Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 31927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 160(@200wpm)___ 128(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 160(@200wpm)___ 128(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
“Back off, Mom.” I grab the brownies and stash them on top of the fridge, where neither of my animal toddlers can reach them. “I have eight reports to finish and sleep to catch up on. No matchmaking. Understood?”
She sighs, putting on her best “woe is me” act. “I’m just saying, Beckett, you aren’t getting any younger.” Like I need that goddamn reminder.
“Go home, Mom.” I’m too tired to deal with this right now.
She blows me a kiss, collects her purse, and calls Beans a “handsome boy” on her way out the door. Pork whines in protest, but I scoop him up, cradle his sausage-shaped body like a baby, and tell him in a voice I absolutely would not use in public, “You’re my big, tough guard dog, aren’t you?”
Pork licks my chin and immediately falls asleep in my arms. The world’s most intimidating security system.
Seven hours later, I’m working the back of my eyelids for all I’m worth when the sound of retching drags me from my much-needed slumber.
I tear back the covers and find Beans, lying in a dark little curl at the foot of my bed, making the most pathetic snuffling noise I’ve ever heard.
“Hey, what the—” I hop up so fast I nearly knock Pork onto the floor. The dog gives me a sleep-glazed glare and immediately burrows under the blanket.
Beans doesn’t budge when I lightly stroke his back. He just makes a pathetic whimper.
Instant panic. This is bad. This is “call the vet and demand an ambulance” level bad. My swine baby is suffering. I hurry up and dress while calling the vet emergency line. Someone answers on the second ring. “Riverbend Ridge Veterinary, what’s your emergency?”
“My pig. Beans. He’s fucking miserable and not moving. Looks like hell.”
She goes into professional mode so fast it’s almost impressive. “Keep him warm and quiet,” she says, like she’s reading my mind from across town. “Dr. Berg will meet you at the office at seven. Can you be here?”
Hell yes, I can. I’m already sweating through my shirt as I sit next to my baby, lightly stroking his back. My lungs are in my throat. Pork is snoring like nothing is happening while I’m barely holding it together. Fuck. Seven a.m. can’t come fast enough.
Three hours later, I have both animals hooked into their car seats. Beans keeps making awful huffing sounds, and Pork looks personally offended at having his beauty sleep interrupted. My hands are sweat-slick on the steering wheel.
The veterinary clinic is fifteen minutes away, but I make it in nine and a half, parking across two lines and not even pretending to care.
I stumble through the doors, struggling to carry my overfed, ninety-pound baby while Pork ambles next to me, trying to sniff every goddamn inch of ground along the way. “I have an emergency. I called earlier.”
The receptionist’s eyebrows hike up to her hairline. “Someone will be right with you, Mr. Hot.”
Waiting is killing me. The squeaky-clean waiting room is painted in pastel colors, but that doesn’t stop my left eye from twitching every time Pork whimpers pathetically.
Finally, the door swings open, and a perky blonde smiles at me. “Mr. Hot, please follow me.”
I carry Beans while Pork follows me back. The blonde leads the way down a short hallway, her sneakers squeaking on the shiny linoleum floor. We turn into the first exam room. The exam room is brighter than the waiting area. There are posters on the wall about heartworm prevention and how to tell if your cat is plotting your death. The vet tech gestures to the steel table in the middle. “Right here, please.”
I haul Beans up and lay him on the table, my arms already shaking from hauling ninety pounds of dead weight. Pork waddles in after us, nose twitching like he’s searching for stray crumbs.
The vet tech gives me a reassuring smile, but my heart is jackhammering in my chest. Beans looks like hell, and all I can do is stand uselessly by while the tech checks his vitals. I’d offer my own damn organs if it would help.
The door pops open, and I turn to get the shock of my goddamn life. The motherfucking universe has a sick sense of humor because the woman in the doorway isn’t just “pretty.” She’s the kind of beautiful that turns you inside out.
Fiery red hair, thick and glossy, curls around her shoulders like she’s just stepped off some shampoo commercial. Wide blue eyes, the color of a fucking summer lake, sharp and clear, are focused right on me. Her mouth is soft and full, and I want to see what it looks like when she’s smiling, or biting her lip, or saying my name.
Every inch of her is curvy and built for trouble, dressed in a white coat and turquoise scrubs, but there’s nothing clinical about the way she moves. She’s all confidence, hips swaying, striding into the room, and my brain short-circuits at the sight of her.