Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“Why do you want to go?”
“I don’t. I offered to go.”
“Is it Hayden?” He lowers his voice when he growls her name.
“What?” I ask, honestly confused.
“You told me the other day you weren’t interested. Are you?”
“In Hayden? No!” His eyes narrow, and I know to him it seems like I answered too fast to be telling the truth. “I just wanted to get away from the office.”
“You have a condo.”
“I know. Shit, just give my magazine back and forget I even asked.”
I hold my hand out, but the jerk doesn’t make a move to hand it over.
“She’s a client,” I remind him, smiling when I see his jaw twitch. If the man wants to be an asshole, I can be one right back.
Parker rocked my damn world the other night, and there’s just about nothing in the world that can knock me down from my high.
“She’s not my client anyway.”
He rolls up the magazine and swats at me, like I’m a bad dog.
“What the hell is going on?” Deacon’s voice booms through the room. “Are you children?”
Feminine chuckles fill the room as our boss’s voice trails off.
I look up, smiling at Anna and Whitney as they step around Deacon.
“What’s going on?” Deacon demands again.
“I was offering to help Quinten with the next class, but he won’t let—”
“That’s a great idea,” Deacon interrupts.
“But—” Quinten begins, but snaps his mouth closed when Deacon raises his hand.
“He needs to get out of the office.” I grin at my boss. “I’m tired of seeing his ass just sitting around.”
I could argue, but I know that Deacon is well aware of my contribution to the team.
The girls split off, Anna heading down the hall with Deacon, and Whitney going into Wren’s office. I bite my lip when the echo of his lock makes its way to me. I never understood a grown-ass man not being able to control his hormones, but I know that if Parker showed up with that same glint I just saw in Whitney’s eyes, I’d be locking my office door, too.
“What’s that?” Quinten snaps just as he slaps my magazine against my chest.
“What’s what?”
“That look? Do you have the hots for Whitney?”
“What?” I stare at my best friend like he’s sprouting palm trees out of the top of his head.
“Wren seems like a happy-go-lucky kind of guy, but the man will tear you limb for limb if he catches you looking at his girl like that again.”
“I’m not—I wasn’t—you know what? Fuck off.”
There’s no animosity in my voice which Quinten is well aware of considering he laughs at my back as I walk away. That little veiled threat is payback for teasing him about Hayden being his client and not mine.
“Class starts at seven,” he hollers just before I shove my office door open. “Try not to be late this time!”
I’m fifteen minutes into checking expiration dates on the limited meds we keep at the office when the door flies open. Brooks walks in limping, looking like he’s just been on the receiving end of an ass whipping.
“What happened?” I ask, reserved and a little irritated at being interrupted while my thoughts were mechanical where work is concerned and fully involved in thoughts of Parker. “If you keep breaking fingers, I’m going to just give you a supply of splints. You’ve been through it enough that you should no longer need my he—”
“I’ve been bitten.”
I cock an eyebrow “Animal or human?”
He narrows his eyes and gives a look that reeks of sarcasm. “Dog.”
“Get on the table. Was the dog anxious? Foaming at the mouth? Did it seem fearless and overly aggressive?”
“Seriously?” he snaps as he works open the button and zipper to his jeans. “I didn’t stop the fucker and ask him how his day was going, Jude. He was snarling and chasing me.”
“On the street? Most street dogs are territorial when they have food. Did you try to take his food?”
“It wasn’t a street dog.” He drops his pants and boxer briefs, and I just shake my head.
When did seeing fellow coworkers’ junk become so common place?
“Am I going to have to keep pulling answers from you, or are you eventually going to tell me what the hell happened? Stop. Let me put a towel down. I don’t want your dick directly on the table.”
He huffs as I grab a towel.
“I need to know if there’s a chance the damn thing had rabies. I can’t test for that in the office, so you may need to go to the hospital.”
“It didn’t have rabies,” he snaps, catching the towel I throw in his direction. “You can’t lay that out?”
“I’m not a full-service nursing facility, Brooks.”
He grouses some more but spreads out the towel.
“Where did it bite—”
“My thigh and right ass cheek.”
I pull on a pair of gloves and look down at my “patient.”