Page 7 of Slap Shot Daddies

I know I should open a window to invite the cool night breeze inside, but instead, I surrender to gravity and collapse onto my bed, face-first.

The soft embrace of my pillow greets me, carrying with it the delicate, calming scent of rose laundry detergent.

I should sleep.

But my thoughts refuse to quiet down.

How long can I keep my clinic running before I'm forced to make some tough decisions? What if the day comes when I have to close the clinic's doors for good?

The idea of taking on a second job just to scrape by looms over me like a shadow.

And what on earth am I going to do when I have to confront him again?

I let out a groan and roll onto my back, my eyes fixating on the ceiling above. There are no answers in the plaster patterns, only the stark reality of my predicament.

All I know is that I'm in deep trouble, and it's not just because my business is teetering on the brink of failure. It's also because of a guy with mesmerizing hazel eyes and an infuriatingly charming smile.

I sigh deeply, throwing an arm over my face in a futile attempt to block out the world.

Tomorrow, I tell myself.

I'll face it all tomorrow.

CHAPTER ONE

Kenzie

Warm hands glideacross my body, their touch gentle yet electrifying.

I feel fingertips skim over the contours of my hips. A soft, involuntary moan escapes my lips.

My skin is aflame, each nerve alive with sensation, my pulse pounding like a relentless drumbeat, while my breath escapes in shallow, ragged gasps.

A hand ventures upward along the inside of my thigh. The tantalizing caress makes me arch instinctively into the touch, anticipation winding tightly like a coiled spring in my belly.

Their bodies are against mine, firm and insistent, creating a delicious pressure that demands my attention.

I find myself sinking deeper into the overwhelming sensation, utterly lost in the intoxicating heat of the moment…

Suddenly, my phone blares loudly against the surface of my nightstand, shattering the fragile cocoon of my dream in an instant.

I jolt upright, sweaty and tangled in a mess of sheets.

My heart pounds for a very different reason now as my eyes squint at the bright light of the phone screen on the table next to me.

The room is cloaked in darkness, except for the phone. Shadows dance across the walls, cast by the dim light.

I grope for the device, my fingers ice-cold from the abrupt jolt of being yanked from sleep's embrace. The name flashing across the screen makes my stomach drop like a stone, emergency line.

Shit.

“Dr. Wood,” I rasp into the receiver, my voice thick with the remnants of sleep.

A frantic voice crackles through the speaker, rapid and panicked, slicing through the silence of the night. "Doc, it’s Margo! I need you at the clinic now. It’s King. His wing is messed up bad."

Damn it. King is only one of the most prized racing pigeons in the state, known for his unparalleled speed.

I shake off the last lingering traces of my dream which proves harder than I’d like to admit. As I throw off my blankets, the adrenaline already coursing through my veins like a river.

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