Not Your Ex's Hexes (Supernatural Singles, #2)(27)

His cell rang, saving him from saying—or doing—something stupid like throwing that suggestion at her with an invite to his apartment upstairs.

“Hey, Amir. What’s up?” Damian answered, recognizing the number of his colleague who had a practice in the Rockaways.

“Hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Nah. Just wrapping things up here at the clinic. What’s happening?”

“I got an alert from someone in the neighborhood who swears they heard a young canine crying out by that old dumping ground … the one between Beach Boulevard and the Cross Bay Bridge. You know the place I’m talking about?”

“Yeah, I know it. You want me to go check it out?”

“I’d go myself, but I’m out of town for my in-laws’ anniversary party, and you know I don’t like getting animal control involved unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“I get it.” And he did. The informal—and illegal—dumping spot wasn’t a place city employees often relished—or risked— rifling through. They’d be more apt to shrug off the information, letting whatever poor animal that was out there fend for themselves.

“Guess I should be flattered your first thought was to call me,” Damian joked, noting his conversation had caught Rose’s attention.

“You’re the only one I know who’d wade through that shit-show for a four-legged critter.”

“I’ll head out now and check it out. Thanks for the heads-up.”

“Anytime, man. Anytime.”

Damian ended the call, realizing Rose watched him curiously. “I have to check out a tip on possibly abandoned pups.”

“Someone dumped puppies in these temperatures?”

“I wish I could say that it wasn’t common, but I’d be lying. And if they’re too young, there’s no way they’ll last the night, so I’m heading in to the Rockaways.”

He grabbed a carrier from the storage room, some soft blankets, gloves, bottled water, and a couple of flashlights.

By the time he had it all shoved in the large canvas rescue bag, Rose stood by the door, already shrugging into her pink puffer jacket. “Can I help you?”

Her question threw him off guard. “You want to go on a rescue call? It won’t be a brisk walk through Central Park.”

“I should be offended by your shocked look, but I’ll ignore it. Besides, I’m not doing anything right now … and it’s dark.”

Damian let out a low chuckle. “I’m not afraid of the dark, little witch.”

“Good for you, but I meant that two eyes—and flashlights—are better than one. Especially if time’s an issue.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to send her home. He’d done thousands of these rescues alone without any issues, and yet the words refused to form. Instead, he handed her a second flashlight, and as his fingers brushed hers, that zing of awareness shot through his entire body, forcing him to suck in a quick breath.

Rose did, too, their gazes locking. In that moment, time froze and he nearly forgot everything but his damn name. The animals. The rescue. The time crunch. All gone for a few slow seconds until he pulled his hand away, but it hadn’t mattered.

Ten minutes later, as he navigated his truck toward Queens, his skin still tingled where they’d touched.

In New York, there was no downtime when it came to traffic. Day. Night. Weekend. It was fucked up twenty-four-seven … except during rush hour, and then it was SFU (Supremely Fucked Up). Luckily for Damian and Rose, they were dealing with the everyday FU traffic and were crossing the bridge thirty minutes later.

“Does this happen a lot?” Her arms wrapped around the empty pet carrier on her lap, Rose glanced his way.

“Does what happen?”

“Terrance brought Jasper to the sanctuary because his owner was about to dump him somewhere unsavory and now abandoned puppies. You collect strays and animals people have already given up on.”

He snuck a look and caught her staring at him unabashedly. “It happens way more than I’d like. And it’s why the sanctuary clinic is sinking quicker than a Floridian sinkhole. Any money that comes in via the vet practice is immediately used up by the sanctuary, but I’m not about to turn away animals in need. They didn’t ask to be put in the situations they’re in. People put them into them, and if I can do something to help get them out, I will.”

Rose watched him like a silent hawk.

Damian’s fingers fidgeted on the steering wheel. “What? Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?”

“Under all the sexy grump, you have a very caring heart, Damian Adams.” She almost sounded surprised.

“Don’t spread that secret around town, okay?”

Her lips twitched. “So people don’t realize there’s more to you than brooding good looks and an attitude?”

“So people don’t think something’s there that isn’t.”

“A heart?”

“Exactly.”

She rolled her eyes with a dainty snort. “And I thought Harper was dramatic, but you like playing up the tortured hero shtick, don’t you?”

Rose thought he’d been joking, but he hadn’t.

Yeah, he had a heart. The thumping mass of blood and muscle resided in the center of his chest as it did with anyone, but unlike the typical human—or Supernatural, for that matter—dietary restrictions couldn’t be helped. But his wasn’t sodium.