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And just that reminder has my body flushing with arousal. That's what I need to remember that we are. That's what I need to think of me and him as, sex, flirting, fantasies fulfilled, and dark nights.
"We're almost there."
I motion him on, and we continue down the hallway.
"This is my office," I say as we pass it.
"I know."
"Of course. You probably know this hospital better than most."
He furrows his brows. "Why do you say that?"
"Well, being that your family has always owned it, I guess I just imagined you running down the halls here or something as a kid."
"Uh no. I told my father fairly early on that I wanted to be a chef, so he made it pretty clear he didn't feel the need to be present in my life very much after that."
There it is again, that tone when he speaks about his father. That slight bit of anger, resentment... sadness. But again, I don't ask more, I don't dare delve deeper. Because if I did, if he lets me, then that would mean I have to let him too.
"Here we are," I announce. "The premiere vending machine of Johnson Memorial Hospital."
He grins. "You weren't kidding, huh? It has chocolate in almost every slot."
"I'm pretty sure Law had something to do with that. He knows I have a... fondness for chocolate, and I think he had a word with someone when I started working here, because I've heard some of my coworkers say how the vending machines got better in the last few months."
"Oh, how exactly did he know you have a sweet tooth, and I didn't?"
"When Soph first introduced him to me, we were telling him about the vending machines needing to be better stocked. That was, of course, before we knew he owned the entire hospital."
"Well, now I need you to tell me a bunch of things he doesn't know about you, just to be sure I know more."
He puts a dollar into the machine and inputs the number for what he wants. Then his eyes are on me again, waiting.
"Uh, I think you already know much, much more about me than he does." I raise my brows, tilting my head at the obvious.
"Other... things. Like, hmm… what's your favorite dish?"
"You're such a chef to ask that first."
He chuckles, leaning down to get the chocolate bar out of the slot at the bottom of the machine. Putting in another dollar, he turns to me again. "Well?"
"Baked ziti."
He smirks. "Easy."
I arch a brow. "Does that mean you're gonna make some for me?"
No, no, Charlotte. This is way too much. This is too personal.
"I'll make you anything you want." Before I can take those words and spin them into meaning a hundred different things, he continues, "Favorite vacation?"
"Haven't been on many."
"That's a shame. We'll have to fix that," he says so absentmindedly as he pockets another bar, then puts another dollar in. I can almost convince myself that he doesn't at all mean it the way I want him so desperately to. Almost.
I release a shaky breath I hope he doesn't notice before answering, "My mom took me and Soph to the Bahamas when I was twelve. I guess I'd say that's my favorite."
"Hmm, Bahamas. Nice. You think this is enough?"
