She licked his wrist and gave him a single tail thump.
“All right then.” Saxon rose and glanced at the vet tech. “Any questions about this batch?”
“Nah, I got this. Should be a quiet night.”
“Then I’m heading out.” Saxon paused. “How’s summer school going?”
“Not bad. It’s only one class,” Bryce grinned, “but every credit gets me closer to vet school.”
“Let me know if you get overloaded and need to cut back your hours.”
“Rainie and Jake said the same thing. I’m good—although if you have time tomorrow, I have a couple of questions about physiology.”
“Sure. Tell Rainie to schedule our lunchtimes together, and we’ll go over the material.” Saxon shook his head. “Hang in there. The classes get more interesting in vet school.”
As Bryce stayed to monitor their furry patients for the night, Saxon collected Sherlock from his office. “And how was your day, my friend?”
Sherlock gave him a happy woof and tail wag to show he’d had an excellent day of lounging about and playing on the agility course Saxon had installed…and fenced off. The last thing he needed was his surgical patients attempting the ladder and balance beam.
But the equipment worked great for Sherlock, who always had energy to spare. A shame his liveliness couldn’t be harnessed and sold.
“Okay, pup. Plan is to go home, eat, and you can guard the house while I spend the evening at the Shadowlands.”
That netted him a mournful stare.
“Don’t look at me that way.” A few minutes later, Saxon pulled into his driveway. Jake lived farther out, but Saxon figured being nearby would be even more important if and when they expanded into a small-animal hospital.
The works had been set into motion. Rainie, a goddess of efficiency and organization, had been working over plans, and they’d added two more veterinarians last year.
He was happy as fuck about having more people since he and Jake had been seriously overloaded. Now he had free time for SAR as well as performing orthopedic surgeries at a Tampa small pet emergency hospital.
He and Jake had more time for the Shadowlands, as well. When Ghost had taken over as manager last spring, he’d called on the club’s Masters to get more involved with the club. Teaching and mentoring new Doms turned out to be very satisfying.
Saxon opened the front door and called, “Cats—you’ve got incoming.”
Sherlock dashed past in a frenzy to check on his housemates. Being part border collie, the dog needed to ensure his feline herd was safe and where they belonged.
Bogie, a brown and orange tabby, jumped off the couch to greet Sherlock. Bacall, his feisty long-haired tortoiseshell, quirked an ear, and lashed her tail once.
He’d had Bogie for a couple of years now, Bacall just a few months. Both strays had been hit by cars. After doing surgical repairs, Saxon hadn’t been able to just let them molder in the animal shelter and ended up adopting them.
Yeah, he was as bad as Jake and Rainie.
After giving each of them some attention and checking the automatic feeders, Saxon glanced at the wall clock. Time enough for his supper, some playtime with the pooch, and a shower.
Would Murphy be at the club tonight?
The zing of anticipation that ran through him was disturbing. But…face the facts. He did want to see her.
To fuck her again? Naturally. Even more though, he’d simply like to get to know her.
She was damned likable. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. In reality, though, it’d be best for both of them if she weren’t there.
He didn’t do relationships, for fuck’s sake, and he wasn’t going to change.
“Murphy, welcome back to the Shadowlands.” Fyodor, the Russian-accented guard, greeted her.
“Wow, I can’t believe you remember me.”
“I have a good memory for faces.” He smiled and handed her the clipboard. “Nothing like Ben, the previous security guard. His memory is legendary.”
Once signed in, Murphy left her skirt, flip-flops, and keys in the locker room then checked herself in the mirror. She’d wanted to get into the right mindset, so went with an eighteenth-century style. A white, knee-length, short-sleeved chemise made of thin cotton. Not quite see-through. She topped that with white, corded, full-torso stays—essentially a supportive garment akin to a corset. With the sides of her hair pulled back into a bun and the back loose and in curls, she’d gone Regency brothel all the way.
Shaking her head at herself, she entered the club…and determinedly didn’t look once toward the back hallway where the pet playroom was. Instead, she took a seat at the bar.
Wait…where’s Josie?
A man fully as big as Saxon had replaced her bartender friend. His hair was short and brown, and he had a craggy face that looked as if he’d been in more than a few brawls. Noticing her, he sauntered over. “Good evening, love. And what might I be getting you tonight?”
Was that a hint of an Irish accent? “Could I have a plain orange juice?”
“Sure and that’s a good choice.” His smile was charming, his gaze sharp. “After you’ve played, come back, and I’ll put some vodka in it.”
“Play? I, um…” She could feel the heat as her face turned red. “Is Josie here tonight?”
“No, ’fraid not. Her son picked up a case of strep throat, and she’s staying home with him.”
“Oh.” So much for getting introductions to someone who could show her what birching felt like. She took a sip of her drink. Florida had the best orange juice. “I hope he feels better soon.”
“He’s a tough kid; he will.” He tilted his head. “I don’t recognize you. Are you a new member, and might I have your name?”
“It’s Murphy. I’m here on a three-time guest pass—and this is my second time.”
“Ah, one of those. Ghost’s idea. Did you find someone to play with on your first night?”
“No. But I did get to see what pet play was like.” She grinned, remembering the feeling of a tail against her bare legs. “I was a kitten.”