Page 134 of Thoroughly Pucked

The dog breathes evenly against my neck as I drift off after my first date with my two men. I’m pretty sure I fell in love with them while we were together on the honeymoon.

And then I fell a little more while we were apart.

57

THE HOT VET

Aubrey

“Let’s see if this guy has a home,” the calm vet says.

I bring my clenched fist to my mouth, offering a prayer to the universe as Doctor Lennox runs the scanner along the dog’s scruff, hunting for signs he has a home.

It’s only been a few seconds, but I can barely take it. “Does he have an owner?” I blurt.

“Yeah, what’s the word, Doc?” Dev stares at the microchip scanner so intently he could burn a hole in it.

Ledger reaches for my hand and squeezes it. His steadiness settles my nerves. I need his steadiness just like I need Dev’s exuberance.

Doctor Lennox pets Puck Fitzgibbons’ head. I mean, the dog’s head. The potentially-owned dog’s head who I shouldn’t keep calling by the name I might not be entitled to give him.

“I’m checking. Sometimes these microchips roll around,” Doctor Lennox says, cool and confident, and friendly as he talks to the dog. “What’s your story, little buddy? You gonna tell me?”

I have no chill. “Tell us.” I can hear the desperation in my tone.

“They’re a little eager, Doc,” Ledger adds while rubbing my arm.

“I can tell.” Doctor Lennox turns off the scanner and looks up from the table. The vet has golden brown hair, fair skin, a trim beard, and kind eyes. He’s empirically good-looking, the hot vet and all, but all I can think isI need dog details now. Right now.

“He’s not microchipped,” he announces, and it’s like he’s telling new parents,Your baby is healthy.

I beam, I soar, I fly. “That’s great,” I say. Or maybe I shout it.

Dev spins to face me. “Can you keep him?” Then, before I answer, he turns back to the vet. “Can she keep him? Can we keep him?”

He’s plowing through the pronouns, but the change toweisn’t lost on me.

“You might want to check with Little Friends next door and make sure no one has listed him as missing,” Doctor Lennox says.

Dev nods, turning serious. “Right, right. That’s our plan. We’re already going over there next.”

“Good, because if he were my dog, I’d be looking for him,” the vet adds.

“Do you have a dog?” I can’t resist asking about people’s pets.

“I have two.”

“Are they microchipped?” I ask, when I really want to shake him and say, “Tell me my dog would be microchipped if he belonged to someone.”

“Yes, neutered and spayed, microchipped, and they have GPS trackers. I kind of like them,” he confesses in a whisper. “The dogs.”

“You picked a good profession,” I say. “We’ll stop in at Little Friends. But otherwise, how is he? Is he healthy? What is he? How old is he? How big will he get?”

I have a million more questions, but I hold them back as the doctor studies Puck Fitzgibbons, who’s sitting on his little butt on the table now, behaving like a good boy. He’s black and white—with black socks and white gloves, a harlequin face, and a standard-size snout. He’s strong for a little critter. The vet runs a palm down the pup’s haunches. “I’d say he’s a cocktail. Some Border Collie. Some Chihuahua. Some hound.”

Ledger pats the dog’s head. “I’m not a vet, but it sounds like you’re just covering your bases there.”

The vet’s eyes twinkle. “I am.” He scratches the dog’s chin. “You’re a good boy.”

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