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Nicklin motions her chopsticks to me. “What do you do?”
“Doctor.” Hopefully, she’ll drop the subject, and I won’t have to discuss it at length. I’m just happy to be away for a night. Plus, more often than not, when a person finds out about my vocation, they instantly go into their health problems and if I can diagnose them.
I shovel more food into my mouth while I reach for another plate to add seconds.
One time I was on a date with a woman. We’d already seen each other a few times, and she wanted to double date with her best friend. I thought, why not? But it quickly turned uncomfortable when the best friend and her boyfriend announced they didn’t have insurance and needed help with some medical stuff. The boyfriend whipped up his shirt at the dinner table to show off a growth he’d had for several months. Talk about a conversation starter. I got him into a dermatologist friend and it turned out to be benign, but the 12-ounce filet mignon didn’t hold the same appeal after seeing the growth.
I mentally shiver at the memory. None of that is date material or at least it isn’t first date material. We’re having a good time, and bumpy skin conditions aren’t sexy talk.
Plus, I’ve been working non-stop lately. Evan, my friend who set up this date, even gives me shit all the time for how many hours I work. I wonder if he took bets with our other guy friends to see if I would even be interested in a social life.
It’s not like I don’t want a relationship, but long hours at the hospital and then my travels to train other surgeons on new methods make the hours in the day fly by so fast there’s hardly any time to take care of basic human necessities such as food and hygiene.
Though the surgeon training is well worth all the effort and sacrifices, it gives me the much-needed breaks from the heart-wrenching days that happen too frequently.
Nicklin lays down her chopsticks and takes another sip of her drink. “What kind of doctor?”
At that moment, the server comes over with the baked Alaska dessert we ordered earlier, and Nicklin’s eyes grow wide as she takes in the decadence, leaving me free of having to answer and talk about my career.
I chuckle at her expression. The dessert is impressive. Stiff peaks of white meringue are lightly toasted, and the perfect half snowball looks like something from a baking website.
“Now, I don’t know what you think, Doc, but I think this is a masterpiece. Do you mind if I dig in now?”
Her eagerness is endearing. Even though we still have several plates of food around us, I have to agree the layered dessert is begging to be eaten.
I wipe my mouth with the napkin, as she doesn’t wait for my answer. Her fork is already piercing into the treat. I grab the second fork and follow suit.
As soon as the sweet touches her tongue, her eyes close, and she lets out the most sinful sound I’ve ever heard. A zing of awareness hits me in the groin, and I have to stifle my own moan. I don’t have a piece of cake in my mouth yet to cover it up, so I cough lightly.
But as soon as I take a bite, I wonder if we should’ve just ordered this first because it is the epitome of a perfect dessert.
She gets a fork of all the layers—meringue, ice cream, cake. “Perfect bite.”
I try to do the same and the layers topple over.
Nicklin shakes her head. “Slowly.” She presses through each layer with intent, watching them stack perfectly onto the fork. “See?” She holds it out, showing off the accomplishment. I take my opportunity to wrap my mouth around the bite.
Her mouth drops open, and her big blue eyes widen. “Hey!”
I can’t even pretend to be guilty. “I couldn’t help myself! You made it look so good.” I wipe the corner of my mouth.
She shakes her head, giggles, and reaches over to me with her napkin. “You got it everywhere.” Her fingers stroke over my upper lip under the napkin and tingles ricochet inside of me.
And for the next hour, we joke and laugh, finishing the dessert, the wine, and we get the food boxed up.
The server brings the check with two fortune cookies.
I wave my hand at her to choose. “Please, ladies first.”
“Such a gentleman.”
You have no idea the ungentlemanly things I’m thinking about you, sweetheart.
She licks her top lip as she studies the cookies, trying to decide which one she wants. She grabs one.
“Excellent. I wanted this one,” I say as I swipe up the other cookie.
“Meant to be.” Her smile is quickly becoming my favorite thing about her.
