Chapter 26
26
Whoever said Sunday was a day of rest clearly never had a mission like mine.
There is no rest when you’re tasked with something so critical. The pleasure of a woman is at stake, for fuck’s sake.
I can’t watch sports. I can’t shoot hoops with Nick or Jason. I can barely even think about the jujitsu class on the schedule this evening.
I have research to do, and that’s all I should be doing.
Studying and gathering data.
If I head into tomorrow night cock blazing, ego blasting, thinking I can send her soaring with my big dick, then I might as well slap an F on Project Good Loving right now.
She doesn’t need a big dick—though I come equipped, thank you very much.
She doesn’t need machismo either.
What she needs, I suspect, is something else entirely.
I spend the afternoon in the modern-day equivalent of the research stacks—my iPad. I rappel into the woman’s cave for the day. Don’t try to find me. I’m in Cosmo . I’m deep diving to Refinery29 . I’m hanging out in Bustle .
Hell, I even search for something I never thought I’d search for before: feminist porn . And there is some seriously hot fucking going on thanks to that search term. The best part? Everything is all about her .
Her needs. Her pleasure. Her path to O.
I watch. I take notes.
I study the hell out of what a woman who’s never visited the land of Oh God, There, Right There needs to reach that destination.
When I close the tablet and head to jujitsu that night, I somehow focus all my mental energy on how to make Sloane Elizabeth feel like a queen in bed, barely saying a word to Jason or Truly till we’re done.
When class is over, Jason claps me on the back. “Want to grab a bite?”
I shake my head. “Nope. I have work to do.”
“Sunday night veterinarian work?”
“Work of another kind,” I answer. “Go hang out with Truly if you want company.”
My sister stares daggers at me. “Thanks for making me a consolation prize.”
Jason winks at her. “Don’t be sad, Truly. You’re a lovely consolation.”
“Gee, thanks.”
I’m off, leaving Truly and Jason staring after me as I speed-walk out of there like I’ve just received marching orders.
Which sounds about right.
* * *
The next day at the clinic, I am all business. I treat my patients like the pro that I am. I address staff issues like a boss. I consult with Doug like it’s my job, because it is.
I am firing on eighty-eight cylinders today. The prospect of seeing Sloane tonight is an injection of pure adrenaline, pushing me through the hours.
Seeing her throughout the day also contributes to the get-shit-done-like-a-badass attitude, since my motivation is right in front of me.
Around midday, a client brings in the friendliest cat I’ve ever treated, who’s ornery as a bull today. He has a hell of a reason for being pissed. He can’t piss. I set to work on the black cat named Quinn right away, getting a catheter going for the blockage. A little later, I find Sloane visiting the feline, cooing at him through the metal bars of his kennel. “You’re going to feel better real soon. I promise. Dr. Goodman is the pussycat whisperer,” she says softly.
“Why, thank you.”
She startles then smiles, perhaps a little embarrassed. “I didn’t think anyone was back here.”
“I figured as much. Also, that was adorable.”
“And true, I suspect. On all counts.”
“Thanks for visiting Quinn. He likes company.”
She reaches in and scratches his chin, and he rubs against her. “I’m always happy to make the rounds.” She tilts her head. “By the way, I wanted to ask you about a dog.”
She tells me about a min-pin with a skin condition that she wants to bring into her rescue, showing me a picture of the pup as we leave the kennel section. “That was taken by the shelter I want to spring him from. But I want to make sure I'm not biting off more than I can chew. Can you help him without it becoming too onerous?”
I study the picture, nodding. “This looks highly treatable. We should have him feeling better in a few days.”
She shoots me a most professional smile, and I want to kiss it right off her. Because I know what it means. It’s a we have a secret smile. It’s the I’m working hard not to let on look.
And it gets me going.
Knowing what we have cooking tonight is a big turn-on.
Then again, everything about her is a recipe for instant arousal, including the vanilla scent of her hair. I get a heady whiff as I stand close, so damn close to her.
“See! I knew you two would get on like a couple of old pals.”
At the sound of Doug’s voice, I blink and tear myself away from Sloane, even though we weren’t touching. My skin prickles with an unpleasant sensation that feels distinctly like guilt and leaves an aftertaste like betrayal.
“Yes, we get along fine,” Sloane says, cool and professional.
“I had a feeling.” He sounds so damn proud. Doug motions for us to join him in his office. “Come. I have something for you two.”
With my stomach churning and my feet leaden, I follow him. Once inside his office, he gestures to a white box on the desk, a slim blue ribbon tied around it. “For you two. And you can share them with Jonathan and Sam too.”
I gesture to the box, barely able to meet Sloane’s eyes. If I do, all I will see is how much I want her, and I can’t deal with that right now. “You do the honors.”
She clears her throat, reaches for the box, and tugs at the string. “Thanks, Dad.” But her fingers are unsteady, and they slip.
I grab the box and untie it, flipping open the white cardboard flap. Inside are several dog bones with iced frosting on them.
“They’re cookies. Shaped like dog bones,” Doug blurts out, as if he’s been bursting to reveal his surprise. “Helena made them. Try one. It’s chocolate chip.”
I reach for a cookie and bite. It’s remarkably tasty. “It’s good, Doug.”
“Try one, Sloane.”
She takes a cookie and chews. “Yum.”
We glance at each other, and the secret between us is so thick you could turn it into a stew.
“It’s just a small little gift. To say thank you,” Doug adds.
My brow creases. “For what?”
Doug strides over, clapping one hand on my shoulder, one on his daughter’s. “For making change look easy. Admittedly, I was nervous. How this arrangement might go. But it’s been great.” He looks from his daughter to me, and my guilt doubles, then doubles again, multiplying into a towering pile of coins of guilt.
I’m sleeping with his daughter.
I’m screwing her behind his back.
And I’m going to do it tonight.
And I’m going to fucking love it.
“It’s been great. Working together has been great,” I say roughly.
Sloane steps forward and kisses his cheek. “It’s been fantastic,” she adds. “And tell Helena she’s one heck of a baker.”
“She’s a baker, she’s a painter, she’s a listener. I love her madly. Hey. I wanted to take her someplace for a vacation soon. Do you have any thoughts on where we should go?” His earnestness with her reminds me that she’s family. She knows his wife well enough to answer the question.
And I’m a third wheel.
I turn around. “Thanks for the dog bone cookies,” I say, and I don’t look back. I head straight to my office, shut the door, and slump into my chair. I drop my head to my desk, groaning in frustration.
My next appointment is in ten minutes, and I need to shake off this feeling. Sitting up, I shovel my hands through my hair like I can erase the whole encounter, everything from Doug’s congratulations on our bonding to his need to impress his wife.
I swivel around, grab a picture frame from next to my computer, and study the photo from years ago. Mom, Dad, Truly, and me at our high school graduation, a month before Dad died.
“What would you do?” I ask the man I respect, the man I admire.
But as soon as the question finds air and breath, I take it back, shaking my head, waving it away like smoke.
“Pretend I didn’t say that,” I mutter.
I don’t want his advice.
I don’t want anyone’s.
I want what I want.
I don my Super Vet jacket, head to the exam room, and do my job the rest of the day.
Tonight, I have another job, and it’s one I can’t wait to fulfill.
I want it so much I shove everything else aside.
Out of sight, out of mind.