Page 3 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

He turns and starts walking away. “Let’s go.”

With a snort, I throw my arms up. “All right,” I say as I pull myself to my feet, staggering for dramatic effect. I’m a fragile fawn entering the big bad wolf’s cave. And yes, I know I’m an idiot. “Wait a minute, I can’t leave the scooter here!”

He stops and turns back. A vein pulses in his neck. I swallow. Maybe I can leave the goddamn scooter here after all. But Mr. Animal Lover passes me without a word, picks up my scooter as if it weighs nothing, and heads for his car.

“Anything else, Your Highness, or do you think you could get into the fucking car now?” he asks, maneuvering the scooter into the back of the SUV.

“Um, I don’t think it will close now,” I babble, pointing at the back door. All I earn is another annoyed look.

“Get. In. The. Car.”

I hasten to the passenger side and climb in. The interior smells of expensive leather and pine air freshener, with an underlying hint of something medicinal. A glance behind shows the cat in a carrier in the back seat. Weird that a guy would drive around with a cat carrier, but I’m too intimidated to ask why.

From the corner of my eye, I see he’s left the back door open. I told him it wouldn’t close! My lips curve into a small smile of triumph, which morphs into terror when Mr. Animal Lover climbs into the driver’s seat.

“Fasten your seat belt,” he barks somewhere between a dog growling and a lion roaring.

I swallow. My palms sweat, and the hairs on my arms rise. I must have hit my head harder than I thought because instead of curling up and crying, something I excel at, I turn toward him, raise my eyebrows, and ask, “Are you always this much of an asshole, or is it just me?”

His jaw goes rigid, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he turns the key and presses the accelerator. With an irritated snort, I look out my window at the city lights glistening on fresh snow. All this time waiting for Superman, only to discover he’s a complete asshole.

But still, the hottest asshole I’ve ever seen.

CHAPTER TWO

Logan

Another fucking endless day. My blood’s more caffeine than plasma at this point. I love what I do, but Christ, some days I fantasize about disappearing where no one can find me. Especially when each patient arrives with an owner who is more neurotic than the last.

Like Mrs. Haversham with her sick Saint Bernard. Insisted the beast swallowed her diamond earring. Two hours X-raying a healthy one-hundred-and-fifty-pound dog who’d rather hump my leg than sit still. Her wailing about her irreplaceable family heirloom and how she’d just put it down for a second still rings in my ears. After sedating the monster and digging through literal shit for her earring, her cleaning lady found the damn thing under the couch. Then she had the audacity to ask for a refund since no medical care was provided. Because manually examining dog feces is my hobby. I deserve hazard pay for this crap.

And then she happened. While I was in my car, dreaming of my bed, this small creature with zero fashion sense and a fiercetemper crashed into my plans. Perfect ending to this day from hell.

“Fasten your seat belt,” I mutter, refusing to acknowledge her pout.

“Are you always this much of an asshole, or is it just me?” Venom drips from her words, but I can taste the terror hiding behind her anger. Something about those defensive claws fascinates me in ways I don’t want to examine.

People drain me. With this girl, it’s even worse. She gets under my skin like a splinter I can’t reach.

She buckles up with trembling hands. An abrasion marks her wrist, but it’s minor, superficial. Years of veterinary work make me catalog injuries by reflex, a defense mechanism against feeling too much.

“Are you aware that I could report you?” I dart a look her way. These kids think they own the fucking road. She could have killed that cat or, worse, herself.

Her face blanches in the darkness. Good. Maybe next time, she’ll think twice before doing something so goddamn imprudent.

“Wh-what? I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“So you say. I almost ran you over when you blew through that red light!” My voice spikes despite my effort to remain calm. The image of her nearly crashing into me on that stupid scooter haunts me. And then her body sprawled in the street with that frightened cat beside her... How can anyone be so reckless with their own life?

She juts her jaw and balls her fists. Frightened yet defiant. Her pulse hammers visibly at her throat.

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Where are we going right now?”

Home, whiskey, blessed unconsciousness, that was the plan. Instead, thanks to her, I’m going back to the fucking clinic. Great.

“I need to examine the cat and make sure it’s okay,” I say, “and then we can decide what to do next.”

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