Satisfaction Guaranteed(40)

I let go of her hip and tuck a finger under her chin. “Besides, do I look like some kind of Neanderthal? A twenty-two-year-old Tinder hookup? A jackass frat guy?”

She laughs and shakes her head. “No. But . . .”

I shake my head, still in a fog of disbelief. “All right. I have to ask: Do you have a thing for assholes? Are you one of those women who likes to date jerks?”

She smirks. “No. I swear. But . . .”

“But you’ve wound up with some dickheads?”

She shrugs. “It’s been known to happen to women in their twenties. Look, I haven’t always picked well. I meet men at the gym or through dating apps or even in my online groups for small business owners selling stuff on Etsy, like the socks I sell. And I went out with a couple of guys who were the poster boys for the classic girl questions of Does he like me? Why doesn’t he text? Is he just busy?”

I shake my head, running the towel once over my hair then tossing it on a hook. “Let me tell you something. We’re never too busy to text. It’s not complicated to send a quick note.” I mime tapping with thumbs. “Yo, girl, what’s up? See? Two seconds. Now, giving a dog a new ACL? That takes time. Stitching up a cat who broke her leg? That’s precision work. Sending a woman you dig a text is a pleasure and don’t let anyone tell you differently.”

She taps my chest. “And when we like a guy, we like hearing from him. Also, I like it when you text me, and then we wind up having long conversations. But then, that’s what always happens with us.”

“That’s the truth,” I say, and for one moment, awareness flashes before my eyes.

We’re talking like we’re together.

I’m telling her everything. The secrets of men. The truth of our behavior. How I feel.

But we can’t be together.

Our reality isn’t going away—she’s my business partner’s daughter. She’s been branded off-limits. And there’s a new obstacle too—the whole working-in-the-same-space one. It’s simply too risky to test the limits. We need to be able to treat patients and run the clinic without awkwardness or tension.

This, the way we are at night, is our alternate universe.

Maybe that’s why we can be so open here. We can enjoy this tryst for what it is: a second time around in our parallel world.

But the end will come just the same.

That thought weighs me down, and I don’t want to be anyplace but up tonight. Time to stow all the worries and the obstacles. Resolved, I set them on a mental shelf and close the door for the night.

I step closer to Sloane. “Plus, you can’t leave with wet hair.” Gently, I take her towel and rub it over her head, drying the ends of her hair as I speak. “You’re getting in my bed, and you’re spending the night naked and curled up in my arms. We’ll probably even chat for a few minutes. We might even blow each other’s minds again.”

She hums. “Now you’re talking.”

We return to the bedroom and flop onto the bed. I brush my fingertips along her waist. “So, tell me about your socks.”

She laughs. “I’m not even wearing any tonight,” she says, wiggling her bare feet.

“I know. And trust me, it makes me really sad, because the thought of you in nothing but a pair of socks is a turn-on.”

She arches one brow, giving me a curious look. “That turns you on?”

I glance down at my dick. He’s showing off his two-seconds-to-semi skills again. “Apparently. I’m not sure if you’ve gotten the message yet. But everything you do turns me on.”

She shifts to her side, facing me, propping her head in her hand. “If I took off a sock, that would turn you on?” She mimes removing one sock.

I pretend to consider that scenario. “Yep.”

“If I have a drink of water, that would turn you on?” She pretends to down a glass.

I do a slow, exaggerated nod. “Absolutely. Major wood.”

She checks me out, her eyes indicating she’s impressed. I don’t lie—I’m at full mast again.

“If I open a bottle of ketchup, would that be arousing?”

I quirk up my lips, considering. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure it would. You could also eat an apple, and that would be enticing. You could walk down the hallway, and that would be stimulating. You could yawn, and I’d probably be ready to go.”

She shoves her hand against my chest. “You’re so easy.”

I pinch her butt. “What can I say? You do it for me, Sloane. You can test it with a sock striptease, but it’s true. I’m an easy mark with you.”

She slides up against me, grinning. “And do you think I’m easy with you?”

A cough bursts from my throat. “You? Easy? Not in the least.”

“Hey!”

I draw a line down her nose. “If turning you on was a simple task, you wouldn’t be in my bed, getting lessons in orgasms.”

“And I do like my lessons. I’m a good student, don’t you think?”

“You take direction incredibly well.”

“I can relax with you. Being with you like this . . . is easy.” Her tone softens, downshifts to vulnerable. “Maybe that’s why I was able to let go. You’re the only one I’ve been able to with.”