a rerun of The Golden Girls.
“Your stupid dog ate another piece of my clothing,” I whine.
Her eyes flick up. “Another thong? That dog is such a hornball. You’d think I never cut off his balls.”
Gross. “No, he ate … one of my sports bras this time.”
She chuckles. “Ah, the matching set. At least he knows what to pair things with. Well, call the vet.”
Her finger hits the volume button on the remote, turning it up a few notches.
“Can’t you call? It’s your dog, and I took him last time.”
Grandma turns to me, her green eyes full of sass. “I’m not the one who can’t keep my room clean. Don’t blame this all on the dog. Plus, aren’t you knocking boots with Dr. Nash? I’m sure he’d take much more kindly to an after-hours call from you than he would from me.”
“Why does everyone assume we’re knocking boots?” I throw my hands up. Goddamn this town and its rumor mill. “We’re not, by the way. Nor are we seeing each other. So can’t you just call him?”
This time, she doesn’t even spare me a glance. “No can do, darlin’. Your bra, your mess. Call the man. And go out with him again, you’re wasting a perfectly handsome face on your commitment issues.”
Heated, embarrassed blood fills my cheeks. How dare she pinpoint the exact thing I’m afraid of and call me out for it? It sucks having a mirror shoved in your face.
“I don’t have his phone number.” I throw out another reason.
“It’s on the notepad by the fridge, along with all the other emergency numbers. You should probably learn those. And take Chance out to pee before you put him in the car, would you?”
It’s a miracle steam isn’t billowing from my ears as I pull out my cell phone on the way to the kitchen. Who actually kept a pad by their fridge anymore?
The number listed is for the veterinary office on Main Street, and I know it has to be closed at eight p.m. But I call anyway, listening to the phone ring over and over. Then the call clicks over and the ringing sounds different, and I’m surprised when someone picks up.
“Hello, this is Dr. Nash.”
That crisp, manly, good-natured voice has a small smile spreading across my lips. Of course, all the after-hour calls are transferred directly to him.
“Hi, Keaton, it’s Presley.” I shuffle my feet nervously. Thank God no one can see me.
A beat of silence. “Presley? Sorry, I answered like a stuffy doctor, I thought this was my work line transferring over.”
“It is, I’m calling because Chance ate something. Again. I wanted to see what you thought I should do?”
A gruff chuckle. “God, that dog is something else. Has he eaten tonight? Gone to the bathroom?”
I try to think. “Um, well he ate dinner before he ate my clothing. And I haven’t tried to take him out yet …”
As I finish the tail end of filling Keaton in, Chance walks into the kitchen and starts making gagging noises.
“Oh, crap. Now he’s making those horrible dog vomit noises.” The sound makes my skin crawl. It’s akin to nails on a chalkboard.
Keaton sighs, and I can hear him moving or shuffling on the other end. “Better bring him in. Can you meet me at my office in fifteen minutes?”
“Yes. I’m sorry to have to make you come in after-hours.” I genuinely feel bad for this dog’s crap timing.
“Don’t worry, it’s all part of the job,” he responds, hanging up after a goodbye.
A tiny pang of wishing moves through me.
Part of me kind of wished he were doing this because it wasn’t part of his job. And how twisted is that?
16
Keaton
Twenty-five minutes later, and my arm is fist deep in Chance’s rectum again.
The things you think you’ll never say … and then you become a vet.
“I don’t feel anything yet, no tangling or irregularities.” Removing my hand, I snap off my glove and throw it in the trash.
Being on-call all the time is pretty much part of the job description. I’m the only veterinarian in town, and in most of the rural surrounding towns. I’d say I see an animal after I close up shop about three out of the seven days of the week. I don’t mind really … what else am I doing? I’m a bachelor who eats mostly frozen microwave meals and watches whatever sports game is on television that night.
Moving around Chance, who lies lazily on the table in front of me, I feel his