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“You sure?” He hesitates.
“I don’t want...it’s sensitive.”
“Mate, I think you know me well enough now to ask me anything. If I don’t like it, I’ll punch you in the kidney.”
“Ha! Good luck getting Peewee off me to do that! Okay, so, like, how do you know when you’ve met...you know…”
“The one?” I snicker. “I don’t know mate. I doubt it’s the same for the two of us. Wouldn’t you be better asking Yas? At least the two of you are similar with you both being shifters. You know my family’s fucked up.”
“I guess.”
“I’ll go see the doc. Catch you later. Oh, can you run off those invoices for me while I’m gone?”
“Just the skate school?”
“No there’s a list on the pad there. We have a party at the weekend, but it’s not a private hire. It was all arranged over the phone but she still needs invoicing. And the therapy and toddler skate sessions are due. It’s all on the list, just follow it carefully—”
“Jeez, alright! I think I can read a list and press control, alt, delete.”
“Hilarious. Fuck this up and I’ll spill your location to the media.”
“You wouldn’t!” he gasps in horror.
“Try me.”
With that I walk out the door, letting it bang behind me, and head down to see the doc in his examination room.
I can’t help but think about Quil’s question. I probably should have given him a better answer, but the truth is, I don’t know. I felt attraction like nothing before for the yoga teacher today, but I’m not entirely sure my people even have fated mates. Yas and Quil are the lucky ones—at least they know there’s someone out there somewhere for them. I’m not so sure I’ll have the same luxury. Doesn’t mean I want to marry the person my parents picked out for me though. I’d rather search for a mate that doesn’t exist than submit to the life they’ve picked out for me.
The rink is starting to fill up, and I pause for a moment to watch. I love it when it’s busy. It makes all the hard work worth it when the air is filled with the snick of blades and the sounds of people having a good time.
“Hey boss,” Yas says with a grin when I knock and poke my head around the door.
“Don’t call me that,” I gripe.
I may be the face of the rink as its manager, but I’m definitely not Yas or Quil’s boss, not when we’re all equal owners of the rink. It was just a necessity to keep that information on the down low, with Quil being on the run from his band, and Yas and I basically hiding from our overbearing pushy parents. Couldn’t risk anyone finding us here. Hence our public roles of manager, medic, and rental attendant.
“Are you busy?” I ask.
“No one’s dying right now.”
“Can you give me some advice on my back?”
“Sure, come in. What’ve you done?”
“Oh I was messing around with Peewee and I put it out somehow.” I decide not to give Yas the full story. One, because he’ll hear it from Quilo anyway, and two, because I’d rather not have the people standing outside hearing the medic wetting himself while he examines me.
“You’ve probably just pulled it a little then,” he says dismissively without looking up from his paperwork this time.
“That’s your medical opinion?” I ask dryly.
“Yep.”
“Don’t you need to examine me or something?”
“Sure. If you'd like.” He shrugs. “Get naked and jump up on the couch.”
“What?”
