“Sorry about that. I got excited when I was invited into the group chat. But I have a question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“Why don’t you just tell your friends the situation? I mean, it’s not like they’re colleagues. You’ve known them for years.”
“Yeah, that is true.” He hesitates for a moment. “I think it’s best to keep the people that know to a minimum.”
“Sure, that makes sense. Besides, Caleb might have literally pounced on me at Lottie’s the other night if he knew.”
Alfie huffs through his nostrils, pulling away to check on the garlic bread in the oven.
“Would you like a drink?”
I laugh. “Would you like to discuss that reaction, Dr. Adams?”
“Fuck, don’t call me that, Mia.” His voice strains, his eyes dipping to my lips for a fraction of a second before physically shaking his head. “We agreed to keep things informal outside of the office.”
What the hell was that?
Pulling a couple of beers out of the fridge, I twist the cap off and hand it to him, and do the same with mine. I take a long pull, watching him work, his forearms tensing and flexing as the thick corded muscles ripple as he serves up the food.
He carries the plates over to the table, placing mine down first. It takes him three tries to spark up the lighter he had in hispocket, but when he does, he cups the flame with his palm and lights three brand new candles laid out to the side of us.
I sit opposite him, and he breathes a sigh of relief, looking at the food and then to me.
It’s then that I realize three things.
Alfie Adams is nervous. He’s looking to me for approval. And this may be a date.
Chapter Ten
Alfie
What am I doing? The candles? The dinner…I had bought wine especially but hid it in the cupboard before Mia arrived. I need to get a grip on reality. I have lived by a guiding set of principles, and they haven't failed me in ten years. Was I really questioning them now? I know Mia is worth it. Worth the time and effort a boyfriend or husband should give. I just don’t know that I can be that person for her. How will it go when we’re both working full time, focusing on our patients and not on our relationship? I’d hate myself if I made her unhappy. I’d hate myself even more if one of my patients suffered as a consequence. I don’t think I could survive it if something like that happened again. And I know for sure that the help I received from my father wouldn’t be offered twice. I’d have to deal with it alone this time, and then what would I do? What excuse would I have if I allowed myself to become distracted again, just like last time?
Mia’s cheeks are rosy, pinched high up by her eyes from the wide smile she’s giving me. She swigs her beer again, and I almost reach my hand across the table to take hers in mine, but thankfully she leans back and pats her stomach.
“That was a hit. They’re gonna love it at the next dinner party.” She licks her fork one more time before placing it on the plate. “Why do you call it a dinner party, anyway? It’s clearly a night you all let loose and drink.”
“When we were fresh out of our doctorate programs, we wanted to seem sophisticated.” I shrug. “It seemed like the fanciest thing we could do at the time, but I won’t lie. Every night we’ve done one, it’s descended into some sort of chaos.”
“And Katie and Jonesy…they’re what?”
“Not together. They’ve never both been single long, and they always seem to miss each other by a few months. Every now and then, they’ll introduce the group to their new boyfriend or girlfriend. Once the evening progresses and they fall into their usual routine of bickering, the relationships never last much longer.”
“So even whoever they’re dating can see their chemistry.”
“Right. But when we were younger, they both outright refused to admit they liked each other. And so it became a battle of wills as to who could bring the most accomplished person to Dinner Club. Katie once brought a European prince, who was living in the US for some diplomatic reason. The next month, Jonesy brought an Olympic gold medal-winning gymnast.”
“Oof, I bet that went down well.”
“They ended up in a screaming match and nearly wrestling on the floor. Safe to say we never saw the prince or the gymnast again. I think they ended up dating for a while, though.”
She smiles, peeling the label off the side of the bottle. Caleb once told me that when someone starts peeling the label off their beer bottle, it means they’re sexually frustrated. He did tell me this when we were nineteen and complete morons though, so I can’t confirm the validity of that statement. But the thought of her pent up and needy, giving in to me as I slide deep inside her, tending to the tension that’s been growing between us forweeks, maybe longer. It’s like an ache. At least for me it is. Some insatiable need to fill her almost overwhelms me as we sit here and pretend like this isn’t the oddest thing we’ve ever done during our working relationship. The heat from the candles, the subtle scent that burns into the air, the way the flame dances across her face.
Fuck, I want her so badly.
The fact that my bedroom is less than twenty feet away is killing me. I could have her face down, ass up in less than a minute. Bunching that cute little skirt up past her hips, sliding down that thong I imagine she’s wearing. And if I can’t even wait that long, I could just pull it to the side and sink into her, thrusting hard so she knows that she belongs to me.
