LOGAN

For the rest of the weekend, I find myself thinking about Kayla way more than I should’ve been. She’s such a good person. So inspiring by how she dedicates her time to the soup kitchen and animal shelter. The more I think about her, the more I know she deserves someone who can give her everything she wants. No drama, no baggage, no complications.

As I pour another coffee refill into my travel mug—because it’s been that kind of day—I think back to the dreams that have been keeping me up the past few nights. I don’t want to think about them, but I know the longer I pretend they aren’t happening, the more I’m going to have them.

And I need some fucking sleep.

Have I mentioned how much I dislike Mondays?

“Knight!” I hear behind me. Putting the lid back on my mug, I turn and see my colleague, Brantley Hunter walking toward me. I nod toward him and wait for him to catch up to me.

“How’s it goin’, man?” he asks in his deep southern drawl. Brantley and his wife moved to California about a year ago, but his accent only seems to get thicker.

“Good. What’s up?” I ask, eyeing the file he’s holding in his hand.

“Supervisor Royal is handing out new assignments,” he tells me. “We’re partners on it.”

Brantley and I have worked several assignments together already, but I mostly prefer to work solo. I don’t mind the company though, considering I’ll probably need it to take my mind off not sleeping.

“Great. What is it?”

“Suspected drug trafficking in Elk Grove. Neighbors say there’s been a lot of in and out traffic in a house near the high school and wants us to go check it out. Interview the neighbors for potential witnesses and do a possible stakeout.”

“In the ‘burbs?” I arch a brow, not that I’m really shocked. Housewives are the best dealers—the most unsuspecting and hardest to catch considering they’re usually much smarter about their trade. “Guess I better go suit up.” I take a large sip of my coffee, hoping this new case will be a big enough distraction for me to sleep at night.

Brantley starts walking toward his office and calls over his shoulder, “We leave in ten!”

I let him drive so I can read through the case file. He turns into the neighborhood of the suspicious address and it looks like a dream place to live. Modern homes, clean-cut yards, privacy fences, and three-car garages. It’s everything I’d love to be able to give Skylar one day.

“Houses in this neighborhood cost more than four times my salary,” Brantley says. “Why risk it all for a little side dealing?”

“Maybe it’s no longer a side job. Bored housewife starts turning profit and the temptation is too strong to quit,” I tell him, knowing from previous work experience. It wouldn’t be the first time I saw it happen.

“How a person can just wake up one day and decide to sell drugs is unfathomable,” he tells me, shaking his head.

“It’s not always that easy,” I mutter, although I’m not really sure he’s even listening to me anymore.

“All right, that’s the one,” Brantley says, pulling my attention up to the cul-de-sac with only three properties on it. No wonder the neighbors notice a lot of cars coming in and out of there.

“There’s a playset in the back,” I mumble, sadness in my tone. If there is indeed drug trafficking happening here, knowing that children may be living there, too, brings anger and sadness inside. “The perfect façade.”

We’re parked down the block in an unmarked car in hopes of seeing an exchange happen. Grabbing my binoculars and camera from the backseat, Brantley shout-whispers and starts patting me on the arm.

“Someone just pulled up.”

“That was fast.” I hand him the camera and I take the binoculars. After thirty seconds, we realize it’s a false alarm. Looked like one of the kids was being dropped off from school probably, considering the backpack he’s wearing. The car backs out of the driveway and drives off.

“Damn,” Brantley pouts, setting the camera down in his lap.

Twenty minutes later, another car pulls up and the same kid who was just dropped off comes walking out. I watch through the binoculars as he leans up against the driver’s side door and they talk for less than a minute before the car backs up and leaves.

“I’m pretty sure they just exchanged,” I tell Brantley. I didn’t see any money or product exactly, but there was just enough movement to insinuate the kid handed him a baggie while the other kid handed him a bill.

“That kid can’t be no older than fourteen!” Brantley exclaims. “There’s no way.”

“He’s under sixteen for sure, considering he probably doesn’t have his license and that’s why he gets a ride home from school,” I explain. “I bet his parents have no clue either.”

“Or they know but don’t care enough to do anything about it,” Brantley suggests.

“Or they’re in on it,” I respond.

God, this kid is going to flush his entire future down the toilet. We can’t do anything about it until we have actual proof, but this is a great start to getting there.

Less than ten minutes later, another car pulls up; the kid comes out, they exchange, and in less than a minute, the car is gone.

“Where the hell are his parents?” Brantley mutters.

“Probably working.”

Another five minutes pass, another car comes and goes, and then another one pulls up but it doesn’t idle in the driveway. They park in the driveway and we both watch as the door swings open, waiting to see who’s home.

“Ten bucks it’s the mom,” Brantley says as we both wait to see.

We both gasp as soon as we see who it is.

“No fucking way,” I mutter. “What the hell is she doing here?”

“Who’s that?” he asks, grabbing the binoculars to get a better look.

I inhale a deep breath. “That’s Penelope Royal.”

Supervisor Royal’s oldest daughter.

“Holy. Shit.” Brantley draws out slowly, the exact same thing I’m thinking.

“She’s seventeen. She could get tried as an adult if she’s involved.”

“Could she just be a friend?” Brantley asks in a hopeful tone.

“I doubt it. She’s too old to be hanging out with a kid that age, but I guess who knows.”

We watch as she stalks inside in six-inch heels and a designer bag hanging off her shoulder. Her father would never buy that expensive shit for her, which only confirms my suspicions. If she is involved with that kid, she’s using her portion of the money to buy the things her parents won’t.

She doesn’t even knock; she just walks right inside. I know for a fact that she doesn’t live there and even though her parents are divorced, I also know her mother doesn’t live in this neighborhood.

The anticipation is thick as we wait for her to come back out. It’s at least thirty minutes before we see any movement. The screen door swings open, but she doesn’t step out just yet. A pair of hands wrap around her waist and pull her in for a kiss.

“Jesus Christ,” I curse. “She’s sleeping with that kid who’s probably giving her his drug money.”

They talk and mess around for a few moments before she finally wrangles out of his grip and starts walking back to her car. Before she makes it, the guy comes running out in only his boxers and you can see her laughing as he lunges at her for one last kiss before she can leave.

“I don’t think that’s the kid,” Brantley says, watching intently.

Holy fuck.

My eyes widen as I realize what he’s referring to. That’s not the kid. That’s got to be the kid’s father. He’s at least forty, gray sprinkled in his facial hair, and an obvious wedding band on his left hand tells us everything.

They’re having an affair. His teenage kid is dealing. The father is probably using his cut to buy gifts for his mistress, and if he keeps buying them, she’ll keep coming. The kid probably knows all about it, too.

“Dysfunctional with a capital d,” Brantley murmurs.

Just when we think shit couldn’t get any worse, another car pulls up less than ten minutes later and parks in the driveway. She’s dressed in a skirt and blazer and carrying a work bag. This time it’s an older woman. Probably the kid’s mom and the father’s wife. And she’s oblivious to all of it.

––––––––

KAYLA

Seeing Logan over the weekend brought all those stomach butterflies back. I know he’s told me he can’t get involved right now, but every time he’s around me, I feel the electricity between us, and I wonder how he can deny it’s there. The way he looks away from me when I catch him staring or how he always finds an excuse to do something unexpected for me. I know he’s fighting it.

Seeing Courtney and Viola again brought back so many memories of when all three of us used to hang out all the time. I know we’ll always be friends, but sometimes it’s hard to be the odd one out. Viola and Travis are married with three kids, Courtney and Drew are now married and trying to have a baby, and I’m single with three fur babies who hasn’t gone on one single decent date in months.

Even while Tyler and I were dating, he didn’t really take me out on dates. Not that I’m the type to expect to be taken out all the time, but I would’ve appreciated some effort once in a while. In and out of the bedroom.

Another workday has me dragging myself out of bed early to walk the dogs and grab breakfast before I must get ready and head to the office.

“All right, boys. Patience,” I tell them as we walk inside Donny’s. He greets us as soon as he hears the bell on the door.

“Good morning!” He smiles. “My favorite customers.”

I smile even though I know he says that to all his customers.

“Morning,” I repeat, trying to keep the dogs from jumping on him. “They’re a little energetic this morning.”

“I can tell. You look a little tired.” His lips tilt up into a knowing smile.

“Ha-ha, Donny. What gave it away?” I mock, knowing I probably have bags under my eyes.

“Well for starters, that donut mask thing you’re wearing on your forehead like a hat was my first clue.”

“What?” I nearly gasp as I pat my forehead and feel the sleeping mask I forgot to take off. “Oh my God,” I groan. “I can only imagine what people driving by thought as they saw me.”

I sigh, grabbing it off my head and shoving it in my pocket.

“Probably that you need coffee and donuts.” He smirks. “You sleep with that on your face all night long?” he asks as he packs up my order.

“Yeah, I need my room pitch black to fall asleep,” I explain, hoping he doesn’t probe more into it.

Ever since I was a little kid, I preferred to sleep in complete darkness, mostly because I was scared. You’d think it’d be the opposite, but when you’re being juggled from foster home to foster home, you learn quick that darkness is the only safety net from the reality that’s lurking around when the sun rises. At least in the darkness, I could imagine being anywhere I wanted to be. I wasn’t in some crappy room where I didn’t recognize anything because nothing was mine. I wasn’t in an unfamiliar home once again and I could fall asleep dreaming of what if instead of what is.

Once the dogs get their donut treats and I pay, we head back out so I’m not late for work. Just my luck, Kristoff wants to stop and pee at every single tree and fire hydrant. A man with two large black labs is walking right toward us and all three of mine go nuts barking at them.

I pull their leashes back so the man can walk around us, but, of course, Adam, being the stubborn one, pulls his leash out of my grip and gets all tangled in the guy’s leg and the other leashes.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry,” I blurt out, trying to grab the end of Adam’s leash while trying to control the other two dogs. “He won’t bite. He just wants to smell you.”

The guy laughs and when I look up at him, I relax when I notice he’s not mad or glaring at me. And not to mention, handsome as hell.

“I’m not worried,” he says so casually, I sigh in relief. “Here, let me help,” he offers when he realizes I’m struggling to untangle them all.

“Thank you. I’m a little disoriented this morning.”

“It’s no problem.” His voice is smooth and completely calm. “I work with animals every day. I’m used to being jump on, barked at, bitten. You name it.” He hands me Adam’s leash when they’re finally all untangled.

“Really?” I’m intrigued and he takes notice.

“I’m a vet, so it’s kind of my job.” He winks and something inside me melts. Whoa. I hadn’t even really noticed what he looked like, and although his voice was intriguing, it’s nothing compared to his near-naked body standing in front of me.

“You’re a vet?” I finally manage to speak. “That’s incredible.”

“Yeah, I work at Wyatt Animal Village.”

“Oh my God! That’s like the top ten rated best vets in the state. Very impressive,” I say, ignoring tingles that are surfacing. “I volunteer at the animal shelter a few times a week, and, well, it’s safe to say I can’t resist bringing them home with me.”

“Really? Now that’s impressive. Unless you’re volunteering because it was court ordered?” He arches a brow, his lips tilting in a teasing smirk.

I chuckle because it’s not the first time someone’s asked me that when they found out I do volunteer work.

“No, not court ordered. Although, that’d probably be a way more interesting story.”

“True, but I’m also kind of relieved.” He flashes a smile that could tear panties right off.

I’m no expert in the dating scene, but I’m pretty sure Dr. Vet is flirting with me.

“I’m Kayla, by the way. Kayla Sinclair. Just in case you don’t believe me about that court order.” I hold my hand out and he takes it in his, laughing at my lame introduction.

“It’s nice to meet you, Kayla Sinclair. I’ll be sure to stalk you and run a full credit report.”

“Oh, totally fine. Just don’t look up my arrest record,” I tease.

“I’m Christian Wyatt. If you decide to look me up though, ignore that one time in college I got arrested for streaking.”

I burst out laughing, completely captivated by this stranger I just met. “Wait. Wyatt? You’re the owner of Wyatt Animal Village?”

“Not yet. Technically, my father is and will be handing it down to me when he retires,” he explains, and I can’t stop looking at him and melting over the sound of his sultry voice.

“Wow, that’s amazing. Sounds like a dream job.”

Before he can reply, Philip lifts his leg and pees directly on Christian’s shoes. He looks down and completely breaks out in fits of laughter.

“Philip! Bad dog!” I pull his leash back, knowing he won’t have any idea what he did wrong. “I’m seriously so sorry. I swear they aren’t always this obnoxious.”

“Kayla, it’s fine. I promise. It’s not the first time I’ve been peed on and it won’t be the last.” He lifts his foot and shakes his shoe off over the grass. “I probably had it coming anyway. He looks like he’s pretty territorial of you.”

I sigh. “He is. They all are. Bunch of mama’s boys.” I chuckle. “Yours seem so well behaved. Perhaps they should have a doggie playdate and can teach mine a thing or two about manners.”

Did I just ask him out? I’m pretty sure that’s how it sounded. I hadn’t meant for the words to come out, but like everything else in my life, the words just came out like vomit.

“I’d love that. Let me give you my card.” He reaches in his back pocket and grabs his business card out of his wallet before handing it over to me. “My cell number is on there, so feel free to contact me anytime you want to get them together.”

I so appreciate him not making this a bigger deal and playing along with it being for the dogs. He knows I’m asking him out, which is something I don’t normally do—or at least do well—but this guy is actually decent. He’s extremely attractive, fit, tall, thick brown hair, light facial hair, and he loves animals. Is he even for real?

“Perfect. Thank you.” I smile as I grab the card and hold it tightly between my fingers.

“Well, I should get going. I need to be to work in like thirty minutes,” he tells me and something inside me snaps.

“Oh my God! I’m going to be late for work. I’m so sorry to just run, but I’ll call you and set that playdate up soon! It was nice meeting you!”

I’m practically halfway down the block by the time I stop shouting at him. God. He must think I’m a complete spaz.

Rushing back to the house, I feed and water the dogs, hop in the shower, and get ready in record time. I nearly have enough time to brush my hair, so I throw it up in a bun and decide I’ll comb it out once I get to work. My boss won’t care that I just met the perfect guy this morning. He won’t care that Christian is a vet and works with animals or that he’s clearly as passionate about them as I am. He won’t even care that I haven’t had sex—like good sex—in months. He’ll only care that I’m late for work and look like a train wreck.

But it’ll be so worth it.