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“Looks like it was a busy day,” he remarks. His fork waves in the direction of the pile of charts I had moved.
“It was a maintenance day.” I roll my eyes involuntarily. The food is so good that I have a hard time pausing long enough to talk. I didn’t realize just how hungry I was. Or maybe I’m just feeding my stomach because the other hunger I feel is unrequited.
“What’s that?” he asks. A bite of mongolian beef hangs before his lips, a morsel dangling from the fork. His tongue flicks out, wrapping around the errant piece, pulling it into his perfect mouth.
“What’s what?” I stumble out. Dammit, I can’t even concentrate around him.
The smile is back, working its way along his lips, curling up his clean-shaven cheek, nestling into the sapphire glints of his eyes. He leans closer, filling my vision with the hollow at the base of his throat. “What,” he pauses, “is a maintenance day?”
I must have groaned. His eyebrows shoot up watching me.
“It’s when people come in for things that should be taken care of already, but weren’t. So we end up having conversations about maintenance care. Parasites, dry skin, fun stuff like that.” There is no way, whatsoever, that any of that is fun.
“Ah, that makes sense. I never thought of it that way. We’ve always just had a schedule and stuck with it.” He leans back and the temperature in the room drops back to normal. Slightly.
“Hmm, yes, it’s usually first time owners who have the biggest issues.” Shrugging, I take another bite.
“Do you have any pets, Doc?”
I shake my head, my mouth momentarily filled with savory garlic chicken. “I have a whole city of them to take care of, and I work so much it wouldn’t be fair to keep one. Maybe a fish would be a good option,” I can’t help but add. Anything else would die of boredom.
“All work and no play does not make for a happy life.” He picks one of the fortune cookies off the desk, popping the thin plastic wrapper between his fingers. A pinch between his fingers, and the small fold of paper comes into view.
“What does it say?” I ask, reaching for my own.
He laughs quietly. “Do you want me to read what it says, or read it the way it’s supposed to be read?”
“What does that mean? ‘The way it’s supposed to be read?’”
“The rule—” He wags the slip, a broad smile pulling his lips. “—is that you’re supposed to add the words ‘in bed’ to any fortune you get.”
“The rule?” It brings a hot flush to my cheeks. This man is torturous. “Well, if it’s a rule, it should be followed.”
He makes a rumbling sound of approval in his chest; my legs clench beneath my desk.
“Fortune favors the brave, in bed.” He grins, turning the slip so I can read it.
I can’t help but laugh. Peeling mine open, my laughter dies in my throat.
Oh, no, I can’t read this.
“What does it say?” he prompts me, jaw flexing as he chews the last of his cookie.
“I, um.” My face is literally on fire.
“Tell me.” His voice drops and he leans closer. His presence pressing upon me. The air is so thick, I don’t know if I can make any sound.
The animal part of my brain kicks in, responding to his voice.
“You are—” I clear my throat. It’s so dry suddenly. “You are very talented in many ways, in bed,” I squeak, grabbing for my water.
His laughter fills the room, rich and deep, swirling through me. I can't help but give a nervous smile to hide the dampness I suddenly feel between my legs.
His Adam's apple bobs as he continues to chuckle.
“Well, Doc, you know these things never lie.”
Chapter eight