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know to just call.”
    She nodded and he turned to go.
    “Beast?”
    He whipped around so fast her head jerked back. “Yes?”
    “Do you think I could get someone to bring my dog over here?”
    “Your dog?”
    “Sharkie. Annie’s been feeding him, but it would be easier if he was here instead.”
    “Yeah. Sure. Give me your keys and I’ll go get him.”
    Punk’s shoulders slumped. “Shit, I forgot. Annie has my keys.”
    “What about Ella?”
    “Yeah, she still has a copy.”
    He nodded. “I’ll grab it and be back soon, okay?” He turned back to the door.
    “Wait, Beast, he doesn’t like men. You’ll have to get low to the ground and let him sniff you first. And if—”
    “I’ve got this,” he assured her. “Trust me.”
    He was out the door before she could argue anymore.
    Punk let out a huge sigh as the door clicked closed. The silence of the room was nice. The temporary solitude gave her a chance to catch her breath. Even though she wasn’t at home, she felt safe enough to relax.
    Setting her crutches against the side table, she carefully maneuvered her sore leg onto the bed. Damn, it hurt. She was due a pain pill, but the idea of getting up and digging them out of her purse, and then going to find water was exhausting. She’d rest a little first.
    Carrying an added five pounds on one leg was tough. And she’d never used her upper body like she was now with the crutches. Doing this for another six weeks sounded as good as being eaten alive by an anaconda.
    She managed to get the covers pulled back without standing, and found a semi-comfortable position by lying on her side and jamming a pillow between her legs so there was no weight on the cast.
    Sinking back into the mountain of pillows, she breathed deep. Beast’s room smelled amazing. There was no trace of the usual man funk she’d come to expect from bachelors. But it didn’t smell like cologne either. It was something else. Something dark. Like cut wood and… citrus.
    “Mmm.”
    She took another deep breath. She loved it.
    Somewhere in the middle of trying to figure out how she could bottle the scent and keep it, she fell asleep. She crashed hard, and when she woke hours later, it was from a nightmareless slumber. She was refreshed but her leg hurt like a motherfucker.
    Pain pills. Now .
    She rolled from the bed, careful not to jostle her leg, and grabbed the crutches. Hobbling to the dresser, she leaned in to peer at her reflection. Yep, she looked like shit. The bruises were fading, but her eyes were puffy and she had a little Frankenstein action going on with the stitches.
    She’d never cared much about her appearance. She wore a little makeup here and there but other than that, she didn’t try too hard. Today, she found herself wishing she didn’t look so bedraggled.
    Punk sighed. Whatever. She didn’t give a shit what any man thought of her looks. Including Beast.
    She reached up and tousled her hair to make it look messier. There. Now she really looked like she’d just rolled out of bed.
    Her gaze caught on the stitches near the corner of her eye, and she leaned forward until she was mere inches away from the mirror. Was the cut healed already?
    “No way,” she breathed.
    She blinked several times and looked again, but the sight didn’t change. The skin underneath was pink but not red. Not even scabby.
    What the fuck?
    Shaking her head, she dug her prescription out of her purse and made her way into the living room. But she barely got past the bedroom door before she was stopped by the sight in front of her.
    Beast was sprawled out on the couch, fast asleep with one leg hanging over the back. But the part that had her floundering was the fact that her huge-ass German Shepherd was lying on Beast’s chest. Shark’s head was nestled soundly under Beast’s chin and one of them—probably the dog—was snoring.
    Punk inched forward, careful to be as quiet as possible. She didn’t want to wake either of them and destroy this