Kept by the Professor

by Sasha Gold

  Right after Ryker left, Taffy got sick again. Poor baby, I’m worried sick. I called the emergency vet clinic, but they acted like it was no big deal. Each time he hurled, he seemed weaker.

  Now, he can’t even hold himself up, and the tech at the emergency vet clinic has changed her tune and says Taffy needs to be seen right away, especially when I mention that the whites of the dog’s eyes are a weird, yellowish color. The urgency in the vet tech’s voice freaks me out. Taffy is freaking me out too. It’s not the fact that he’s been so sick but he’s making this heartbreaking little whimper.

  Even worse, the owner is telling me she can’t deal with Taffy’s issues. When I text her to ask if she’ll meet me at the clinic, she says his illness is my fault. My fault. I can hear her husband yelling in the background, ranting and raving that the dog should be taken to the pound and put out of everyone’s misery. That makes me want to curl up next to Taffy and cry right along with him.

  As a kid, my mother wouldn’t let me have a dog, or a cat, or even a goldfish. We were moving all the time. I’ve never been around an animal more than a few hours, and never a sick animal. If a dog is ill, the walk gets canceled. I’m wondering if it’s possible that his owner is right and I did something to make Taffy sick, but I can’t imagine what that might be.

  By the time I’m dressed and have Taffy wrapped in a blanket, my hands are shaking so badly I can barely hold him. I could call Gemma. She’d be here in a heartbeat, but I hate to disturb her this late at night. Plus, I’ve already pissed off Ryker with all the commotion. Ryker’s big, growly and grumpy and sort of scared me when he stormed over here earlier. He calmed down right away, but I really don’t want to get on his bad side. I assume he’ll be there another day or so to get the house in order. I need him to fix whatever needs fixing to get the house ready for Professor Miracle Worker.

  I settle Taffy on the passenger seat of my car and back out of the parking spot. I really should put the top up but decide against it. The breeze might feel good for the dog. I’m trying to be quiet as can be, but the trash can tips over with a clang. My stomach clenches and I cringe at the noise. I jump out of the car to set the can upright and replace the lid, which I’ve unfortunately run over and it doesn’t fit quite right anymore, so I make more noise. It takes me a minute to turn the car around.

  Before I take off, I flip the interior light on to check Taffy one more time. Fortunately, the clatter of the trash can didn’t wake the dog. He looks so small and so vulnerable. I can’t help the tears that flood my eyes. I stroke his head.

  “Hang in there, little guy,” I murmur.

  I hear footsteps, and then a deep, gravelly voice. “What now?”

  I startle. Shit. I’ve woken the beast. Again.

  Ryker’s handsome and charming but he’s a tad grouchy when his beauty sleep has been disrupted. My temporary neighbor certainly is fine though, even when he’s just emerged from his bed. For a moment or two, I forget that his handyman work is delaying my much-needed math help. I’m not sure if the new professor will agree to help me, but I can’t ask if he doesn’t move in, hopefully soon.

  Ryker strides across the yard, stopping a few feet from me. From this angle he looks even bigger, more massive than earlier. Looming over me, he scowls at my car and at me and even at poor little Taffy. I do not have the time or the bandwidth for dealing with his bossy attitude right now.

  I blink back tears and grip the steering wheel. “Taffy’s sick. Really sick. I’m taking her to the emergency vet clinic.”

  To my dismay, a tear tracks down my cheek. Worse, I hiccup. His scowl softens somewhat, turning to a frown as he heaves a weary sigh. “Let me drive.”

  That’s the last thing I thought he’d say. I expected him to scoff, to tell me I was overreacting or being hysterical. He gives off that bossy, overbearing vibe that makes me think he likes being in charge of things. I’m not sure if I want him to come with me. He doesn’t seem like the most patient man in the world and we might be stuck at the clinic for a long time.

  “You’re shaking, Lilly. You shouldn’t drive when you’re upset.” He sets his hands on the car window sill and lowers his voice. “I want to drive you.”

  His words, borderline inappropriate, manage to rattle me even more. “Do you know how to drive a stick?”

  A deep rumble resonates from the depths of his chest. His lip curls. His eyes flash. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just ask me that.”

  Which pretty much signals the end of that conversation. A moment later, I’m in the passenger seat holding Taffy, and he’s in the driver’s seat, fiddling with the controls so he can shift the seat back to make room for his immense build. He mutters a few words about my car, throwing in a quip about Barbies.

  Whatever.

  I’m too worried about Taffy to get into it with him. The vet clinic is downtown, about a twenty-minute drive. By the time we get there, I’ve decided I’m glad he’s with me. Taffy has been whimpering the whole way and I’m able to comfort him while Ryker takes care of the driving.

  Inside the clinic, the vet tech takes the pup from my arms and vanishes into the back room.

  “Hey.” Ryker speaks gently to me. “Come sit down.”

  I follow him to the seating area and sink into the soft cushions of a worn-looking couch. He brings me a glass of water. When I lift my hand, he clasps it gently and wraps my fingers around the cup. Warmth travels across my skin and I give him a grateful smile.

  “You look a little pale,” he says, his voice gruff. When he sits beside me, the cushions dip beneath his weight, the water spills down my front, making me gasp. But the shock of the water isn’t the most startling part of sitting beside Ryker. It’s the way he feels beside me because the instant he sits, I slip downslope, and bump against his rock-hard shoulder.

  He laughs. “This is cozy.”

  “I can grab another chair.” I lean forward, trying to escape the depths of the couch. Before I can get up, he sets his hand on my arm and gives it a slight squeeze. His grip doesn’t hurt, but it’s enough to send the message that he’s in charge.

  Heat sparks the length of my arm. My breasts tighten making me draw a sharp gasp of surprise. I’ve never had that sort of response to a man’s touch before. Then again, I’ve only ever had disastrous dates with, well, boys. Ryker is most definitely all man.

  I should pull away from him, put a little distance between the two of us, but I can’t will my body to escape.

  He leans closer, pressing a little more of his weight against me. “Stay right here. There are people in this waiting room who look pretty sketch.”

  He tilts his head toward the only person in the waiting room. She sits on the far side of the room and looks like she’s about eighty years old. She holds a striped orange cat. The cat looks at us with clear disapproval, while the lady smiles good-naturedly, petting him. The cat gives a raspy meow. His owner shushes him and shakes her head.

  “Two things you should know,” Ryker says under his breath, like he’s sharing a top-level secret.

  Our sides are pressed together in a way that shocks my senses, but has quickly become too warm and delicious to think of getting away. His powerful body feels strong and comforting. His shoulder is the perfect height to rest my head against, even though I wouldn’t go that far. Wrong message to send a guy who’s just trying to be helpful.

  He proceeds with his two things. “First of all, I think Taffy’s going to be all right. It’s probably the flu.”

  “I don’t think dogs get the flu. Wait – do they? Do you know anything about dogs?”

  “I don’t have to know about dogs to know about this. Haven’t you heard about bird flu?”

  “That was a few years ago and I thought –”

  “Right. Now it’s doggie flu. They throw up for a while and then it’s over.”

  “You are so full of it.” I laugh softly. I use the teasing as an excuse to smack his very solid arm.

  His lips quirk. He’s working
hard to distract me and lighten my mood. I wouldn’t have thought he’d be so sweet. I’m struck by the cut of his chiseled jaw. Sitting right beside him, and I do mean right beside him, I have a close-up view of his unshaved scruff. The man is flat-out sexy. We’re shoved together in a way that lots of guys would see as an invitation to say something untoward. Instead, Ryker is being absurd. Doggie flu…

  Of course, he’s at least ten years older than me. He probably just sees me as a clueless college kid. I’m sure the women he dates are gorgeous, perfect women with their lives completely together. He thinks I’m just a student, a kid. I need to stop noticing how hot he is, and just be grateful for his company.

  I can almost ignore the melty feeling he gives me despite the fact that it moves across my body like a warm, sultry breeze. I force myself to look away. I focus my attention on the blinking, neon open sign. “Doggie flu, huh? Did you watch that story on the news?”

  “Nope.”

  I can’t resist teasing him a little. “Because you prefer to watch the home repair channel, or even better, ESPN.”

  “I like ESPN all right. I used to play football.”

  Huh. Big surprise there. He was probably the darling of his school team. “I’ll bet.”

  “I like to get my news from written sources.”

  “Written sources?”

  He frowns. “Yeah, you know? Newspapers?”

  For a moment, I feel like I’ve lost the thread of the conversation. I really shouldn’t sit so close to a man that’s so potent, so enticing. The feel of him beside me churns my usually well-ordered thoughts.

  “Want to know what the second thing is?” he asks.

  “Uh-huh.” I’m lying. I just want to watch his lips move. Ryker has the best mouth. I’d bet he can kiss like Casanova, not like some fumbling frat boy. I’m probably staring stupidly at him, but can’t help myself.

  He raises his hand, gesturing to the nearly empty waiting room. I can feel his muscles tightening with the movement. I relish the feel of him. Drink in the sensory overload.

  “This right here,” he says in a low, conspiratorial tone, “is good practice for when we have kids.”

  “Kids?” I laugh softly. “You and me?”

  “Yes. You and me. You know how often my poor parents had to take me to the emergency room?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Plenty. It’s good you and me practice on Taffy before Junior comes along, because let me tell you, our boys are going to be hell on wheels.”

  I force myself to look away from his lips and banish the idea of making babies with this man. I absolutely must not think about getting naked with Ryker, the older, handsome handyman. I’m a serious college almost-graduate, not some easy hook-up, the type of girl who would throw herself at him. I’m not. I take a sip of water. The cup shakes in my trembling hand. “I think you’re a little crazy.”

  He takes the cup from my hand, takes a sip and gives it back. “Maybe. But you’re not deathly pale anymore.” He nods. “You’ve got a little blush on your cheeks. It worked.”

  “I’m blushing? I never blush.” I try to sound insistent, but can’t quite meet his eye.

  I’m grateful he’s joking around and not furious with the way the night has unfolded. He’s got to fix up the professor’s house and is probably on a tight deadline. We just met yesterday, and didn’t exactly get off on the best foot, yet here he is. Sinking into the depths of the couch, I’m aware of how big and powerful he is. It’s maybe four in the morning. Ryker probably has a girlfriend or four in town, girls who would probably kick my butt if they saw me sitting so close to their man. I’m sure he could be anywhere else and yet, he’s here with me, helping a dog that isn’t even mine.

  “I like the idea of dogs and kids.” I’m not sure why I’m telling him this. “I’d like to have a lot of both. And I’d like poetry and flowers too.”

  “You would?”

  “I’m sure you must think that sounds dumb.”

  “Not at all. I like dogs. I want kids. Someday.”

  He didn’t say anything about poetry and flowers but at least he doesn’t scoff at the other things. I pat his arm. “I’m glad that doesn’t scare you.”

  He knits his brow. “Why would it?”

  “I don’t know. My mother always implied that having me wrecked her life, not to mention her figure.”

  He frowns.

  “She claims after she had me, her modeling career went south. Permanently.” I go on. “And it seems most men, or at least most men my age, freak out a little over the idea of family and kids. My friend Gemma says guys find the subject of kids about as sexy as granny underwear.”

  “I think granny underwear is hot.” He gives me a wicked smile and lowers his voice. “Super hot.”

  I respond with a low voice too. “You’re bananas.”

  “I like them too. Granny underwear and bananas.”

  “What about a house full of kids?”

  For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. I’ve put him on the spot, which isn’t fair, especially since he’s being so sweet and so helpful. I should change the subject, but before I can, he replies.

  “I like the idea of having a home. Of someone waiting for me at the end of the day. Of kids. Isn’t that what it’s all about?”

  “Depends on who you ask.” I shift uncomfortably next to him, suddenly sorry that I brought up the subject.

  He notices and changes the subject for me. “How long have you worked with dogs?”

  “I started walking dogs to make a little money,” I tell him. “My mother has been pretty tight-fisted when it comes to helping with college. I had scholarships but it wasn’t enough. I never imagined I’d end up taking a client’s dog to the vet.”

  “I figured everyone at Grenville College had rich parents.”

  “My mother has money, but she thinks I’m wasting my time studying art history. She told me if I wanted to go to school, I’d be on my own.”

  I try to think of a way to change the conversation. I’m already upset about the poor dog. I don’t want to think about my mother and how she threatened all sorts of things at Christmas when we met in New York. What a disaster that little venture turned out to be.

  At least Raul didn’t come, but mom sure didn’t hold back. At one point she vowed to disown me. She was a little tipsy and, over the course of the conversation, rained all sorts of shit down on my head. She said the only way I’d get back into her good graces was to work for her and Raul when I graduate and then, just to add insult to injury, she said I ought to keep my virginity for a rich guy. They like that sort of stuff. I’ve tried to push her ugly words from my thoughts, but every so often they creep back in.

  I’m certain she’d scoff at my dog-walking business, just like she’d diss any projects that didn’t revolve around shopping or manicures or partying with other rich people.

  She’s rooting for the possibility that I’ll land a rich hook-up. What would she think of a guy like Ryker? One who’s gruff but kind, a man who probably has no use for champagne parties or sleek yachts. I let my gaze wander across Ryker’s strong jaw, broad shoulders and taut abs. His body is hewn from hard work, not personal trainers. He’s sexy, drop-dead gorgeous and unlike her fussy, pampered friends, probably knows how to work long, hard hours using those calloused, very capable-looking hands.

  Chapter Four

  Ryker

  I manage, barely, to keep my hands to myself, because the urge to comfort and soothe Lilly tears at my self-restraint. I’m tormented by her scent. The soft, enticing curves of her body make my blood heat. An ache throbs inside me.

  I try counting the tiles on the floor to distract myself. When that doesn’t work, I study the receptionist’s computer. She smiles at me and blushes. Ignoring her, I study the machine on the desk. I bet I could access every file in under sixteen seconds. Breaking in wouldn’t even be a challenge.

  The waiting room is quiet. We wait for news about the dog for another ten minutes when all hell breaks lo
ose. First, an elderly couple arrive with a female dog that is rushed into surgery for a C-section. Next, a family arrives with a dog that ingested chocolate bars, how many they don’t know. The kids are nearly in hysterics, crying about poor Skipper, or Tipper. More animals arrive and it starts to feel like a sad pet parade. An elderly dog needs his ear stitched. A pet iguana is acting weird. A tiny, gray striped newborn kitten has been rejected by its mother. I grew up on a ranch and have seen plenty of animal issues, but this is a bit much, even for me. Lilly shrinks down, wilting a little more with each new pet emergency. She’s tender-hearted for sure.

  Despite the added commotion, the vet tech has news for us. The x-rays show that Taffy has swallowed a small, round object. The vet couldn’t tell what it was and sent the images to a radiologist at a different clinic. There’s a good chance he’ll need surgery.

  Lilly’s wanders to the window to call the dog’s owner. She’s white as a sheet. I stand a few paces away and listen as she leaves a message, her voice trembling as she speaks in a hushed tone. She glances up at me and quickly away, but I see the tears in her eyes. I’d like to take the phone from her and set the owner straight. I’d leave a message telling them exactly what I think. If the owner can’t bother to come check on her sick dog, she doesn’t deserve Taffy. And then I’d tell her what a dumb name Taffy is. He’s more of a Buddy than Taffy.

  After Lilly hangs up, I brush her hair over her shoulder. “I guess my doggie flu diagnosis was wrong.”

  She smiles sadly. “Thanks for trying, doc.”

  I leave her side to get another cup of water. I want to do something other than stand around and wait. It’s a bad, helpless feeling when an animal is suffering. I cross the waiting room, returning with the drink only to find her talking to a young man in a baseball cap. I stop a few feet away, fighting a powerful surge of jealousy. Well, that didn’t take fucking long, did it? I was gone all of ten seconds and some asshole is hitting on her. The water sloshes down my hand because I’ve tightened my grip on the cup. The little shit is grinning at her, his eyes shining with some sort of juvenile infatuation.