Page 38 of Mismatched

“Yep. And your order for a Colorado Club from Mr. Lucky’s.”

I gasp, leaning in to kiss him. “Your interpretive skills are amazing, Mr. Richie.”

He chuckles. “What’s going on with the tub?”

My mood sours a little. “Both are draining slow, but nothing I do seems to help.”

“And let me guess, you want to try and fix this without Henry lecturing you about the cost of a plumber?” He gestures to the drain.

I sigh. “You are so good.”

Anton grins, then hands me the bag of sandwiches. “Why don’t you let me work on it while you eat?”

I take the food without argument, having already tried everything I can think of to get the drains flowing. Heartthrob dances around me as I walk back to the front of the shop, dim the lights, and lock the front door. I dig into the stash of chews I keep in a desk drawer for him and he settles happily inside one of the empty kennels.

I have just finished a club sandwich that tastes like a turkey and avocado dream when Anton steps out of the back, shirtless, with a giant grin on his face. “Fixed it.”

I stare at him. “No way. How?”

I hurry past the four empty grooming stations back to the bathing room, where I’m immediately hit with a familiar, putrid, wet smell.

“Oh.” I cover my mouth and nose. “The hair trap. Why don’t I ever remember that?”

Anton nods, closing the trap access in the floor. He runs a trashcan full of soaked, compacted dog hair to the dumpster and the smell immediately subsides. Even better, the tubs drain perfectly now.

“Thank you. I feel so stupid,” I say, shaking my head when he returns. “I didn’t even think to check that.”

I trail off as Anton steps out of the bathroom drying his hands on a paper towel. Maybe it’s my relief at having one problem solved. Or that we’re here alone. Or just the fact that he looks like a god without his shirt on, but I find myself drinking him in. Something I know I don’t do often enough.

“Have I ever told you how much I appreciate you getting your hands dirty to fix something yourself?” I say, stepping toward him.

“It’s a strategy,” he says, pulling me into his strong arms. “I don’t mind being your handyman when you look at me like that.”

I blush a little, eyes on the floor. “It’s...um, super sexy.”

Anton puffs up, flexing his biceps until I can’t help giggling. And I adore the answering rumble of laughter that rolls from his chest. But it fades after a moment as he looks at me more seriously. “I’ve been meaning to ask... how are you feeling? Is anything... different?”

He holds me at arm’s length, gaze traveling down my body like he’s drinking me in. Until he centers on my middle, and I realize what he’s asking.

“Oh.” My cheeks warm. I shrug, looking away. “No, nothing so far...”

“When can we take a test?”

It strikes me as odd that he says we, but I blink and smile, sharing what I learned from a hasty internet search a couple days ago. “I’m supposed to wait till after a missed period. But we’ll know soon enough. Mine is due this week.”

His face seems to fall when I mention this, and I reach for him, drawing him close again, placing his hands back on my hips.

“I mean, maybe it won’t come,” I say, feeling weirdly reassured that I don’t feel any different.

He raises his gaze to mine, eyes sparkling. He reaches for his discarded shirt, but I grab it out of his hands.

“Um, I—I like you better without it.”

His lips tug into a smirk. “You’re doing an excellent job on your homework.”

I try not to blush. We saw the therapist yesterday, and my new assignment is to let Anton know when I find him attractive—something he has never struggled to do for me.

His eyes traverse my body. “Maybe you’d be better off without yours, too.”

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