Page 40 of A Stable Daddy

He’s going to make a good Daddy for someone one day. Hell, if I was a switch, I’d totally be down for playing with him myself.

But I’m as Daddy as they come, I’m afraid. Plus, I don’t think I’m Rob’s type. And I’m also completely head over heels in love with Ryan.

I just hope the universe is kind to my boss and gives him a happy ending, too.

Because that’s what I can see on the horizon for me and Rye: a happy ending. I know it’s early days, and maybe this is further proof of my impulsive heart running ahead of logic and reason, but the magical few days spent in the cabin, being one hundred percent Daddy Dom and Boy, have left me on an incredible high.

We’re back at Ryan’s villa on the beach, and I can admit that I’m still in protective Daddy mode. Even though there’s no hint of anxiety rolling off him now, I want to make sure myBoy remains happy and stress-free. Which is why I insist on bringing him a homemade lunch on Wednesday, when I know he’s working in the clinic.

The waiting room is occupied by a couple of little old ladies with a cat carrier between them, and three empty seats on the opposite wall. There’s a row of shelves on the side wall, containing a small selection of high-end dog and cat foods, and a display of flea and tick treatments. There’s also a shelf containing pamphlets on a variety of topics: everything from signs of heartworm, to desexing, to puppy preschool.

I wanna attend puppy preschool!

Focus, Oz.

The reception desk, running along the other side wall, is currently empty, but I walk over and lean over the top of it, feeling the weight of the two ladies’ stares on my back. I’m dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, so a lot of my ink is on display. I’m used to being judged for that, but the last thing I want is to cause any issues for Ryan in his clinic.

“Ring the bell, lovey,” one of the ladies says, and I turn sideways, still resting on my elbow, to find her smiling at me.

I smile back, relaxing instantly. “Oh, no, I’m here on a social call, ma’am. I can wait.”

Her companion’s watery blue eyes widen when I speak and they both seem far more interested in me now.

“That’s a pretty accent,” says the first lady, nudging her companion, “bit like that show we used to watch back in the day. What was it, Beryl? Something Texas Something?”

With a long-suffering sigh tempered by an affectionate smile, Beryl says, “Walker: Texas Ranger, Shaz.”

“That’s the one!” Shaz —which I’m guessing is an Australian nickname for something only marginally longer— pats an age-spotted hand on Beryl’s linen-covered thigh. “Thanks, love.”Beryl looks back at me. “My memory’s not what it used to be.” She cocks her head. “You here for Sez?”

I know ‘Sez’ is Sarah’s nickname. I haven’t met Ryan’s only colleague yet, but from all his stories, she sounds like a good friend to him. Nevertheless, I shake my head. “Here for Rye, actually. Uh, Doc Sharp.” It feels strange using his professional title.

Beryl and Shaz exchange a look, raising white, wiry eyebrows and smirking at each other.

“You owe me five bucks,” Shaz declares, and Beryl sighs.

“Fine.”

I decide I love the pair of them.

“Sorry for the wait,” a much younger voice brings my attention to the young woman bustling down the short hallway beyond the reception desk. She’s pretty, and looks to be somewhere in her mid-twenties, with blonde hair in a high ponytail and sparkling blue-green eyes. She’s wearing powder pink scrubs, and her smile is contagious as she slides onto the chair behind the desk, her fingers poised over the keyboard for the computer. “How can I help?”

“No, love,” Shaz cuts in from behind me, and I can hear the smirk in her voice, “this hunk of a man is here to see Doc Sharp on apersonalmatter.” I don’t need to turn around to see her waggling her white eyebrows.

Sarah’s eyes widen as her gaze swings back in my direction, having been focused on the woman behind me while she spoke. Her already contagious smile turns wicked as she takes me in, then in a blink she rounds the desk and wraps her arms around me, declaring, “You must be Oscar. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

Chuckling, I hug her back, then release her. “It’s nice to meet you, too.” I lift the insulated bag containing the lunch I made. “I brought him lunch.”

Sarah makes a show of swooning, pressing her hands to her chest. “Do you have a straight twin by any chance?”

“Unfortunately not.”

“Pity,” she sighs.

“Anyway,” I redirect, sweeping my free hand towards my newfound friends, “I believe these lovely ladies are ahead of me.”

“Oh, Boots won’t mind waiting. He’s here for his annual vaccinations,” Beryl explains. “He hates vet visits.”

As if prompted, a low, mournful yowl emanates from the cat carrier.

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