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“I just haven’t heard anything about you,” he sniffs.
“From what I have heard, you aren’t close to her,” I say. I take pleasure in the angry gleam in his eyes. “I guess it depends on your idea of close, though. If you think you're close because you put your hands on her without her permission, then by your standards, you are.” I stand, my hands flat in front of me.
“We are friends. It was just a joke,” he says, giving me a fake smile and showing his hands.
“You are not friends. You will never be more. I hope she doesn’t ever tell me again of your wandering hands. I wouldn’t be happy.” I cross my arms and show a bit of my wolf in my eyes. “I would hate to add to the bill for your face.” Ava joins us, her eyes shifting between us.
“What are you two talking about?” She narrows her eyes.
“Nothing, I was just getting to know—” I point at him. “What was your name?”
He clears his throat. “Dr. Brice Martin.” He smooths his lab coat.
“Brice and I were chatting.”
“I didn’t get your name?” Brice says.
“I know,” I say. “You ready, darlin’?” I take her wrist, guiding her out the door.
“Did you threaten him?” she asks as we walk down the street.
“You think I would?”
“Definitely.” She smiles.
“Tell me if he does anything else,” I demand.
“It’s fine, don’t worry.”
“Tell me if he does.” I squeeze her wrist. “Please.”
“Alright,” she concedes.
The sandwich place is around the corner from her work. I wanted to take her somewhere else, but she insisted since she only had an hour's lunch. We decided to sit outside in the sun. I place the orders inside and join her.
“River must be disappointed. You got to have all the fun, threatening my boss.” She gives me a knowing look.
“He was. He’ll get his chance, though.” I lean back, hooking my arm on the back of my chair, facing her, and crossing my ankles. “I don’t like him,” I grumble.
“You're a man. Most women can't get enough of him.” She sips her tea.
“He sleeps with patients?” I ask.
“All the time. We’ve lost more than a few employees, too.”
“He sleeps with his employees,” I scowl.
“Usually the young ones. I try to warn them, but they don’t listen.”
“Jesus, is that what women are attracted to? Plastic?” I ask, disgusted.
“No, some women are attracted to grouchy, growly men with grease-stained hands,” she teases, running her finger over my knuckle. “It doesn’t matter what features make up your face; sexy is sexy.” She shrugs.
“You think I’m sexy then?” I smirk.
“Shut up; you know what you look like.” She hits my leg.
The waitress brings our food, putting an end to the smart-ass remark on the tip of my tongue.
