“He’s a boy.”
“This matters how?”
Rebecca shook her head and ate her pancakes.
chapter
EIGHT
Wes carried armfuls of grocery bags up Marco’s stairs and was about to bang on his b
rother’s door with his elbow when he saw the sticky note with Marco’s atrocious doctor’s handwriting over the peephole. Downstairs at clinic.
Wes grunted. “Things you could’ve texted me before I went up two flights of stairs.”
He shifted the bags in his arms—not wanting to leave them on the doorstep since some of the stuff needed to be refrigerated—and traipsed back down to the clinic. The place wasn’t open on Sundays, but Marco was probably checking on patients who’d stayed the night. Marco paid techs to do that, but his brother had a hard time not poking his head in since he lived right upstairs.
Wes pushed his way through the back door, where he was assaulted by animal smells and barking. He poked his head into the kennel area. “Marco, you in here?”
The only answer was a chorus of yapping, yipping, woofing canines and intermittent meowing from the cats.
“Dammit.” Wes glanced toward the front, seeing the lights on in the lobby, and headed that way. At least there he’d have somewhere clean to finally set down the groceries. He pushed through the door. “Dude, you could’ve fucking told me that you were going to be—”
But as soon as Wes looked up, his words cut off. His brother was at the front desk with raised brows, and he wasn’t alone. Two sets of female eyes turned Wes’s way. One of which belonged to the woman he’d never expected to see again. A woman who’d promptly shut him down after he’d stupidly made things awkward and then had given him the hottest goodbye kiss he’d ever had, leaving him reeling and half-hard by the time he’d gotten home that night.
Rebecca had done the right thing, sending him away. He’d been ready to continue that kiss, preferably in the horizontal position. It’d been so damn long since he’d felt that blinding, full-bodied urge to be with someone that it’d been like the rush of a drug. But Rebecca had been drinking, and she’d already told him he wasn’t her type. Plus, he’d been playing a role, acting like someone he wasn’t capable of being. Some light-hearted guy who made jokes and flirted and had no rattling skeletons in his closet. The whole thing had been a mistake, but he also wasn’t immune to the dent in his ego her comment had left. Mainly because it hadn’t just been “not my type” for dating, but for friendship in general. Even his best, fake version of himself wasn’t up to par for her.
Now she was here, looking at him like she wanted to turn tail and run. Great. Now awkward would escalate to full-out uncomfortable. “Sorry, I thought you were closed.”
“Sorry, ladies. My younger brother apologizes for his language.” Marco sent him a look.
“Your brother?” the blond woman said. She turned a beaming smile on Wes. “The one who helped Bec out the other night?”
“That’d be me,” Wes said flatly.
“Well, hi there.” The woman gave him an evaluating look. “And don’t worry about us. We’re not that easily scandalized.”
Rebecca gave him a grim smile.
“Rebecca wanted to stop in and check on our patient,” Marco added.
“Hi again,” Wes said, hoping he sounded casual. “Marco, I need your key so I can put some of this stuff in the fridge.”
Marco jabbed a finger at a table that had handouts about pet care on it. “Just set them there for now. I’m heading up right after I finish this. Rebecca’s going to foster our canine rescuer once he’s healed up enough. Isn’t that great?”
“Fan-frigging-tastic,” Wes muttered as he set the bags down.
Marco frowned his way, letting him know that his mutter wasn’t so quiet. “Why don’t you take her back to visit him while I process this paperwork?”
Wes straightened. “What?”
Marco cocked his head. “He’s in the big kennel on the far end. Walk her back.”
“Oh, he doesn’t have to—” Rebecca started.
But her friend cut her off. “Oh, you should go, Bec. This is bonding time…with Bartholomew.”
Rebecca closed her eyes as if she was counting to three to keep her cool. “That’s not his name, Kincaid.”