Chapter 6

"What do you mean you don't know his name?"

"I… I didn't ask," I admit to Clayton, my closest coworker at the clinic. He's a vet tech in the same vet med program as me.

"You watched a devastatingly hot man threaten to kill a drunk, then you let him walk you home in the middle of the night, and you don't even know his name?" Clayton's voice is full of both disappointment and surprise. Not because he thinks I should be ashamed, but because he wants more tea than what I'm able to provide.

"Correct," I exhale as I offer him an embarrassed smile. "He seemed more interested in asking me questions than answering my own, and I was too buzzed to care. It's a lesson learned and I'll do better next time."

I've been thinking about the mystery man nonstop. He's flooded every corner of my mind since I woke up this morning. I'm pretty sure I even dreamt of him, but the remnants of alcohol in my body clouded my memory. I know it was mostly the alcohol encouraging me to ramble on and on, but he was so easy to talk to. I've never opened up to anyone as much as I did to him, and I basically spilled my entire life story to him last night.

"Damn right, you'll do better next time. How can you come in here talking about a mystery man, yet know nothing about him? You're depriving me of the hot gossip!"

"I know, I'm sorry! I talked his ear off," I groan. "How embarrassing is that?"

Clayton eyes me for a minute, then reluctantly says, "What if he was quiet because you were talking too much? Maybe he's one of those ‘walk in silence' types."

My eyes widen with horror. "You don't think so?" I bite the inside of my cheek, contemplating his perspective. "He kept asking me questions, though. Or… What if he was being sarcastic and I didn't catch on? He probably thinks I'm an idiot!"

Mortified by the thought, I rub my temples, feeling a slight hangover from last night. Work came way too early this morning. Clayton and I had to be here at 6 a.m. to prep three dogs for surgery when the vets were scheduled to arrive an hour later. We spent several hours assisting the vets in surgery, then tending to the dogs and monitoring their vitals until they were ready to be picked up by their owners.

"I just think it's comical that you let him walk you all the way home and didn't even ask his name. We can't even look him up on social media."

"Next time," I promise as the bell to the front door chimes, signaling a client has entered the lobby. We've been waiting for the last dog to be picked up. "I'll take Rozzy out to her owner, then I'm off for the day. My dad is making me attend the Little League hockey fundraiser tonight. It's a big banquet full of rich-ass donors and brain-dead hockey players."

"I'll be here, wishing I was in a room full of horny jocks," Clayton sighs. He won't be off work until the night shift comes in at 6 p.m. We normally split shifts, but with all the surgery preps we needed to do this morning, he needed to be here early.

"I know you will," I laugh as I attach a leash to Rozzy, an eight-year-old beagle. "I'll see you later."

I walk with Rozzy to the front of the clinic and find her owner smiling and making conversation with our receptionist at the front desk.

"Here she is," I say as we round the corner, coming into full view. Rozzy sees Mr. Smith immediately, and she tugs at the leash as she tries to get to him. Little whimpers leave her while her tail wags a million miles an hour. "You need to take it easy, Rozzy," I say aloud, not because Rozzy needs to hear it, but because I want to politely remind her owner that she needs to stay calm and not jump around too much. For as old as she is, she still has a decent amount of energy.

Mr. Smith gets the aftercare speech from me, then I head home to get ready for the fundraiser. The drive is less than ten minutes from the clinic to my house, but it feels like forever. I'm beyond exhausted and ready for bed, but the night is still young when there's such a big banquet to attend. Dad would never allow me to skip it. For as long as I can remember, we've been going to this event. Hundreds of people show up for it every year. It funds all the Little League programs across the United States and Canada.

As soon as I get home I jump in the shower, washing away the grime of a long day at work. I squirt a handful of face wash into my palm and lather it between my fingers. It bubbles up and I rub it over my face in slow, massaging circles. A small moan slips through my lips at how good it feels, and I tilt my head back, allowing the hot water to rain down on my scalp. It's scalding, but that's perfect. The burn feels so good as it takes away the ache of the day.

I finish up in the shower, extending my five-minute makeup routine to fifteen minutes, and slip into my gown. It's deep navy blue, covered in sparkles, and there's a deep slit in it from the floor to my upper thigh. It's tight fitting, showing off all of my curves. Two little straps keep it up, ensuring my cleavage stays put. Ace probably won't love how revealing it is, but I feel good in it. I feel like me, and I feel absolutely stunning.

My phone buzzes, lighting up with a text from Ace.

Ace

I'm here.

Stepping into silver strappy heels, I do a once-over of myself in the mirror before leaving my room. Even I have to admit, I look hot as fuck.