Page 12 of Once Upon a Boyband
It doesn’t really seem fair.
A man who has been wrangling puppies all day long shouldn’t smell like a pine forest after it rains with a side of heaven and a sprinkling of sexy.
Or maybe that’s just pheromones talking?
I have no idea how it’s even possible.
Pretty sure I still smell like Fifi’s anal glands.
Oh my gosh. Do Istill smell like Fifi’s anal glands? I hunch my shoulders forward and try to sniff my scrub top, but I can’t detect anything. Surely Percy wouldn’t have let me leave if I did. I shift my nose over to one shoulder, then the other.
Adam looks over and lifts his eyebrows. “Are you smelling yourself?”
“No!” I answer much too quickly. Then I wince because clearly I was, and clearly he saw me. “Yes?” I admit. “I’m a little concerned I still smell like Fifi.”
“Fifi?”
“More specifically, Fifi’sanal glands.”
Adam barks out a laugh that warms me from the inside out, though, at this point, that could also just be my embarrassment. I nudge Adam with my shoulder. “Stop laughing! He’s a very grumpy chihuahua, and it’s an absolute ordeal to treat him, and I’m sure you know how much the stench can linger.”
“I do know,” Adam says, nudging me back. “If it makes you feel better, I haven’t picked up on any traces of Fifi.” And then, because he clearly wants to make my heart stop right here in the middle of this pasture, he leans over and sniffs my hair. “You smell good, actually. Like…” He pauses, like he wants to get this right, and my skin prickles with anticipation. “Honeysuckle?” he says. “Or Jasmine?”
My cheeks heat as I reach up and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “A little of both,” I say. “At least that’s what it says on the bottle. You’ve got a good sniffer.”
He grins in a way that makes me almost forgive myself for using the wordsniffer, then we pull up in front of the barn. A chorus of barks cuts through the afternoon stillness, and Adam smiles.
“They know you’re coming,” I say.
He glances at his watch. “They know it’s dinnertime.” He parks the Gator and climbs out to retrieve the puppies. I follow him to the large sliding barn door, waiting while he unlocks and opens it.
Again,with the flexing forearms.
I am going to haveso muchto report back to Percy tomorrow.
Inside the barn, everything is clean and functional and spacious, with good lighting and regulated temperatures. A storage room occupies the front of the barn, plus a full grooming station with an oversized sink and hand sprayer.Dog kennels fill either side of the aisle, extending all the way to the opposite end. It’s no wonder Adam’s dogs always do so well. This place is state-of-the-art. He has everything he needs to keep his animals clean and happy and healthy.
We make fast work of returning the puppies to their mom, a beautiful black cocker spaniel with silky ears and friendly eyes, tucked into an oversized kennel closest to the door. She stands and stretches—she probably enjoyed a little alone time—then ambles over to her puppies, who immediately start scrambling over and under and around her. She leans down and licks the top of Ringo’s head.
“That’s a good mama,” Adam says. “Good job, Aretha.”
My eyes lift to his. “Aretha? As in, Aretha Franklin? Please tell me all of the dogs here have musical names.”
Adam’s lips lift in a small smile. “If they come with a name, I let them keep it. But if I’m naming them, music tends to be the theme.”
“Oh my gosh. I need to meet them all. And how, in all the times you’ve brought in dogs, have I not made this connection?”
He shrugs and lifts his hat off his head, running a hand through his wavy brown hair. “I don’t know. I think you’ve seen Elvis, Janis, Taylor. And that’s just in the last few months.”
I suck in a breath. “That’s right! I did see Taylor. She’s pregnant, right? Is she still here? Why didn’t you tell me you named her after Taylor Swift?”
Adam chuckles. “I didn’t think it was relevant.” He moves down the narrow aisle between stalls. “She’s right down here if you want to say hi.”
The dogs bark, tails wagging, as we make our way down to where Taylor is lounging on an elevated bed in the cornerof her enclosure. She lifts her head, tail thumping, but doesn’t bother getting up. “She has, what, a week left?” I guess, based on the look of her. I can’t remember exactly when I examined Taylor in the office, but it was early in her pregnancy.
“Closer to two,” Adam says. “At least, according to the ultrasound.”
“Can I go in and check on her?”
