Trouble(28)

As I stare at him, my mind wanders to fantasy…

Jordan lifting me into his arms. Me wrapping my legs around his waist. Him pressing me up against a tree, crushing his lips to mine. His hand moving lower, between my legs, touching me in just the right place…

“You coming?”

Coming?

“What?”

I look up at his face. He’s staring down at me. Brow furrowed. Dozer still in his arms.

Dog. Hit. By. Car.

Going to the vets.

“Oh, uh, yes. Yes, I’m coming. With you.”

Oh god.

Way to go, Mia. Get turned on from watching the hot guy carrying his injured dog.

This is not me at all. But around Jordan, my state of normal no longer seems to exist.

Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

With embarrassment flooding my cheeks, I jog on ahead to the car.

Reaching it first, I open the passenger door, and pull the seat forward, giving Jordan access to the backseat. It’s a two door car, so Jordan could have a task getting Dozer in, but he manages it with minimal fuss.

“I’ll sit in the back with him,” I say, hand on the car roof, foot in the door, ready to climb in.

I see Jordan’s eyes making quick work of my torn t-shirt. They settle on my face. He frowns.

My black eye. Shit.

I slide my sunglasses down covering my shame.

“You fixed his leg up.” His eyes are still on my face.

“I did.”

“Thank you.”

Ducking my head, I climb in the backseat and sit in the small space that Dozer isn’t occupying.

Jordan shifts the seat back to its place, then closes the door behind me and makes his way to the driver’s side.

I put my seat belt on, then carefully lift Dozer’s head and rest it on my thigh.

“You’re gonna be just fine, Dozer.”

I press my hand against his chest and begin timing his heartbeats. I want to make sure he’s doing okay, but I also to keep myself busy. I need something to focus on right now.

Jordan spins the car around. I feel the quick acceleration pushing me back into the seat as he speeds us off in the direction of the vets.





Chapter Seven





Jordan





Who the fuck is this girl?

Checking Dozer over … sounding like she knows what she’s talking about … fixing up his leg…

And that black eye.

I’ve never felt as angry as I did when I saw that. And trust me, some fucker just ran my dog over, so take it that I’m pretty fucking angry about her black eye.

That’s the reason she’s been wearing those sunglasses since she arrived. And the way she covered it up when she finally realized I’d noticed it … that bruise was no accident. Someone did that to her.

It’s probably why she was so nervous around me last night. She’s so tiny and sweet and kind. How anyone could ever hurt her is beyond me.

The way she took care of Dozer … the way she’s still taking care of him … Jesus, my poor fucking dog.

When I find the bastard who did that to him, he’s going to be eating through tubes—just like the guy who gave Mia that black eye.

Dozer might eat way too much, and take up all the space in my bed, but he’s family. I don’t have much of that left nowadays. I can’t lose him too.

“How’s he doing?” I ask over my shoulder.

“His breathing is a little labored.”

I cast a quick glance back. “What does that mean?”

“It means drive faster.”

I slam the pedal to the metal.

A few minutes later, I’m skidding to a stop outside the vets.

Jumping out of the car, I yank the seat forward and lean into the back. Mia shuffles forward and moves Dozer with her, bringing him closer to me.

I lift him into my arms.

Fucking hell. My body groans under his weight. He seems to weigh twice what he did when I picked him up back in the woods.

I shift Dozer against my chest, evening out his weight, and move as quickly as I can toward the vets. Mia is right behind me.

She overtakes and pulls open the door. I dash through.

Spotting the receptionist, I head her way. “My dog’s been hit by a car – he needs help.”

The receptionist rounds her desk. “Follow me.”

I follow quickly behind her, down a hall and into a room. A middle aged guy in a white coat is sitting at a desk working on a computer.

“Dr. Callie, we have a dog who has been hit by a car.”

The vet glances up at us, then gets straight to his feet. “Place him on here.” He points to an examination table.

Dozer flinches when I set him on the table. “Sorry, buddy,” I whisper.

“What is his name?” Dr. Callie asks, plugging a stethoscope into his ears. He presses it to Dozer’s chest.

“Dozer.” My voice sounds rough, so I clear my throat.