says my name. “Dozer is an unusual name for a dog. Where did that come from? He sleep a lot?” Her lips work on a smile, and my dick pulses in response.
She’s after a subject change, and I can go with that. I let out a laugh and look away before I do something stupid like pull a Dozer and try to dry hump her leg.
“Yeah, he sleeps tons, but that’s not where it came from. Dozer was a stray. Found him at our door one night when he was a puppy. He was starving, so we took him in and fed him. We put out fliers, but no one claimed him, so we kept him. In the first week he stayed with us, he broke a shit load of stuff—ornaments, plates, glasses, even a window.”
I laugh again, remembering how pissed my dad was when Dozer jumped head first at the living room window trying to get at a bird on the porch. Shattered the window.
“Basically, Dozer broke everything he touched, and my dad said he was like a bulldozer taking down everything in his path, and it just kinda stuck. Ended up being shortened to Dozer, because he can be a little dozy at times.” I smile, then I glance in the direction of the hall. “I’ve just always thought of him as invincible, you know.”
“He’s going to be fine, Jordan. It’s just a broken leg—well, not just a broken leg, because broken legs are incredibly painful, I just meant—”
Her face has gone red. She’s flustered. Cute.
“I know what you meant.” I smile.
A small smile touches her lips. “Aside from his leg, I really don’t think there is anything else to worry about.” She touches my arm with her fingers. It’s a gentle touch, almost imperceptible. But even still, my blood turns to molten fucking lava at the contact.
She withdraws her hand. A look of surprise on her face.
You’re surprised, sweetheart? Well, you’re not the only one.
With the hot lava flooding straight to the main man, I talk to distract myself from my impending boner. “So you’re a doctor,” I say, just remembering that. How the fuck did I forget that?
Hell, she’s a living, breathing wet dream.
“Training to be,” she says quietly.
“Where?”
She slides me a glance. “Harvard.”
Harvard. She’s beautiful and incredibly smart.
There’s isn’t anything that’s less than perfect about her. Except for the douchehole of an ex.
“Ivy League – nice.” I nod, impressed.
She shrugs her shoulders in response and looks to the floor, kicking her sneakers together.
So, she’s from Boston. Interesting. I don’t remember seeing that on the form she filled out last night, but then I was too busy eye-fucking her to notice where she was from.
What’s she doing way out here then? I’d say vacation, but women rarely vacation alone, and they always take pre-planned trips. Turning up at Golden Oaks like she did … this was an unplanned trip. And I’m guessing it had something to do with the asshole who marred that perfect face.
“So, are you originally from Boston?”
I see her hesitation. Her whole body has stiffened again.
“Yes,” she says on a breath. “Lived there my whole life.”
“What you doing way out here in Colorado?”
She shifts in her seat, tilting her body away from me. “I’m trying to, um…” She clears her throat. “I’m here to find my mother.”
Didn’t expect that.
“You adopted?”
Did I mention I have no filter?
She shakes her head. “No, my father—I lived with my father. My mother left when I was a baby.”
“Shit,” I say. “So your dad … he’s okay about you been out here alone searching for your mom?” And why hasn’t he kicked the cocksucker’s ass who hurt her?
“My father is dead.”
Shit. Guess that answers my questions. But what surprises me is the lack of emotion in her voice about her dad being dead.
Losing my mom was horrendous—beyond horrendous. I adored my mom. If I lost my dad … well, my world would implode.
“Sorry to hear that.” It’s a crap thing to say, but really what else is there to
She’s after a subject change, and I can go with that. I let out a laugh and look away before I do something stupid like pull a Dozer and try to dry hump her leg.
“Yeah, he sleeps tons, but that’s not where it came from. Dozer was a stray. Found him at our door one night when he was a puppy. He was starving, so we took him in and fed him. We put out fliers, but no one claimed him, so we kept him. In the first week he stayed with us, he broke a shit load of stuff—ornaments, plates, glasses, even a window.”
I laugh again, remembering how pissed my dad was when Dozer jumped head first at the living room window trying to get at a bird on the porch. Shattered the window.
“Basically, Dozer broke everything he touched, and my dad said he was like a bulldozer taking down everything in his path, and it just kinda stuck. Ended up being shortened to Dozer, because he can be a little dozy at times.” I smile, then I glance in the direction of the hall. “I’ve just always thought of him as invincible, you know.”
“He’s going to be fine, Jordan. It’s just a broken leg—well, not just a broken leg, because broken legs are incredibly painful, I just meant—”
Her face has gone red. She’s flustered. Cute.
“I know what you meant.” I smile.
A small smile touches her lips. “Aside from his leg, I really don’t think there is anything else to worry about.” She touches my arm with her fingers. It’s a gentle touch, almost imperceptible. But even still, my blood turns to molten fucking lava at the contact.
She withdraws her hand. A look of surprise on her face.
You’re surprised, sweetheart? Well, you’re not the only one.
With the hot lava flooding straight to the main man, I talk to distract myself from my impending boner. “So you’re a doctor,” I say, just remembering that. How the fuck did I forget that?
Hell, she’s a living, breathing wet dream.
“Training to be,” she says quietly.
“Where?”
She slides me a glance. “Harvard.”
Harvard. She’s beautiful and incredibly smart.
There’s isn’t anything that’s less than perfect about her. Except for the douchehole of an ex.
“Ivy League – nice.” I nod, impressed.
She shrugs her shoulders in response and looks to the floor, kicking her sneakers together.
So, she’s from Boston. Interesting. I don’t remember seeing that on the form she filled out last night, but then I was too busy eye-fucking her to notice where she was from.
What’s she doing way out here then? I’d say vacation, but women rarely vacation alone, and they always take pre-planned trips. Turning up at Golden Oaks like she did … this was an unplanned trip. And I’m guessing it had something to do with the asshole who marred that perfect face.
“So, are you originally from Boston?”
I see her hesitation. Her whole body has stiffened again.
“Yes,” she says on a breath. “Lived there my whole life.”
“What you doing way out here in Colorado?”
She shifts in her seat, tilting her body away from me. “I’m trying to, um…” She clears her throat. “I’m here to find my mother.”
Didn’t expect that.
“You adopted?”
Did I mention I have no filter?
She shakes her head. “No, my father—I lived with my father. My mother left when I was a baby.”
“Shit,” I say. “So your dad … he’s okay about you been out here alone searching for your mom?” And why hasn’t he kicked the cocksucker’s ass who hurt her?
“My father is dead.”
Shit. Guess that answers my questions. But what surprises me is the lack of emotion in her voice about her dad being dead.
Losing my mom was horrendous—beyond horrendous. I adored my mom. If I lost my dad … well, my world would implode.
“Sorry to hear that.” It’s a crap thing to say, but really what else is there to
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