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“OMG,” she squeals when I’m done. “You’re such a hussy. I love it!”
“Am not. We’re keeping things strictly professional.”
“Uh-huh. Denial is not just a river in Egypt.”
I roll my eyes. “He might have someone. We work together. I—”
“For tonight’s testing, choose that prostate toy,” she says, and I can almost hear her grinning. “Guys can be touchy about their butts, so if he lets you shove something in there, he’s into you, for sure.”
My face burns like the surface of the sun. “We’re testing remotely, so any shoving will be of his own doing.”
“Tomato, tomahto. End result: toy in butt.”
“Well, he agreed to test all the boy toys.” I fight the urge to scratch my human hair stick-ons. “I assume he realized the squirrel was on that list.”
“Trust me. He might not have connected the dots all the way up his rectum. If he doesn’t back out when you bring this up, it means something. At the very least, serious dedication to work, but more likely proof he’s really into you.”
I scratch the eyebrow after all. “I guess. I don’t see how it will hurt.”
“It might hurt him,” she says with a giggle. “Make sure to use lots of lube and take it nice and slow. When I do that sort of thing, I like to start with a little bit of—”
“TMI,” I shout and begin singing Happy Birthday as loudly as I can.
“Fine,” she says. “I better go check on my patient anyway.”
I feel a pang of guilt. I haven’t even asked her where she was. “They’re having you work yet another weekend?”
“I’m used to it,” she says. “Keep me in the loop. Byeee.”
“Bye.” I hang up.
For the rest of the day, I research every toy in the suitcase and ponder an important question: Which toy should I let him retest on me?
After a long deliberation, I settle on the clit vibrator. My own session with it was super quick, which might be good for the first time with Vlad.
First time.
There will be a second. And a third.
My heartbeat skyrockets, and I begin to hyperventilate—but then the videoconferencing part of the app comes to life, so I take in a deep breath and accept his call.
Damn. I almost forgot how hot he is, with those sculpted features and dangerously kissable lips. And that lock of hair is at it again, taunting me, making my fingers itch to touch it.
“Hi,” I say, trying not to drown in his intensely blue gaze.
“How’s your weekend so far?” he murmurs.
“Keeping busy,” I say on autopilot. “How about you? Do something different?”
He seems to seriously consider the question—like someone who’s never made small talk before. “I took Oracle to a rodent specialist,” he finally says. “That doesn’t happen often.”
I blink at that nonsensical sentence, then grin as I decipher its meaning. “I assume Oracle is a rodent? Otherwise the specialist would be pretty confused.”
He returns my smile. “Oracle is my sea piglet.”
I arch a human hair stick-on. “What’s a sea piglet? Not those horrific-looking sea cucumber creatures with seven legs that lurk in the ocean depths, I hope? Those are not rodents. More like miniature Lovecraftian monsters.”
His smile widens. “Sorry, it’s the one English word I often mess up. I meant guinea pig. Sea piglet is a literal translation of the Russian term. The ‘guinea’ part of their name never made sense to me. The animals are from the Andes mountains of Peru, so—”
