for about a minute, I finally wrap my arms around him. Then
I lace my hands together at his lower back, letting him hug me.
I haven’t had anyone touch me since my mother passed. It’s
been nine months now since her death. I made it very clear to everyone I meant
I didn’t want physical contact. I’m pretty sure I made that clear to Mason, but
he seems hell-bent on breaking some of my rules. I can’t say I don’t like it,
and when he finally pulls back from me with a serious expression I feel a loss
immediately.
“I’m sorry, I was just so overwhelmed, proud of Baby,” Mason
tells me, his hands sliding off my lower back to rest at his side. I can’t say
anything for a few seconds and have to clear my throat.
“I’m proud of her too,” I tell him, turning my attention to
the dog. That’s a safe route. The dog is meant to push my buttons and my
boundaries. But Baby doesn’t do any of that today. She’s been calm and relaxed
for a week now, and I think it might be time for her to start interacting with
some of the other dogs here.
Maybe in another two weeks she can actually go home with
someone. When that step is over, she won’t have that ugly sign hanging on her
cage anymore. She’ll be meeting young couples or single people who want to take
her home. No children, I wouldn’t go as far to say that she can be trusted
around them on her own. But for someone who knows about dogs, she’ll be a great
companion.
I bend down to pat her on the head, not having to bend very
far. Mason’s stomach grumbles and I realize he probably didn’t eat anything
before he came here and his allowance of time for lunch is almost over. “I have
to go feed Bilbo,” I tell Mason quickly.
He reaches out a hand to grasp my upper arm, but releases it
as soon as I stop moving away from him. Our eyes meet, and I feel my cheeks
flush at the hope in his. “I’ll see you tomorrow at lunch?” He asks, but I know
what he’s really trying to determine. He’s trying to see if the hug he gave me
was going too far, and I don’t know how to answer him honestly. So I just shrug
one shoulder and bolt out the door.
There’s a turtle that arrived yesterday now in the small
animal room and a pair of male rats. I’m hoping I don’t have too much time to
get acquainted with them before they have new homes. It’s not that I’m afraid
of them or don’t’ like them. It’s the opposite, and I know that spending too
much time in a place without enough attention is detrimental to an animal.
As I’m pulling Noah out of his tank to clean it, like I do
every day, all I can think about is Mason’s hug.
Mason
My arms tingle where I touched Emily, and if I close my eyes
I can still smell the kiwi shampoo she must use. Someone snaps their fingers in
front of my face and I startle, looking at the intruder to my thoughts. Gail
rolls her eyes at me and grasps my hand, placing the needle into it. I turn to
the hissing, growling cat on the table held by Taylor, and feel a pang of
regret.
There’s no way that Villain is going to let me touch him
after he gets his shots today. Why do I have to be the bad guy? I guess all of
us are the bad guys though. Taylor’s holding the poor lynx point Siamese down
on the table while Gail tries to keep the nasty claws from getting to me and
Taylor. I shove the needle in as gently as I can and as quickly as I can,
depressing the plunger and pulling back as soon as it’s over.
Taylor scruffs the cat and puts its thrashing body back into
its pen. He’s not really a cat person; I think he just took this job so he
could work with some of the good looking women here and the dogs. Maybe I
should go find Emily after this and tell her there’s a cat in here that needs
some TLC.
I don’t have time to find Emily after the cat is put away
because Taylor gets out another one. The orange tabby is amiable until the man
scruffs it by the neck with force and pulls it up into the air as if that’s
going to make it