Can't Touch This (Can't Touch This #1)

It had been love at first sight.

However, our chosen profession had not. We’d almost thrown up on that first practical, staring with tear-filled eyes at the frozen but now thawed mouse we had to dissect.

Funny how education, age, and time could turn even the timidest of students into capable veterinarians.

Now, we could perform minor to major operations without breaking a rapid heartbeat.

“My foot has been down, Pol. Since the very first time he waltzed his stupid butt in here.”

Polly laughed. “And he does have a butt. A very nice butt. But I don’t know if it’s stupid.” She cocked her head. “Besides, how does one’s anatomy go about becoming stupid when its only function is forward prolusion and a comfy cushion to sit on?”

“Shush it.” I massaged my temples. “Why are you thinking so in-depth about his butt?”

“Why are you bringing his butt into conversation?”

“Ugh, I can’t win with you.”

She giggled harder, arranging the drip and checking the cat’s mouth position while it slumbered in la-la land. “I’ve seen you looking at it.”

No way.

I haven’t.

I got an eye full when he put that Great Dane on the table but that’s it.

Polly waggled her eyebrows. “I hear your brain trying to come up with excuses. Just own it, Ves. You looked. You liked. You ogled.”

“I did not ogle.” My chin rose with a haughty sniff. “I’m a professional.”

“A professional who appreciates good looks.”

Like she could talk. Miss Innocence.

“You’ve looked at it, too,” I said.

She nodded sagely as if this fact was not only entirely obvious but utterly acceptable. Her chestnut hair, braided in a long fishtail down her back, swished on her baby blue scrubs. “I’ve looked but unlike you—I haven’t touched.”

My mouth fell open. “Me? You think I’ve touched it?” My palm planted over my heart still encased in surgical gloves. “Nuh-huh. I would never do such a thing. If I never saw that egotistical butt again, I’d be so much happier.”

Why the hell are we still talking about his butt?

We really needed to see other people. Maybe get laid.

I made a mental note to make a memo to arrange a new activity or go online and set up a date with a stranger. Odd things happened if you spent too much time working with no play.

Polly ignored my need to prove my purity. “So, you’re saying if he never brought another dog in here, never demanded in that sexy-as-hell voice for you to drop everything and look after his pooch because he can’t stand to see him in pain—you’d be okay with that?”

I crossed my arms, nodding resolutely. “Totally.”

“Good. Tell him that then.”

“But—”

“But nothing. Either tell him he needs to make an appointment and I’ll deal with his zoo from now on, or suck it up. You can’t ask him to leave the clinic. We need his patronage.” Polly gave me her stern ‘this is what is going to happen because I know best’ look as she stripped off her gloves and headed toward the basin to wash up. “Your choice, Ves.”

So far, we’d set a cat’s leg, had a consultation with an elderly blue-rinsed woman and her bad mannered Pookimo, and argued (Polly called it a discussion) about our need to hire another assistant—or if we could afford it, another vet.

My view was we didn’t have the income to expand the team just yet. Polly’s view was our practice was growing too fast and if we wanted to keep up with demand, we had to find a way to afford more salaries.