pops with my fork.
Pops just chuckles, mustache twitching away as he shovels another bite into his mouth.
“Pops, stop giving her such a hard time, would ya?” Wes says, readjusting his hat.
“Maybe I just want her to make herself more scarce, so I can eat a Little Debbie cake.”
I groan, massaging my temples.
Wes’ lips tug up at the corner. “I’ll tell Sawyer you need a night out with the girls.”
I try not to feel disappointed that if it’s a night out with the girls, then I can’t invite Tripp. But it’ll be nice to hang out with Sawyer and Allie.
“You gonna babysit him for me?” I ask, narrowing my eyes when Pops starts to protest.
“I’m sure there’s some game we can watch together. Right, Pops?”
He grumbles something unintelligible, which I ignore.
“I’m gonna go feed someone who appreciates it,“ I say, ready to get my regular morning breather from Pops’ attitude by feeding Winston.
“He’s a pig. He’ll eat anything.”
I slip on my boots, the worn leather creaking as I tug them on. The familiar scent of dirt and old leather grounds me.
“You know, I don’t remember you ever giving Wes this much trouble when he came to help you last fall.”
Wes snorts. “He gave me plenty of trouble. I just didn’t cook much.”
I huff out an exasperated breath and slam the screen door closed behind me.
I drive Pops to the rehab center forty miles away and am pleasantly surprised that his mood has improved tenfold since this morning.
I have no idea whether Wes threatened him or if he’s just happy to be out of the house, but I’ll take it either way.
I’d started considering putting horse tranquilizers into his morning coffee to get him to stop being a miserable ass.
When Pops heads back with the physical therapist, I settle into a chair to wait. I slide my finger across the screen of my phone, grateful to be somewhere with more than two bars of service and Wi-Fi.
It’s the little things.
My email inbox has gathered plenty of junk mail since I last checked it. I sift through, deleting all the junk—why the hell am I getting so many ads for male enhancement supplements?
Once those are in the trash, I’m left with three unread emails: one from my favorite shoe store with a subject line screaming FINAL SALE, one from my mom, probably gently probing about any new job prospects, and one from the animal clinic I did my residency at in Denver.
My stomach flips. I hover over the message for a second, then finally tap it open.
It’s from my mentor, Dr. Kroychek—short, sweet, and to the point, just like the woman herself.
We’re in need of another vet with emergency and critical care experience, and I remember that’s your specialty. Let me know if you’re on the market, and we can talk details. We’d love to have you back.
Dr. K.
My breath catches in my throat.
It’s a job offer.
A real one.
And I haven’t even sent out a single application or finished updating my resume.
I’m flattered. Honored.
I should be crafting an email immediately to accept the job and thank her. I should be thrilled and filled with relief. But instead, I just feel hollow.
There’s a void—a yawning black hole that has sucked up every ounce of enthusiasm I should feel right now.
What the hell is wrong with me?
This job would be perfect. And sure, it requires moving to Denver, but it should be a no-brainer. There’s nothing keeping me here.
I tip my head back and stare at the ceiling, searching for excitement that isn’t there.
Maybe it’s just because there’s nobody here to celebrate with me.
I click into my chat with Marlowe.
I’ve got big news. Can I call you when you’re off work?
Let me guess... The hot cowboy fucked your brains out.
That’s not what this is about.
So, he definitely fucked your brains out then?
I’ll tell you when I call later.
Can’t wait!
I sigh and shove whatever this flat, lifeless feeling that almost feels like dread is into a box to open when I’m not stuck in a waiting room.