by Emilia Finn
“Okay.” I bring my coffee up and wash down a tasty rocket leaf. “I guess I should say I’m sorry for nagging at you. You hired me to be an assistant and nothing else. It would appear my expectations for something else are my problem and not yours.”
He looks sorry. Genuinely so, but still, he says, “I don’t need a vet, Tab. I need you to be my assistant. I need you to organize my life. Keep my calendar straight. Remind me of birthdays. Make sure I hit the buy button on my groceries. I’m not incapable of getting these things done, I’m just busy. Always spinning plates. Always keeping balance. For as long as I have you doing what you do, the balancing act is easy. But when you stop, I drop everything.”
He rests his glass of soda between his hands and studies my eyes. “I can’t make you a vet, Tab. Because if I do, I lose you and drop all my plates.”
“I set myself up for this.” I sit back and press the heels of my hands to my eyes. “I applied to work for you, thinking the logical next step would be to work with the animals. I knew what I was applying for, but I was hoping for something else.” I move my hands away from my eyes and wait for the dots to clear. “I did this to us.”
“You set us both up,” he murmurs.
Sitting back when he catches sight of Katrina to his right, he forces a smile and watches on as she sets his dinner down in front of him. A second later, she places mine down, then digs cutlery and napkins from her apron pocket.
As soon as she’s gone, he adds, “You’ve made yourself indispensable, Tab. It would be insane for me to let you go.”
“So, basically…” I take a fry from my plate and dip it in the mayo that leaks out the side of my burger. “I’ve painted myself into a corner. In my attempt to show you how smart and awesome I am, I’ve made it so you refuse to let me do anything else.”
“And in turn, you’ve made it so Lakeside runs seamlessly. For as long as you’re at the helm, my practice runs smoothly. Revenue is up. Appointment books are tidy. Stock is being ordered and maintained like it should. I can’t swap you out for another Carmel, Tabby. It would be business suicide.”
“And so…” I exhale a sad sigh. “We’re at a stalemate.”
My only options, I have to admit, are to stay put and make the most of the career I now have… or quit and go someplace else.
But there is nowhere else. The next closest veterinary clinic is almost an hour away, and they’re not even advertising.
I checked.
“Shit.”
“Can’t you be happy, Tabby?” Beckett dips one of his fries in the tureen of gravy. “We make a great team. You know me inside-out already, and it’s only been a couple months. You read my mind, you predict what I need. You tolerate my half sentences and unspoken thoughts.”
He reaches across the table and rests his hand over my mine. My eyes whip to where we join, and for a beat, my heart stutters as he stares into my eyes. “You get me, Tabby. No one has ever gotten me the way you do. And you have that fake boyfriend you’re always prattling about—”
“Hey!” I tear my hand away and kick his foot under the table. Exceptionally unprofessional, but an automatic response anyway. “Mark isn’t fake.”
“Uh huh.” Adjusting his feet, he grins and takes a fry from my plate. “Fake, fake, fakety fuckin’ fake. But since you’re consistent about the lie, it means there’s no weird sexual chemistry floating around and threatening to break what we have.”
My stomach dips when he sucks gravy from the ends of his fingers.
“Right, Tabby?” He licks a third finger. “What was it you said your first day? No hallway touches, no weirdness? I’m happy.” He licks another finger. “Honestly? I’m fucking ecstatic. This is the best work relationship I’ve ever had, which means I’m cruising over here, thrilled my assistant is my best friend, and my best friend is a chick.”
“Wait. I’m your best friend?” I ask. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Charmingly, he smirks and lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “When there’s a connection, you grab onto it and give it the label it deserves. But it’s no secret I have a past of being fond of chicks.”
“You’re a slut.” I lay his truth on our table for us both to see. “You’re a womanizer, you jump beds faster than fleas in a shared kennel, and you’re unashamed of your ways.”
“We call a pot a pot,” he chuckles. “But despite the, uh, body parts you possess…” he looks down, as though through the table and past the fabric covering me up.
Warmth spreads across my chest and face. He exposes me, even without truly meaning to.
“Because of who you are,” he presses, “you’re able to keep us both in check and away from making dumb mistakes. But if you continue to search for something that isn’t there, Tabby… If you search for my job and can’t accept the one you have, then you’re gonna become miserable.”
“You’re asking me to forget my passion,” I groan. “The degree I completed. The education I have, and the experience I could bring to Lakeside. You’re asking me to forget who I am, all so I can fetch coffee and sync our calendars.”
“No,” he argues. “I’m asking you to do the job you applied for. I didn’t come looking for you, Tabitha. And if I remember correctly, that first day we met, when you were shouting about unfairness, I said you were overqualified to work for me. But you insisted.”
Just do your job, Tabitha.
He’s saying exactly what he said earlier today, but he’s doing it nicer, and with a free meal tossed in to take away the sting of rejection.
“Is Mark in town yet?” Beckett knows his name because I’ve told him our plans of Mark moving here soon.
And yet, no boyfriend to be found.
No doubt my boss is genuine when he says I’ve made the guy up.
“No.” I open my burger and spread the ingredients across my plate. I’m not as hungry now that feta swims in my belly, right beside anxiety; for my career, for my relationship.
Mark is crankier than usual, his calls less frequent, his answers shorter and less conversational. He rarely asks about my day, and like today, if I tell him anyway, he’s less than interested. A large part of me thinks he’s given up on us, that cold feet have set in and made it impossible for him to truly leave his company and come here.
But I can’t quit on him, because I miss him.
And maybe the love I have for him isn’t wild and passionate and crazy like it was in the early days. But after three years together, it’s inevitable that we settle into something more comfortable. Something more hardy and long-lasting.
“I moved here for him.” I pick at my meal and exhale a sad breath. “I quit my old life and made the move to this town I’d never even heard of before, all for Mark. And now he’s stalling on me.”
“Sounds like a shitty boyfriend to me,” Beckett murmurs.
When my eyes whip up to his, stunned, he acts coy and asks, “What will you do if he doesn’t come? If Mark still isn’t here a month from now? Two months?”
“I…” Think about it. I really try, but come up empty. “I don’t know. If I’d known before that this would happen, I wouldn’t have jumped so fast. I might’ve hung around and made him make the first move before I upended my life. But now that I’m here, now that I’ve already settled into my apartment, and you—”
“Need you?” Beckett cuts in just as smoothly as his knife slices into his steak. “Now that I need you?”
“Well… yeah.” I pull away a chunk of grilled chicken and nibble on the end. “I’ve settled in at Lakeside, and even though I desperately wish I could work with the animals, that doesn’t mean I don’t get pleasure from what I actually do. In a way, you’re like my big-ass, dopey dog who needs help.”
Wide-eyed, Beckett barks out a surprised laugh. “Thanks, I think.”
“If I had my time again, I might’ve waited for Mark to move first. I gave up a lot for him, and now here I am, drowning in self-doubt for the decisions I’ve already made.”
; “Will you leave?” Serious again, Beckett studies my eyes. His jaw ticks, and beneath heavy lashes, forest green eyes bore into mine. “If the boyfriend doesn’t come,” he presses, “will you go back to your own world?”
“Maybe.” I know the answer should be ‘No, of course I’ll never leave you, Beckett.’ But I prefer honesty. It’s always cleaner when everyone speaks the truth. “I’m not ready to run away yet, since Mark still swears he’s coming. But I can’t lie and say I’ll never leave.” I look back down to my dinner, all so I don’t have to meet the steely gaze of a man I respect and like, even when he pisses me off. “That would be unrealistic and unfair to us both.”
10
Tabby
Mind-blowing
After dinner, where the atmosphere dipped and swayed back and forth—between tense, when discussing my career options, and relaxed, when discussing dopey dogs and best friend rules—Beckett walks me back to my apartment in the dark.
He’s the ass-grabber, I imagine, when out on a date. I very much suspect he’s a first-date-fucker, the aggressor when it comes to making a move on a woman.
That’s not to say I think he’s aggressive, and I’m certain, with my entire heart and soul, he would never take something not willingly given. But that doesn’t mean he’s coy or shy. Beckett Rosa will never be accused of being the guy who gives mixed signals and unsure commands.
So we ate, we chatted, sometimes we even laughed, and when we walked home, we walked shoulder to shoulder. But no matter how date-like this sort of feels, Beckett was the perfect gentleman the entire time.
Perhaps tigers really can change their stripes.
Discussion of my career—and my position inside Lakeside Animal Hospital—was pushed to the wayside, and though I’m sure, to Beckett, that was a welcome distraction, to me, it made me feel more and more dismissed. Not disrespected, per se, but shoved into a box and told not to come out again.
I could go around and around; Jen and Beckett and everyone else on the planet can repeat that I applied for a certain position, and the fact I’m mad is all on me, but that doesn’t take away the frustration I feel. It doesn’t make moot the burning passion I have in my gut to help animals.
Which is why, regardless of Beckett’s gentlemanlike behavior since first arriving two hours ago, I stop him at my front door and step through the doorway on my own.
“See you tomorrow, Beckett.”
His phone vibrates now, as it has most of the time we’ve been hanging out. Women call him as often as he calls me. And though it doesn’t bother me, since, well—single hot dude seeks single hot female—I still roll my eyes when he grabs his phone and smirks at whoever’s name flashes on the screen.
“Yeah, okay.” I’m invisible again, off the clock and unneeded. “Night.”
“Night.” Distracted, Beckett turns toward the stairs and brings his phone to his ear. “Remi? Hey, girl. I’m glad you called. I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Hey, girl.” Huffing, I lope through my door and slam it so loud that Beckett will hear it, even from the bottom floor.
Maybe a large part of my frustration is sexual. It’s okay for me to admit my boss is hot, and it’s okay to acknowledge my boyfriend is absent. Add in the way Beckett would flirt with a car if he thought it would pay off in the end, and the constant parade of women sashaying through his life—and by extension, through mine… maybe things would be better if I just got a little attention from the guy supposed to be giving it to me.
I turn away from my door with a shake of my head and a plan to grab my phone and call Mark for the second time today, but instead, I squeal when I find my sister sitting on the table, her feet on the chair, my phone in her hands, and a single sculpted brow raised.
“Jen!” I smack her shoulder as I pass, and snatch my phone. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Uh, you scared me!” she shoots right back. “You were here, and the guy killed his wife, by the way. The show ended and confirmed we were right. But were you here to celebrate our genius? No!”
She jumps down off the table and follows me everywhere I go. To the pantry. To the fridge. To the wine rack. “You were missing! And when I tried to call you, did you have your phone on you? Again, no!”
I pour a glass of red wine, not stopping until the burgundy liquid touches the lip.
“You weren’t on the toilet. You weren’t in bed. I even called Mark, but he didn’t know where you were.”
“You called Mark?” Scowling, I bring the wine closer and lean over the sink in case I spill. “What did he say?”
“He told me to fuck off, then he said you probably wised up and got tired of having a bitch for a sister.”
“That wasn’t nice.” And because my boyfriend isn’t very nice to the sister I adore, I drink more. I chug until the liquid hits the sides of my stomach. “Was he worried?”
“Hell if I know, we didn’t chat! Give me some of that.” Jen snatches the half-empty bottle from the counter and brings it to her lips.
“I worried for two fucking hours,” she snarls and drinks. “Two hours! Your neighbors saw me in my sports bra. The cops told me to calm down.”
“You called the cops?” Shocked, I press a hand to my cheek. “Are you crazy?”
“No, I’m a concerned citizen who watches too much true crime! So then I call them, and I’m super casual, mention my sister, how she’s disappeared into thin fucking air, and could they maybe help me find you before you become a body in a barrel.”
“A body in a barrel? What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing is wrong with me! But after the wife-killer episode, there was this one about a killer putting bodies in barrels. I guess the cops realized at that point I was a Netflix hoe, so they told me to turn it off and chill out. Ten minutes later, they call back and tell me sweet Tabitha is sitting at some place called Franky’s Diner with the town’s cutest vet.”
She drops a hand to her hip and scowls at me. “You were with McHotty and didn’t think to tell me you went out?”
“The cops told you I was at the diner with Mc— Beckett?” Heat floods my cheeks and makes the wine in my blood move faster. “How the hell could they know that?”
“I don’t know!” she whips the hand from her hip into the air. “But then it’s like, alright, she’s with her boss and all is well. So I call Mark back—I don’t much like the asshole, but he doesn’t deserve to worry about you.”
“You called Mark again? Jennifer!”
“Relax,” she huffs. “He wasn’t freaking like I was. But now here you are, you were on a date with McHotty, you’re chugging wine, and I missed you!” She slides in and hugs me from the side. “Seriously, Tabby. There was an hour there when I was really worried.”
“I didn’t mean to make you worry.” I hug her back and close my eyes for a moment. “Beckett turned up uninvited, I went into the hall to speak to him, since my sister was inside in a friggin’ bra. Next thing I know,” I pull back and meet her beautiful eyes. “He’s dragging me to the diner and buying me dinner.”
“Are you guys dating now?”
“What? No!” I bring my wine up and chug a little more. “Why are you so obsessed about this? He’s my boss. And I’m about to call my boyfriend.” I lift my phone and show her the screen.
I have a dozen missed calls from Beckett from earlier. Two from Jen while I was eating. And… none from Mark.
It’s fine. Everything will be fine.
“I’m drinking this,” I tell her and chug a little more, “so I can use this,” again, I show her the phone, “so I can touch this.” I point downward and draw my sister’s eyes to the movement. “I think I’m so desperate for release, I’ve let a million other frustrations build up. I’m wound tight, I’m frustrated, I’m ready to explode, so…”
She wrinkles her nose. “I’d rather you called McHotty.”
“Oh please.” I lean in and give her one last hug. “Don’t be so crass. He’s my boss, not my booty c
all. I’m going to my room.” I stumble toward the door but turn back before walking out. “Please don’t knock for a few hours. If I’m this close to coming and you ruin it, I’m gonna put your body in a barrel.”
She scowls again and drinks her own wine. “Those are harsh consequences for wanting to borrow a little sugar.”
“Don’t come looking.” I wave her off and head into the hall.
I’m desperately searching for liquid courage, and then hopefully, a big release, but all I manage is to take a fast left and dart into the bathroom.
It’s not like anyone is even in my room, waiting for me to walk in. It’s not like Mark or anyone else is going to see me touch myself. Nevertheless, the pressure builds inside my chest until I stand at the sink, my phone in one hand, my wine in the other, and my eyes, tired and sunken, staring back at me in the mirror.
I’m exhausted, I’m stressed, I’m lonely, and the world weighs far too much this week.
Setting my things down and flipping the taps on, I wait for the cold water to turn warm, and when it’s no longer glacial, I fill my hands and splash the liquid over my burning face.
A rosy blush heats my cheeks—from thinking of sex, and from chugging wine—and makes me feel sulky and stupid.
“But that’s why you’re doing this,” I murmur. “Orgasm, de-stress, calm the hell down, and get back to normal life.”
Remind me again why I have orgasms on my mind?
I run water over my hands, then my wrists. I’m only looking to moisten, to relax, but then I massage the warm water along my arms, then up to my chest.
“Gah!”
Flipping the taps off, I grab my wine and take another chug, then trying to set it down, I have to close one eye as the alcohol swims in my head and makes it difficult to judge depth.
The last thing I want is to mop up red wine and broken glass.
When the wine is down safely, I spin to the shower and flip those taps on, then I strip as steam billows upward and marks the ceiling. A shower first, I decide, will help me relax.