Page 4 of Collars & Kittens
When he says ‘good kitty,’ a thought pops into my head—I could be his kitty. I’d do whatever he wanted if he called me a good girl with that deep voice of his.
Before he turns to leave, he glances at my couch, and his eyes linger on Glacia Pawsicle and Shivers McFlap before murmuring, “Take care, Olivia. You know where to find me if you need me.”
I have a sudden flash of all the different ways I could need him...how about showing me that not all men are assholes? My ex who never treated me like anything but a submissive who was there to service his needs in bed. Ben never once went down on me, and I bet an older man knows what he’s doing down there.
Holy fuck, I need to clear my head. Everything out of Dalton’s mouth sounds so sexy, but I know he didn’t mean his words the way I’m taking them. I canfeel my panties growing damp, and I desperately need to get away from him. “Yes, sir—Dalton—thanks again for everything.”
His eyes flicker to mine again briefly before he walks back to his SUV. My heart pounds as I give him a little wave. What just happened? Was that all in my imagination? Thank God he didn’t laugh at my stuffies.
I let Agnes out of the carrier, and she immediately headbutts my hand, demanding attention. I stroke her soft fur absently, still distracted by thoughts of Dr. Harrington...no, Dalton, I correct myself.
It’s ridiculous, I barely know the man. Not to mention he’s clearly too old for me. What would a mature, established guy like him want with a twenty-four-year-old yoga instructor who’s just getting back on her feet after a toxic relationship?
And yet...there was an undeniable connection between us. A zing of attraction. Ugh, it doesn’t matter. It’s not like anything will come of it. He was just being friendly.
After a few minutes of petting her, Agnes loses interest and saunters off happily to her favorite sunny patch on the living room rug. I envy her ability to live in the moment.
Now, all I have to do is wait to hear from Dalton.
I wish it wasn’t going to be a conversation about my cat. A girl can dream, can’t she?
With a sigh, I try in vain to redirect my thoughts to anything but the magnetic pull I felt toward this near stranger. Easier said than done.
Chapter 3
DALTON
I’ve designed my clinic to be warm and inviting. The walls are painted a tranquil shade of blue, reminiscent of a clear sky. In the lobby, comfortable armchairs circle a rustic coffee table stacked with pet magazines. A muted aromatherapy scent wafts through the air, masking the inevitable smells that come with animals and the cleaners we use. My goal is to create a peaceful oasis, easing the nerves of the anxious pets and owners.
As the sole vet in our small town, the clinic is my second home. I live in the apartment upstairs, remaining on call at all hours. When I’m in the clinic, my door stays open—I want Sue at the front desk and my part-time tech to know I’m available if they need me. I love my job, exhausting as it can be. The long hours and demanding work are worth it to care for the creatures who bring such joy to our lives.
After yesterday’s encounter, today is boring in comparison. I can’t stop thinking about Olivia. She was stunning, with a slight frame, warm beige skin, and beautiful brown eyes with golden flecks. Normally, I assume a woman that gorgeous knows the effect she has on people, but she also had this endearing awkwardness that made me want to keep her safe from all the bad things in the world—and fuck me, that adorable blush when she called me ‘sir’…it’s been months since I’ve gotten aroused so quickly.
Of course, she’s far too young for the likes of me. Not that it stops my thoughts from wandering where they shouldn’t. Fantasizing about fucking her cute little mouth, watching those plump lips stretch aroundme…but some things simply aren’t meant to be. I’m not looking for a one-night stand with a young hottie.
I ready my supplies to see my first patient of the day, eager for the distraction. The radio plays softly in the background, chatter from the local station drifting through the office. It’s always on in the clinic, a sense of connection to our small town. I find myself tapping along to the songs as I work.
With Valentine’s Day approaching, love is in the air—at least according to the radio hosts. Local businesses are running themed promotions, and the stores are festooned with pink and red. Despite my general disinterest in holidays, their enthusiasm is contagious. It’s hard not to get caught up in the festivities.
As I examine a golden retriever with an irritated ear, I overhear the DJs announcing a Valentine’s Day contest. They’re seeking local bachelors who are willing to take a chance on love. Once the contest starts, women will submit applications to win a date with one of the guys. Interesting approach to finding a partner, though not something I’d consider.
I try to imagining who might participate. The guys from the motorcycle shop seem likely, with their bold attitudes. Our straight-laced high school coach, Mike? Doubtful. Too proper for something so unpredictable. Plenty of single men in our BDSM circle, but slim pickings for partners with compatible kinks in a small town.
The idea of entering the contest sticks with me. What if I used the platform to promote animal welfare this winter? Educational outreach, despite my disinterest in dating. After all, saving one pet would make it worthwhile...
Plus, my exes always said I had a voice made for sexy audios and asked me to make them a recording where I called them a dirty little slut and told them how much of a good girl they were. I have a deep, resonant voice that draws people in. Maybe it’ll give me an edge with a radio show contest.
The retriever is treated, his owner is delighted, and they are on their way. Once I’m alone, I make up my mind. I’m going to give the contest a shot. What do I have to lose? Submitting an application can’t hurt.
During a lull at work, I complete the application on the station’s website. They want basic information from me, such as my age, job, and philosophy about life. I try to showcase my humor and passion for animals. The final thing they want is a question they can ask my potential dates. Easy enough—I want to know what pets the woman has. Before I can overthink it, I hit submit. It’s official now—I’m in the running, if they pick me.
After applying, I phone my best friend, Travis, in the next town over. We chat at least weekly, and I’d rather tell him myself that I entered rather than have him hear it from someone else. He loves that radio station—he’ll be tickled I entered their contest.
He answers in his usual teasing tone. “Let me guess, calling about the cheesy dating contest they announced on the radio?”
I laugh loudly. Of course he already knows. Not much happens in our small towns without Travis hearing about it. “I figured you already submitted your application,” I volley back.
“Ha! No way, but I was curious if you were going to.”
