Sit (The Shores Book 1)

by Allie York

  His sister, Rose caught me later on, hands full of bags and a huge smile on her face. The girl looked way too much like her brother. Tall and lean with the same eyes, only Rose had brown waves instead of thick fiery hair. I shook my head and focused on her as she hinted at needing a job. I pointed her in Blair’s direction for an application, relieved when she left that her jackass brother would be going with her. I liked Rose, the girl gave off a vibe I could work with, but something about knowing who her brother was made me a little apprehensive. I wasn’t sure I could work with her and hate him simultaneously. Rose waved the application at me, grinning wide and left. Against my will and better judgment, my eyes moved to Dr. Jackoff. His black v-necked shirt accentuated the muscles in his chest and shoulders, and those shoulders… Damn it, stop ogling him. I kept my expression hard as Dr. Shit Head cocked one side of his mouth up into a sexy as hell smirk and turned to follow his sister, throwing up a wave as he went.

  “Bye ladies.” He smirked like a dickhead and I glared, hands on my hips.

  It was when Blair pinched my muffin top that I snapped out of my trance and squealed a little, “That is a fine, fine man looking at you.” My best friend gave me a pointed look and I rolled my eyes.

  “That is a complete jerk, and he wasn’t looking at me. Not like that. He hates me as much as I hate him.” I walked away, ignoring the fact that my heart had sped up and my hands were sweating. Men were not on my agenda, especially not men like Dr. Cockwad, no matter how hot. After the one run-in with an arrogant perv in high school who promptly tried to rape me, then spread nasty lies when I refused to screw him, I was happy to go to the grave with my V-card. I had no desire to be groped and have some slimy guy stick his tongue down my throat. When Blair went on and on about the amazing sex she was having, I couldn’t help but be confused. I didn’t see the appeal, at all, but Blair seemed to enjoy it.

  The day progressed on, morning turning into afternoon and even later. The crowd lulled slightly a few times, but we never cleared out completely. When we ran out of snacks I went back next door, making Ziggy stay on his bed at Ivy’s feet, and ventured over to see Mrs. Gonzales at the bakery. The little old lady was so sweet, welcoming us in and only charging us half price for the refreshments as long as we tossed her flyer in the bags at check out. We did one better and told each customer to go see what she had at the bakery to take home for dessert. They were so excited to have another shop in the strip to go with them.

  I reloaded the metal basket with snacks, paid for them, and headed back to the boutique only to see Dr. Ass Clown leaned back against the wall. Those giant arms were crossed over his chest, long legs kicked out in front of him. I huffed out a ragged breath and started towards him, hoping he would stay focused on watching the ocean and leave me alone. No such luck, of course.

  “Ozma,” My name rumbled from him and I froze, shifting the basket into my other hand. The jackass reached for the basket with a smile, but I jerked back, glaring, “All right,” he held his hands up in defeat, “but please let me explain my behavior from yesterday. And I mean explain, not excuse. I know I was a dick and a jackass.” His too-perfect face was serious. Why can’t he be ugly?

  “If I let you apologize, will you leave me alone? I have a business to run and don’t have time for you and your half assed apologies.” I had to tip my head way back to see him and the sexy smile that moved across his face, making me all fluttery. No, no flutters for the Douchecanoe.

  “If you let me apologize, I will leave you alone for tonight.” His green eyes sparked and I gave up. I had four more hours of our grand opening, and people pulling in the parking lot; not to mention the stuff to get done after we closed.

  “Fine, but you better talk and walk fast.” With that I turned and jerked the door open, letting him follow me in to the refreshment table.

  “I had a really shitty day yesterday.” He lowered his voice. “I love my job but sometimes all the death is too much, and yesterday was one of those days,” I was setting a muffin on the platter and froze, “When I read Ziggy’s file, I assumed and it made me act like an asshole. I should have let you explain.”

  With the basket empty, I was able to turn and face him. Death. It was a word I had gotten increasingly acquainted with over the last two years. Mom, Gramma, Gramps, and in some respects, my father. No wonder he was mad. Ziggy wandered over to where I was rooted, pulling me from my blank stare when he wiggled his butt against me. My blank stare had been locked on Dr. Jerkface’s broad chest, but I tried to ignore that fact.

  “I’m sorry you had a bad day and I’m sorry for all the name calling, even if most of it was in my mind. I came up with some pretty nasty names,” My eyes met his and my chest did a weird thing. It felt like a stampede. Nope. Not even going there. I refused to excuse his behavior and develop a crush. He was a jackass, not crush-worthy, no matter how incredibly delicious he looked. Total asshole, not datable.

  “Great, I feel a lot better. I know I can be a little testy. Jax tells me I’m impossible, but thank you for letting me apologize. I’ll leave you alone now; Have a nice rest of the night. Congrats on the opening.” With that he leaned down to pat Ziggy once on the head, getting dangerously close to me. I could smell him and feel the heat coming off him. Dr. Oswin stood slowly and strolled out the door. I watched him leave, staring like a moron at his wide back and really nice ass. Ember was right, the ass was a glorious sight, and just that glimpse had me all messed up. Before he disappeared completely, Dr. AssClown turned and gave me one last look, catching me staring. Crap.

  The rest of the day was busy with a steady flow of customers, while Blair tormented me about ‘Dr. Sex on a stick’; coming back to apologize meant I planned on getting him naked. No matter how nice his ass looked in those jeans or how long it had been since any man was on my radar, there was no chance in hell of that happening. EVER.

  We vacuumed, straightened racks, and put out new product for the next day. I walked Ziggy back out to the car with me, hugging Ivy long and hard before thanking her for the day. Blair did the same and told me she’d see me in the morning. Being besties and roomies didn’t mean we were much alike. She had a man to go see, and I had to run by the rescue, then I had a date with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s. Probably not the best choice of a meal considering I was becoming aware of my expanding waist, but when a craving strikes, you feed it. Screw the larger pant size in my future.

  I changed clothes quickly and went to see if I could help out at the shelter. Lyric was manning the desk at Shore View Animal Rescue Center when I walked in. Her black hair was up in a knot and her gray eyes vanished when she smiled.

  “Hey! How was the grand opening?” Lyric stood to hug me, towering over me by a good six inches.

  “It was amazing,” I motioned to my new shadow, “This is Ziggy. I’m taking foster failure to a whole new level. I hope it’s okay he came.” Lyric shook her head at me, but smiled. Lyric had seven foster failures of her own including three dogs, three cats, and a pet rat.

  “Want me to tell you no dogs allowed?” Lyric rolled her eyes.

  “Totally.” I laughed. “How can I help?”

  “I need some filing done, can you do it? If you’re tired, get out of here, and I can catch up tomorrow.” Lyric said one thing, but meant another. The Center was running on fumes and we all knew it. With no money for paid staff other than Porter and Lyric, who barely got paid, volunteers were slim, and pets were suffering.

  “I’m at your disposal until eight. Just tell me what to do,” Lyric handed me a foot-high stack of files and smiled apologetically as I turned toward the closet down the hall that served as a file room. My phone buzzed from where it was tucked in my jean shorts and I balanced the stack of papers in my hand to dig it out. My dad’s name flashing across the screen made me roll my eyes and shove the phone back in my pocket. Just as I attempted to redistribute the stack of files back to both arms, the door flew open behind me, slamming into my back and my head. Pain shot from my should
ers up to my brain. I stumbled forward, catching myself on the wall, and the files went sailing down the hall, spreading themselves out as far as possible. Syringes, pill bottles, and three bottles of Betadine joined my papers while I rubbed the back of my head, groaning.

  “Who the fuck stands right in front of a door? What if those bottles had opened?” The rough voice had me spinning on my heels and looking up straight into Dr. Pissed Off’s face, blinking to clear my fuzzy vision. My brain stuttered to a halt, when I looked him over. Long fingers, huge arms, wide chest, and those emerald eyes. My thoughts had stalled, but my hand was still rubbing the back of my head, “Oh shit, are you okay?” The hard anger in his jaw loosened and his eyes went wide as he took a step toward me, putting a hand on either one of my shoulders, leaning close to my face. I blinked out of the weird daze he had me in. The door hit me harder than I thought. It jarred my logical thoughts momentarily. “Are you hurt?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. If I thought anyone else was here, I wouldn’t have stopped in front of the door,” I pulled my eyes from his and bent to pick up all the items slung across the hall, starting with the pill bottles he was so damn worried about. I could feel the lump forming on the back of my head. My arms still tingled from his touch, but I shook it off. Not going there, especially after he hit me with a door. I had forgotten to bring a change of shoes, but had traded my dress for a pair of long denim shorts and a cute top for working at the Center. Since I ended up crawling around on the floor to pick up files, it turned out to be a good thing to not be in a skirt. I felt him behind me, watching before he dropped down next to me to help. A clean scent scrambled my senses, and fogged my brain. It was crisp and masculine, making me a little swoony until I remembered who I was smelling. I sobered up quickly when I realized it was him.

  “I should have looked where I was going, or maybe not overreact about everything. I’ll take the blame for that one too. Your head okay? Damn, I’m sorry.” Dr. Oswin let out an awkward laugh, but it wasn’t funny. The jerk just kept digging his hole deeper with me, and smelled amazing while doing it.

  “Maybe you could not overreact about everything without jumping to conclusions. I’m fine by the way.” I rolled my eyes, yet again, and stacked the files as close to straight as possible. I just wanted to get to the file room and far away from Dr. Douchecanoe. Maybe… definitely.

  Dr. Oswin handed me a stack of papers, “I apologized. I wasn’t trying to hit you with the door, and I didn’t mean to yell at you after.” He dropped into a defensive tone, but I was already halfway down the hall with my files and Ziggy hot on my heels. Don’t look back, Ozma.

  “No, you weren’t, but this is the second apology you’ve had to deliver in a day to the same person, in case you didn’t notice.” I shoved into the closet lined with file cabinets and shut the door behind me, knowing that Dr. Oswin was staring at where I had just been standing. Ziggy whimpered at my feet, staring at the door, wanting more attention from Dr. Asshole. Traitor.

  My whole body was buzzing with the sensation. He had barely touched me, but it felt like it burned into my skin, “Get it together, Oz. The guy is a douche.” I grumbled, sorting the papers back into the marked folders and tenderly touched the knot on the back of my head.

  My lounge clothes and fuzzy pink flip flops welcomed me after a long day of looking all put together in three-inch wedges. I was more than ready to rid myself of anything remotely fashionable once I got home. I took Ziggy out for a quick walk down the block and back. When we came back inside I grabbed my ice cream from the freezer, setting the pint and spoon on the table near the couch. I decided to look through the stack of applications form my bag while I ate my Chocolate Therapy ice cream. When I came back to the living room, Ziggy was bouncing from the couch to the recliner at warp speed. The dog was insane. I plopped down on the microfiber sofa and reached for my pint of ice cream only to find it gone. I looked from the empty table, around the living room, then to my hopping dog as dread crept into my chest. No. I snapped my fingers, bringing Ziggy careening toward me. Chocolate covered his nose and ears. I shook my head, like denying it would change the facts, and my hands started sweating.

  “Oh my God, Ziggy! You can’t eat chocolate!” I shrieked and dropped to my hands and knees searching for the missing container only to find it under my table, completely empty. Licked clean. “Shit. Shit. Shit!” I read the ingredients. 70% dark cacao chunks. I closed my eyes, took a breath, and read it again. My dread went to blind panic and my mouth went dry. Chocolate kills dogs, well-known fact, and my dog just ate a whole damn container.

  I stood up, watching Ziggy hop around like an idiot, trying to figure out what to do. I scrambled toward the door where my phone was on the table and Ziggy followed me, like he wasn’t going to drop over dead at any second or anything. I called Dr. Jenkins’ office, but there was no answer. Of course, Oz. It’s after close. Then a thought hit me and I hesitated, watching the dog for a second. Deciding to swallow my hatred and anger, I ran back to the living room, scattering applications across the table while I looked for the one I needed. My hands were shaking as I dialed, bouncing slightly on my toes, begging in my mind for her to answer.

  “Hello?” I jumped up and down at her voice.

  “Rose? This is Ozma Greenlee. I am really sorry to bother you so late, but I have a pet emergency and I need to talk to your brother.” My words came out rushed and shaky while I watched Ziggy settle on the couch, wagging his little butt at me and dancing around. Rose willingly rattled off his number, making me realize I hadn’t grabbed a pen. I snagged one from the kitchen and had her repeat the number. Actually, she repeated it twice and I finally wrote it on my hand.

  “If he doesn’t answer, he’s asleep. Just call back. I hope Ziggy is okay, good luck.” Rose hung up and I frantically dialed Dr. Life Saver’s number. I misdialed it three times, messing up and redialing, panicking more as I saw Ziggy fall asleep. How long before they show signs? How long has it been? What signs am I looking for? I can’t believe I’m calling Dr. Arrogant Ass Face for help after he put a knot on my head and yelled at me about it.

  “Dr. Oswin,” His voice was deeper on the phone, and really groggy.

  “Dr. Oswin, it’s Ozma. I am so sorry; I didn’t know what else to do. Ziggy ate a pint of ice cream and there was chocolate in it. A lot of chocolate. A lot of really dark chocolate. I don’t know what to do.” I rushed through the words, crying and stroked my dog’s head with a shaky hand. I just knew he was about to die.

  “It’s okay. Calm down,” At some point I started hugging the dog, making awful sobbing sounds, “I need you to go get some peroxide. Do you have a syringe?” Dr. Oswin’s voice was calm and collected, like my dog wasn’t going to die any second. Why am I the only one panicking? Why isn’t he freaking out? It was reassuring and irritating at the same time. Everything about him irritated me.

  “No. I don’t know. Who keeps syringes in the house?” I pushed off the couch, reluctantly leaving my dying dog behind to go in search of peroxide. Please have peroxide.

  “Vets do. Diabetics do. People who have dogs that eat shit they shouldn’t do. So go look.” Dr. Douchecanoe snapped and I huffed back at him. “Anyway, you need to make him drink peroxide and he won’t do that willingly, so you need to use the syringe.” I started throwing things from the cabinets and from under the sink, talking to myself about the damn syringes. “Do you have one?” He asked calmly.

  “No!” I shrieked at him, completely losing my mind with the knowledge that Ziggy was going to die and it was going to be my fault. I saved him from a terrible situation only to kill him with my negligence.

  “Where do you live?” I slammed my head back against the bathroom door, wincing when I hit the bump from earlier.

  “What?” I slid into the floor, crying hysterically, not even caring that I was on the phone, and kept digging through the cabinet.

  “Where do you live?” Dr. Douche repeated.

  “My dog is going to die and you want
to know where I live?” I left the bathroom, not bothering to clean up the mess and went back to spend a little more time with my dog before he died. I imagined a horrible, bloody, and painful death. Lots of seizures and crying hysterically.

  “I’m trying to figure out if it’s closer to bring you a syringe or for you to meet me at the clinic,” Dr. Oswin growled into the phone, making me stop sobbing, “so please calm the fuck down and tell me, Ozma.” I quickly gave him my address, suddenly sober from his clipped tone, and laid my head on Ziggy. He didn’t even stir, but he never did once he was asleep. I learned quickly that he was zero to sixty and back before you could blink.

  “You’re closer. I’ll be there in less than ten minutes.” The line went silent and I curled Ziggy into my lap.

  I tried to Google what to do when dogs eat chocolate, but could barely read through my tears and shaking hands. I relented to just crying into his sweet-smelling fur and waiting for Dr. Oswin, hoping the guy I hated could work a miracle.

  Chapter Five

  Harris

  I didn’t need to grab syringes on the way to her house; they were in my car with my kit. Jolene roared to life and I floored it out of my driveway. I was lying in bed, fighting the urge to call her when the phone rang, but the circumstances were not what I wanted. Wanting to talk to her was keeping me up anyway, so I might as well go save the day. It certainly couldn’t hurt my cause. If I hurried, Ziggy would throw up all the chocolate and be fine. If not, I would have to make the trip to the clinic for more supplies and hope for the best.

  Ozma was a crying mess, but I kept calm and professional. It was ingrained in me to stay that way, even when the woman of my dreams was hysterical. Since when is there a woman of my dreams? Right, I had a dream woman the second I had run into the feisty blonde three times in two days, once literally. Her calling me made my whole week.