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“Yeah,” she said. “That would actually be great. I’m very tired. What if that means that I’m not as good as my dad? He didn’t spend a whole bunch of time crying in his bed and then wake up late and need help on the job.”
He wasn’t used to seeing Charity at a loss. This was totally new territory.
“You don’t know what he did when he was in his thirties. He didn’t have you until he was fifty.”
“I know. I do. It’s just... I feel... I feel inadequate right now.”
“Hey. I’m not doing a very good job of giving you confidence, then, am I?” In spite of himself, he reached out, leaning across the space, and gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. He didn’t know what the hell had possessed him to do that, but it had been a mistake.
She was soft. So soft. The other night when he had grabbed her arm to keep her from falling, and he had noticed that, he hadn’t given himself a reason for noticing. He had just gone ahead and ignored the observation. Because it was easier that way.
But right now? He knew why. Because it had to do with floral cotton panties. He knew.
“Listen to me, Doc. You are phenomenal. In every damned way. You’re not just the person I’d want working on my horses. You’re the person I want working on me. Who cares what those motherfuckers think?”
“Well, I do, because there might...”
“Say it.”
“Oh no. I can’t say that.”
“Say it for me,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers. And he ignored the danger signals flashing in his gut; he ignored everything that he shouldn’t and kept on holding her chin. “Say it for me.”
“Who cares what those...motherfuckers think.”
She turned bright red. And something inside him ignited.
He let go of her face and sat back in his chair. “There you go. Some people find that gives them power, you know. Saying words like that.”
“Really?”
“They’ve done psychological studies on it. You don’t need to go saying it in front of anyone else. But maybe shouting it when you’re all by yourself will hype you up sometimes.”
He wasn’t sure he could handle ever hearing her say it again. Because it had done something to him. If nothing else, it definitely indicated there was something the hell wrong with him.
He got up and took a thermos out of the cupboard and poured all the newly brewed coffee into it. “Come on, Doc. I’ll drive. You need to get caffeinated.”
She got up, and they headed out the door and she paused to fish another cinnamon roll out of the box and stick it on her plate, which she brought to the car along with the coffee.
She got into the passenger seat of the mobile veterinary unit, and he got into the driver’s seat.
“You sure you can handle this thing?”
“Don’t impugn my driving skills, Doc. I can do an extended cab pickup with a horse trailer. I think I’ve got this.”
Of course, the veterinary vehicle was old school and didn’t have much in the way of bells or whistles. No alarms to let you know if you were about to run into something; just an alarm to let people know to get out of your way. It was a little bit hairy getting it out of the driveway, but once they were on the highway it was all good. She was sitting next to him, happily drinking coffee and eating her cinnamon roll. Every so often she would pause to lick her fingers, and just once he looked over and saw her pink tongue gliding over her skin, and had to adjust his position.
“So how far is this place?”
He needed to get his shit together. He was getting turned on by his best friend, and really, it was probably some weird psychological thing because she was the one who had told him that he needed to be celibate for the next six months, so he was attaching sex to her in a way that was unhealthy, completely inappropriate and utterly outrageous.
But that was all. It would go away. It had to. There really wasn’t another option.
She sighed happily when she finished up the cinnamon roll, setting the plate on the bench seat between them and clutching the thermos against her chest as she sniffed the contents. “I love the smell of coffee.”
“You’re a creature of many vices,” he said.
And sensual.
