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

I mean, we had joked around, but I thought the connection was real.

Wasn’t it?

Even the anxiousness of a well-deserved orgasm faded as disappointment and confusion settled in for the night. It wasn’t a simple fleeting thought but a bring its own caravan, park up, and start frying dinner doubt.

When I couldn’t ignore my growling stomach any longer, I set down my phone, slid off my high heels, and padded barefoot into the kitchen. Visa scooted onto the bench and head-butted my elbow as if sensing my melancholy.

I scratched her chin. “I believed he was different, titty tat.” We nose nudged as I ducked to open the drawer for a spatula. “I guess not.” I had some store-bought pumpkin pasta that would do as a lonely dinner for one.

Damn him.

I didn’t normally mind living alone. After a long day working all I looked forward to was curling up with me, myself, and I with a good dinner, my cuddly companion, and an enjoyable movie.

Ryder had ruined even that by making me worry.

Was he okay? Had he been in an accident? Should I stalk the streets for him just in case he’d wrapped himself around a pole and hung to dear life in a ditch?

Or was he with family and friends and completely forgotten about little ‘ole me and our standing agreement to fuck like bunnies and put each other out of our joint misery?

Maybe the misery was always one sided.

The pumpkin pasta tasted like cardboard and after I’d eaten, I washed my dishes, spruced up my small lounge, and dragged my drained corpse to bed.

Sliding out of my tight jeans, I unhooked my bra, pulled it from my shirt through the trick of a sleeve and burrito-rolled myself in my coverlet.

Visa positioned herself on top of my head like a kitty crown and my last thought as sleep finally dragged me under was, screw you, Ryder Carson.

Screw you.

CHAPTER TWENTY

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Vesper

I WOKE TO AN EAR SPLINTERING chicken cock-a-doodle-doo from my phone’s barnyard ring.

I hated being woken up in the middle of the night. Hated it.

God, this better be an emergency.

Hauling myself upright with sleep sticking to my thoughts, I grabbed my phone and answered, keeping my eyes shut from the glaring screen. “Meloo?” I cleared my throat and tried again. “Hello, Vesper speaking.”

I wasn’t the vet on call tonight—that was Polly’s turn, according to the roster—but I would never turn down a panicked owner with a life-or-death situation on their hands.

However, this was not a panicked owner.

“Vesper, it’s me.”

“You!” I sat upright, wide awake and fumbling for the hang-up button. “What the hell are you doing calling me after standing me up?”

My heart raced with hurt.

“Wait, don’t hang up on me. Let me explain.”

“You have precisely three seconds—”

“I don’t need three. I only need one.”