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

Oh my God, you think I can find their teeny tiny veins when you’re fuzzy and standing right in front of me?

Wait, why was he so close?

“No, they can hold on. Might be shgood to let them rest a little. Their adrenaline will be sky high. Might screw up the shreadings.”

“Doc?” Ryder leaned closer. “You’re slurring.”

“What? No, I’m not.”

He nodded. “You are. Want to tell me what’s going on with you? Just how sick are you?”

I raised a shaking hand at the door. “Not sick at all. Oh, look at the time. It’s leaving time. Goodbye. Take your newest family members and shoo.”

“I don’t take orders, Vesper.”

“Don’t use my name; I’m Doctor Fairfax.”

“You just gave me permission to use your first name.” He frowned. “Don’t you remember?”

Some sort of hazy memory returned. “Yes, I mean…well, I did, but it might be best if we stick to professional titles.”

“No deal.” Ryder held up the puffy clean pooches. “You’re a doctor to them, but to me you’re just a woman with a pretty name after a scooter.”

Ugh, I’m not named after a scooter.

I was named after the Vesper Cocktail made from vodka, gin, and kina lillet—thanks to my father and his love of old-fashioned drinks. He never just had a beer to unwind, he’d have a Pisco Sour or Sazerac.

Thinking of my dad made my already bad mood even worse.

Pushing his arm (doing my best not to squeeze the very hard muscles I found there), I coughed, “It’s after hours, Mr. Carson. If you don’t leave now, I’m going to start charging triple time.”

“It’s Ryder. And I thought you were charging that this entire consultancy.” He looked at the clock. “After all, it’s nine p.m. You guys closed at seven.”

Crap, how did it get so late?

No wonder I was a damn zombie.

I brushed past him, no longer caring about decorum or professionalism. “Time to go. Now.” I swayed as I entered the reception area, cringing as my hip bashed into the desk where Amanda usually sat during normal hours. Now, the clinic was shrouded in darkness. Even the animals in the recovery bay, overseen by eager vet students for the night, were quiet.

Grabbing my handbag and car keys from the small safe beneath the desk, I startled as Ryder came up behind me. “You won’t need these.”

He stole my keys.

“Hey! Give those back!” I spun, crashing into the chair and sending it scooting over the linoleum. I coughed—embarrassingly it was a blend like a Chihuahua’s bark and a paper bag wheezing.

“No chance. You can barely walk in a straight line. If you think I’m gonna let you drive, you’re a moron.”

“Don’t call me a moron.”

“I can call you what I want seeing as you’re determined to kill yourself.” Keeping both dogs under his arm, he wrapped his free one around my shoulders. “Now, tell me where you live. I’m taking you home.”

CHAPTER SIX

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Ryder

“WHAT? I’M NOT TELLING YOU where I live. Who asks that?” Vesper jumped for her keys; fever bright in her eyes and congestion loud in her breathing.