Not Your Ex's Hexes (Supernatural Singles, #2)(12)
“Who’s Ian?” Rose asked in an attempt to break the sudden tense silence.
Damian’s eyes flickered up to hers. “What?”
“He called you Ian.”
“Miguel has a thing for nicknames.” He gave her another once-over. “You did remember you’ll be working in an animal sanctuary, right? With actual animals?”
She glanced at her clothes. “Yes, but it’s not like I need to wear something fancy to do paperwork.”
“Office work?” He chuckled and sauntered closer, stopping only when his body heat warmed her skin. “Did you forget about the horse stalls I mentioned? The horses haven’t learned how to shovel their own shit in the last twenty-four hours.”
Rose stilled. “You were serious about that…”
“I don’t usually joke.”
He leaned closer, his damp chest nearly brushing hers as he reached out a hand. For a hot second, she pictured him slipping those callused fingers into her hair and pushing her against the wall for a soul-searing kiss.
Instead, he plucked something from the hook behind her shoulder, and gently tucked it into her arms. “You’ll want to put these on. And there are rubber boots outside Butternut’s stall you’ll want to slide those pretty feet into.”
Rose glanced at the oversized jeans coveralls in her hands. Paint-splattered and grimy, they’d obviously seen better days … and unless her nose deceived her, they smelled as though they hadn’t seen the inside of a washing machine in a while.
“You expect me to wear these … and boots?”
He skirted past her and shrugged. “It’s up to you, but unless you’re into horse-shit pedicures, you may want to think about it. Or you could always go back to your Council friends and tell them to reassign you somewhere else. We both know you won’t last the day here. You’d have to know the difference between a horse and an ass.”
She javelined a glare his way, and the damn man smirked. “Oh, I know the difference. Butternut’s a horse, and I’m looking at an ass right now.”
Damian crossed his arms over his naked chest, the move bulging out his biceps, one of which had a circle tattoo around its diameter. “Is that right?”
“One hundred percent.” Rose took a daring step closer, until it was her that stopped in front of him this time, her dirty shoes touching his boots. “And I’ll have you know that not only will I last the whole day, but I’ll keep coming back until I fulfill all my community service hours because I am a Maxwell. And Maxwell women don’t quit.”
Well …
Except she’d stepped down as the Prima Apparent.
And then she’d quit her short stint as a telemarketer.
She didn’t have high hopes for her current job as a Ryde driver, either, already having two strikes with her supervisor. But this would be one job she refused to shirk, and she’d see it through until the very bitter end even if she had to wear a dingy-feathered chicken suit that smelled like warmed-up tuna fish.
“Where can I change?” Rose asked, refusing to break eye contact with the smirking demon jerk.
* * *
Damian couldn’t help watching Rose hightail it to the back office, her rear end swaying deliciously in jeans that probably cost a small fraction of what he’d paid for his motorcycle. Once she’d disappeared into the office to change, he grabbed his T-shirt and shrugged into it before checking on the sanctuary’s newest resident.
Occupying the stall across from the mares, the newly postpartum pittie lay in the corner, her cream-and-brown-colored head perched on her white paws. As he crouched in front of her to change out the water in her untouched bowl, her sad golden eyes flickered up to his.
“Hey there, girl. Still not thirsty, huh?” He scratched her head and hoped for a pleased sigh or a tail twitch … anything to give him hope his patient was on the upswing. But she glanced away, and rolled slightly, giving him her back.
He’d tried—and failed—multiple times to get the pooch to eat. She’d eventually do it, but barely, and only enough to keep herself from withering away completely. IV hydration would only go so far, and it wouldn’t cure the root of the problem.
She missed her pups.
The recently pregnant stray had been brought to the sanctuary by a construction crew who’d found her along a busy stretch of road, in mid-labor and in obvious distress. The delivered pups had been too premature to make it and she’d gone on a hunger strike ever since.
“Alright, I’m heading out now.” Miguel propped his arms on the rail as he glanced at the dog. “Bella’s still not taking anything?”
Damian frowned. “Not more than a drop at a time, and food is less than that. I can keep the fluids going and restart her TPN drip if I need to, but that’s not a long-term solution. If she doesn’t turn a corner soon, I’m not sure what will happen.”
“You’ll figure it out. You both will.”
He wasn’t so sure, but it was exactly like Miguel to think the best of him. He always had, even when he’d been a trouble-seeking sixteen-year-old Hunter straddling the line between Supernatural prison and an early grave.
“So you and…” Miguel nodded to the office. “What’s the story there?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied, straight-faced.