Page 17 of Breeding Clinic

His smile widens into a grin. “You don’t know what I’minto. Is it butt stuff? Kinky? I probably have a pair of fuzzy handcuffs from a bachelor party somewhere.”

The fact that his handcuffs are probably fuzzy covered plastic tells me what I need to know. “Something like that.”

“Wow. You’re really not going to tell me. After I told you all about my grandfather too.” He pretends to be hurt, placing a hand to his chest. “The mother of my child is cruel.”

His off-the-cuff remark reminds me that I came here for serious reasons. “So… we should talk.”

The phone on the wall rings, interrupting what he was about to say. Liam answers it, listening to the voice on the other end. His easy expression becomes serious. “I’ll be right there. No, don’t call the cops yet. Let me talk to them.”

He hangs up and gives me an apologetic look. “I have to go downstairs for a bit and deal with two drunk idiots. Stay here. I’m going to lock the door behind me to make sure you’re safe.”

He leaves and locks it. I strain to listen for the sounds of a fight or yelling, but the sounds from the bar downstairs are muffled. All I can really hear is the traffic noise from the road out front. I take advantage of his absence to snoop.

There are two bedrooms, a small kitchen, and a bathroom plus the living room. It’s small, but cozy. The second bedroom looks like a guest suite that doubles as an office.Is this where they planned to put the nursery?

There’s nothing egregious. No devil worshiping altar or insect-riddled piles of filth. If anything, they’re tidier than me. I have the bad habit of letting dirty dishes pile up in the sink until I remember to load the dishwasher.

After twenty minutes, I’m somehow both bored and anxious. I sit on their couch and pull out my phone, checking my socials and scrolling through the photos and feeds of old friends and older coworkers. My aunt posted another set ofreally badly angled selfies and pictures of her food. Looks like she’s in Miami right now.

The sound of police sirens wail outside. Seems like they ended up having to call the cops. The sun drifts toward the horizon and the boredom makes my eyes harder to open. I try to read a book, but every time I sit down this is what happens. I fall asleep.

A few minutes won’t hurt. I’ll just close my eyes. His key in the lock will wake me.

The old brown couch smells like them. Like the woods, and a campfire, and the crispness of freshly fallen snow. I lie down, pressing my face into one of their pillows to breathe in the blend of their scents. Minutes later, I’m asleep.

The scentand pop of cooking bacon wakes me. Confused and groggy, I sit up. A patterned quilt falls off my shoulder. I grab it before it can slip to the floor. My shoes are gone. Where are my shoes? I find them lined up neatly underneath the coffee table with my purse and phone sitting above them.

“Are you hungry?” a man asks from the kitchen.

I wipe drool off my cheek with the heel of my palm and blush. How the fuck did I not hear him come in? I blink at the beta who’s still waiting for an answer. Gabriel. The Brazilian PA. He’s wearing fitted black scrubs that show off the breadth of his shoulders and the size of his muscular arms. He flips the bacon with a spatula.

He’s cooking breakfast. Shit, what time is it?I glance outside, but it’s still dark out. It could be ten at night or four in the morning.

“Breakfast for dinner?” he asks, pointing to his frying pan with his spatula.

Dinner. Thank God.“Where’s Liam?” I ask, still waking up. How long was I asleep?

“Dealing with the cops. Nothing big, only a broken stool and some bruises.”

That doesn’t sound like nothing. “Is that typical?”

He stirs the contents of his pan and grinds salt and pepper over it. “No. Once or twice a year, someone decides to act foolish. But most of the patrons are regulars. They come for the food and a beer after work, not shots and fights.”

An actual kettle whistles, and he clicks the burner off, pouring hot water into a mug. He adds a spoonful of honey and a bag of tea and brings it over to me. The label is a popular brand of pregnancy tea. A blend of caffeine-free white tea, ginger, and aromatics that are supposed to soothe nausea.

“My sister swears by this,” he says. “She drank it with all three of her babies.”

“Thank you.” Did they buy this specifically for me? In case I came over? That’s sweet.

I blow on the tea to cool it and take a sip. It’s a bit spicy but also sweet, and the odd combination goes down easily.

Gabriel makes two plates, then puts covers on the pans on the stove. He joins me on the couch and turns the TV on, pulling up an on-demand soccer game. When I catch sight of an all too familiar logo, I decide it's time to leave.

“I should go.” I pull my shoes on and grab my purse.

“You don’t have to. We want you to be comfortable here.”

They do?Still, it’s late and all I want to do is go home and go to bed. “I have to feed my cat. He missed dinner.”

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