Page 5 of Peacocks

I leaned down to pick it up and immediately inhaled the perfect blend of garlic and tomato sauce that indicated something wonderfully Italian inside.

It wasn’t the first time Jay had left dinner for me. Not even the tenth. In fact, my first week in the Thicket had been so chaotic and unpredictable that Jay had left dinner for me every single night.

I caught myself grinning as I cradled the warm casserole dish against my chest like a lovesick teenager holding a bouquet of flowers and entered the apartment. As soon as I set it down on the kitchen table and peeled off the lid, I saw it was one of my favorites.

A huff of laughter escaped me as I remembered the first time I’d thanked him for this dish.

“Of all the things you’ve ever made, this one might be my favorite,” I’d admitted. “You have no idea how grateful I was to come home to a warm meal last night. Mrs. Estrada’s pug had nine puppies, and none of them came easy. Thank you so much.”

He’d beamed at me. “I call it Italian Gentleman,” he’d said proudly, nodding down at the dish. “On account of the bow tie pasta.”

I dished a heap of bow ties into a bowl and threw it in the microwave for a few seconds while moving over to my dresser to change out of my work clothes. I’d just slipped on a soft pair ofcotton lounge pants and was getting ready to search for a clean T-shirt when there was a knock on my door.

I glanced over to see Jay standing on the other side of the glass-paned door, staring at me. His arms were bare, as usual, but he’d thrown a vest over his sleeveless shirt in deference to the cold.

Our eyes met, skyrocketing my heart rate and making my skin tingle.

Was he truly gay? Was he truly interested in me? And what would I do if he was?

Jaybird Proud was my exact opposite.

He was the kind of guy who flew by the seat of his pants while I meticulously planned out everything in my life.

He was a chaotic collection of mismatched tools and scraps of lumber while I prided myself on perfectly arranged and sanitized surgical instruments and supplies organized to within an inch of their lives.

I had advanced veterinary degrees and teaching accreditations… while Jay probably claimed the School of Hard Knocks on his social media profile.

I liked reading and period dramas; he enjoyed chainsaws and… apparently creating things out of dead wisteria.

My eyes trailed down his muscular body while I moved to answer the door, yanking the T-shirt over my head quickly to keep him from seeing my hardening nipples… among other things.

I needed to stop thinking these things. To get Hunter’s earlier words out of my brain and get things back to normal with my landlord… for whatever definition ofnormalapplied to our relationship.

But as soon as I opened the door, I noticed he was wringing his hands worriedly, and the other thoughts fled my brain.

“Jay?” I asked in concern. “Is everything okay?”

“No. I mean, yes. I mean… I don’t know.” He glanced everywhere but at me, looking nervous for the first time in the six months I’d known him.

“What’s going on?”

“I need your help. I, uh…” He finally met my eyes and firmed his jaw defiantly. “I need help with my cock.”

Chapter Two

Jay

It wasn’teasy asking people for help.

Itespeciallywasn’t easy when the person I needed help from was Dr. Lane Desmond. He was beautiful, successful, smart… basically everything I wasn’t. That was why I’d waited so long to throw myself on his mercy.

But this wasn’t just about me and my hopeless crush on my tenant. There were innocent animals involved. And the smitten pet owners of the Thicket didn’t just sigh dreamily about how good-looking Lane was; they said he really knew his animals too.

Then again, though, maybe he didn’t since he was looking at me like I had three heads.

“I’m sorry?” he asked. “Could you repeat that?”

“Look, I know you just got home, and you’ve had a real busy day. I hate to bother you.” I swallowed hard and tried not to stare at Lane, which was a tricky thing since the chilly air had his nipples poking against the soft cotton of his T-shirt, and a burst of his distinct Lane scent—a heady combo of cologne, laundry detergent, and lemon disinfectant that somebody really needed to bottle up in one of those air-freshener plugs becauseholy shitwas it sexy—came wafting out the door at me.

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