Chapter 48
48
“Exactly! That’s exactly the approach I would have taken with this respiratory issue.” I offer a fist to Jonathan for bumping, and he knocks back. We’re in my office, reviewing his initial classwork during the lunch break.
“Thank you. You’re not too shabby at this whole vet thing,” he deadpans.
“Good to know. Maybe I’ll pursue it as a career.”
He points at me like I just came up with a brilliant idea. “Consider that. Hell, maybe even run a clinic.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t get ahead of yourself there.”
But the truth is, I am running this place, and it’s great.
Doug’s been in Europe for a month now, and he sends us photos via email a couple times a week. Pictures at a cafe in Paris, shots of the two of them on the streets of Barcelona. I have to say, he does look like the happiest man alive, gallivanting around Europe with his bride.
But wait. That’s not true.
I’m pretty sure that title belongs to me.
Working with Sloane has turned out to be everything we’d hoped for. We click. We help each other. We give each other space when we need it, and we offer support when things go wrong.
I suppose the real key to working well together is knowing we’re not going to end. The certainty that we’re together makes us unshakeable.
That has made all the difference.
Plus, she’s moving in tonight, and I can’t wait to have her in my apartment all the time. I’ve been enjoying the hell out of her nightly lingerie fashion shows, as well as her healthy appetite for, well, me.
Yeah, life is good when the woman you love wants to fuck your brains out all the time.
I head to the exam room for the next appointment, passing Sam and Jonathan at the front desk.
He shows her something on the Yelp app on his phone. “This place has the best paninis. That’s where we’re going tonight, babe.”
She shakes her head. “Nope. You need to study. I’ll bring a panini home to you.”
“Have I told you that you’re the perfect girlfriend?”
“Why, yes, you have, because I am.”
I smile to myself. Yup. Some things just work.
* * *
Later that day, Sloane texts, letting me know she’s coming in with a cat she sprang from another shelter and asking me to give him an exam and shots.
When she arrives, she looks every bit the rescue queen she is—skinny jeans, boots, and a pullover, her blonde hair piled high in a messy bun. Lugging a cat carrier, she’s accompanied by the noisiest feline ever. He sounds like those Meow Mix commercials.
I pat the top of the carrier. “Let’s check him out.”
We head into the exam room, Jonathan close behind us. Sloane opens the door to the cage, and the melody of meows continues.
As I gingerly slide the cat out, he keeps chatting, almost as if he’s singing a tune. “ Meow , meow , meow .”
He’s scruffy, and rough around the edges. But he purrs the second I touch him and doesn’t stop the entire exam. He even rubs against me, pushing his chin into my hand, then his whole head.
As I listen to his heart, he stands proudly on all four legs, tail high, cheek sliding against my arm.
“This cat likes you, Dr. Goodman,” Jonathan remarks, his tone impressed.
“Don’t they all,” Sloane says, knowingly. “He’s the cat whisperer.”
“Dog whisperer too,” I add.
Jonathan shakes his head. “But this one? It’s a whole new level. It’s like he’s marking you.”
He’s not wrong. This cat does indeed seem to like me particularly. He paws at my chest, so I scoop him up, and his purr ignites to a whole new level.
Sloane smiles like she’s about the burst.
“What is it?” I ask.
“It’s just . . . well, I was leaving a voice memo this morning that I thought it was time for us to get a cat.”
My eyes widen. “You were?”
She gestures to the striped tabby in my arms. “But I think the cat has gotten you.”
I look down at the feline in my arms. He lets forth another litany of meows, and it appears that I’ve just been adopted.
* * *
That evening, I’m lying in bed with the Chairman of the Board stretched out next to me, purring. Showing off like only a cat can do. He’s the loudest beast I’ve ever heard, and when he meows, it’s a serenade.
I pet his back, and he luxuriates in the moment. He’s so shameless. Such a love whore.
But then, I suppose I am too.
Because when Sloane struts into the bedroom showing off her new lingerie—a lacy sky-blue bra and panty set—I scoop up the cat, set him on the floor, and bring my woman next to me.
The Chairman meows his disdain, but he wanders off.
Good thing, because I need this whole bed for what I plan to do to Sloane tonight.
Make her purr so goddamn loud that the cat is impressed.
And that’s exactly what I do.
* * *
The next morning, I’m woken by a demanding meow.
I sit up, scrub a hand across my chin, and get out of bed.
In the kitchen, I scoop out some vittles for the Chairman, and he sings his praises as he chows down.
I return to bed, wake Sloane in her favorite way—she does enjoy the morning Os—then take her to breakfast, where we meet my friends at the diner.
Sloane is wearing my sweatshirt again this morning, but she proudly proclaims to Olivia and Herb, “I’m no longer doing the walk of shame.”
“And she never will again.” I slide in next to her at the booth to enjoy breakfast and everything else about the way our life together is unfolding.