“Vitamins,” he answers. “I’m concerned that she hasn’t bounced back quicker.”
The puppy was brought in over the weekend. One of the city workers found her shivering beside a dumpster outside the small grocery store we have in town. Infested with fleas when she was brought in, nearly all of her fur is scratched off.
“There you go,” Owen says in a soothing voice as he massages the muscle around the injection site.
“What happens to her when she gets better?” I can’t even let the idea that she won’t make it into my head.
“We have a foster family that’s willing to take her until we can find her a permanent home.” He walks away, disposing of the used needle in the Sharp's container on the wall. “Unless you want her?”
My head is shaking before he even finishes his sentence. The last thing we need at the clubhouse is a tiny puppy. The men there never watch where they’re going. I can only imagine what would happen to her under their clumsy boots.
I’m seconds away from verbally denying him when she jerks in my arms. An awful retching sound comes from her throat just before the warmth of puke slides down my neck.
“I was afraid of that,” Owen says with outstretched arms.
Quickly, I hand over the sick puppy, keeping my arms out and trying not to vomit from the smell.
I’m a statue while he places her softly back into her fresh kennel.
“Come on,” he urges, grabbing my hand and tugging me to the door that leads up to his apartment.
“I don’t have a change of clothes,” I mumble as I allow myself to be led up the stairs.
“I have a shirt and sweats you can borrow.”
My hand remains in his all the way up the stairs, through his living room, and into his bedroom. His grip tightens as he uses his free hand to pull open a dresser drawer and tugs out a change of clothes.
“In you go,” he says as he flips the bathroom light on in his en-suite bathroom. “Clean towels are in the cabinet.”
“I can’t shower here.” The bathroom is tidy, as was the rest of his apartment I was able to glance at on our way in here. “I’d have to get naked.”
“That’s exactly how showers work, Molly.” There’s humor in his voice as he releases my hand to turn on the water. “Lock the door behind me.”
Then, he’s gone.
I’m contemplating leaving his apartment in my dirty clothes when the smell hits me again. One look in the mirror and the decision is made for me.
“I should’ve worn my hair up,” I grumble as I pull off my t-shirt as gingerly as possible as to not get the vomit in my hair.
Wadding my clothes in a ball, I do my best to make sure the mess isn’t on the outside as I place them on the closed toilet seat.
I’m out and clean in less than ten minutes, a record for me. Finding Owen in the living room grumbling over a cluster of candles he can’t seem to light, I fight back a smile, biting my lower lip.
“Hurry,” he whispers to the candles.
“Having trouble?”
He snaps up, cheeks pinking with heat when he turns back in my direction. “I was—” He rakes his hand over his hair, smacking his forehead with the grill lighter still in his hand. He glares at the offending object before looking back at me sheepishly. “I’m no good at this.”
“Lighting candles?” I tease. He gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing under my scrutiny. “Or romance and seduction?”
“It wasn’t—I wasn’t trying to seduce you.” He turns and with a puff of his breath, blows out the candles he’d painstakingly lit. “I just wanted—”
Walking closer, I shush him with a finger pressed to his lips. “It’s cute, adorable even.”
“Cute?” he mumbles against my finger. “I wasn’t going for cute, unless it appeals to you.”
“What was going through your head to make you light candles?” I step closer, our bodies mere inches away. “What was the end goal? To get me naked? To get me under you?”
His eyes widen as he shakes my finger free of his mouth. “I didn’t have an ulterior motive. I swear.”
“You did,” I counter, stepping closer when he takes a step back. God, he is horrible at this. As handsome and successful as he is, you’d think he’d be better with women.
“Molly.” His voice is almost begging, as if he needs a reprieve from my advances.
“Shhh,” I urge as I reach up on the tips of my toes and press my lips to his.
I realize it’s a mistake the second our mouths touch, but I don’t break away immediately. Maybe I just need to give it a few seconds. Maybe the spark will catch fire if I—nope, nothing happens when I open my mouth and touch my tongue to his. The tentative hold of his arm around my waist does nothing. The low whimper in his throat is nothing like the growl Briar blessed me with the second our lips touched.