Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Olivia: I’d like to formally request a refund for your dog.
Lucian: What did she do now?
Olivia: Peed on the welcome mat.
And I’m pretty sure it’s shaped like a heart.
Lucian: That’s how she expresses love.
You should be honored.
Olivia: It’s urine, Lucian.
I’m not framing it.
Lucian: My poor girl is misunderstood by the woman she trusts the most.
Olivia: This is why she ignores me.
Lucian: She will with that attitude.
Olivia: Also she licked my toothbrush.
Lucian: She’s trying to merge identities—bonding moment.
Olivia: I gagged.
Lucian: Because you were overwhelmed with affection.
Olivia: Because I think I contracted something, maybe it’s rabies.
Lucian: You’re a veterinarian, you know that’s not how you get it.
You probably just love me.
Olivia: Love isn’t contagious via Vizsla tongue.
Lucian: Are you a vet?
No? Then stop spreading misinformation.
Olivia: I googled “can dogs emotionally manipulate humans.” Also I am a veterinarian.
I am not spreading misinformation.
Lucian: And it showed Sarah’s headshot?
Olivia: Front page. With a smug little bio.
Lucian: Bet it says “Won’t rest until she’s the only one in your bed.”
Olivia: Too late.
She’s currently starfished on her doggy bed like a drama queen.
Lucian: My girl.
Olivia: She stole your shirt.
She’s sleeping inside it.
Lucian: She knows what’s sacred.
Olivia: She literally growled, ‘I dare you’, when I tried to take it back.
Lucian: Sarah can be pretty territorial.
The question here is: What are you doing stealing my shirts?
Olivia: I’m the victim here.
She set me up.
Lucian: Sounds like you miss me too.
Olivia: Sounds like your dog has abandonment issues.
Lucian: I feel her on a deep level.
We’re almost like the same person.
Olivia: Wait—are you saying you also sleep in a dramatic starfish position wearing one of your own shirts for comfort?
Lucian: If I told you I sleep totally naked, would that make you feel better or worse?
Olivia: So, pants are also optional?
Lucian: Only when I want to make things interesting.
Which, coincidentally, is always.
Olivia: That explains the energy.
“Hi, I’m Lucian. I don’t believe in shirts or boundaries.”
Lucian: And yet, you keep texting me.
Almost like you’re intrigued by my lack of both.
Olivia: I’m texting you because your dog peed a heart on the welcome mat and licked my dental hygiene tools.
This is not a declaration of love.
Lucian: No, that’s what the heart was for.
She’s just the messenger.
I’m the message.
Olivia: That’s the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said, and that includes the time you compared your abs to artisanal bread.
Lucian: I am a multi-layered man.
Like a croissant. Warm.
Flaky. A little buttery.
Olivia: And exhausting.
Lucian: I would like to exhaust you .
. . well, more like your body, while reminding you about the benefit package.
If I were there right now, you wouldn’t be exhausted.
You’d be wide awake and very, very busy.
Olivia: I swear, if you turn this into another sextathon .
. .
Lucian: Too late.
Picture it: I walk in, shirtless, Sarah trots ahead like the queen she is.
You roll your eyes, pretending not to look at my abs, but I see it.
Olivia: In this version, do I get to kick you out immediately or do I have to wait a few minutes?
Lucian: You’d try. But the second I back you up against that kitchen counter, tug your shirt up and run my hands under it?
You’d forget whatever clever insult you had locked and loaded.
Olivia: Bold of you to assume I wear shirts at home.
Lucian: . . .
Lucian: Are you trying to kill me?
Olivia: Just returning the favor.
Fair is fair.
Lucian: You walk around without a shirt?
You realize I’d never let you out of my sight if I were there.
I’d sit back and watch, arms crossed, like a man who knows he’s about to make a very good day turn into a very long night.
Olivia: You’d be too distracted by Sarah snoring in the corner.
Lucian: Nah, baby. Sarah would be sent to doggy daycare so her parents can have fun.
Olivia: That’s oddly respectful.
Lucian: It’s considerate.
I’ll be busy with your tits in my mouth.
And when I’ve got you bent over the back of the couch, moaning into my neck, I promise the last thing on your mind will be Sarah’s pick-up time.
Olivia: This escalated.
Lucian: You took your shirt off in my imagination.
That’s on you.
Olivia: Technically, you took my shirt off first.
Lucian: Technically, I haven’t even gotten started.
Want me to keep going?
Or are you already warm under those covers, wishing I was there?
Olivia: . . .What would you do if I said I was?
Lucian: I’d say—don’t move.
Slide your hand lower.
Let me talk you through it.
Olivia: I’m mildly concerned about your mental state.
Lucian: My mental state is fine.
Half paying attention to this boring meeting, while the other half is trying to figure out how to make tonight interesting for you.
But only if you’re very, very good for me.
Olivia: Define “good.”
Lucian: Obedient.
Naked. Maybe a little breathless while I whisper all the ways I’m going to make dinner the second-most satisfying thing you experience tonight.
Olivia: You mean the food you’re making for dinner.
Lucian: No, I think I’m making your cunt my entrée.
Olivia: I regret texting you.
You keep this up and I’m burning the food on purpose.
Lucian: Don’t tease me with a good time.
Charred dinner, shirtless moments, and you wearing my shirt?
Sounds like the a dream.
Olivia: You’re shameless.
And I can’t be shirtless if I have your shirt.
Make sense, Lucian.
Lucian: Listen, they should be wrapping up this team meeting in five and heading back to you.
Olivia: Oh, I see. The sexting stops conveniently when the schedule clears—typical man.
Lucian: Never said the benefits were over.
Just . . . deferred.
Think of what’s coming later as the full package.
New incentives. Very hands-on.
Possibly mouth-on.
Olivia: Hmm.
Are you offering a reward system now?
Lucian: What I mean is, if you feed me tonight, I’ll repay you in creative ways.
Starting with your legs over my shoulders and ending with you struggling to form sentences for a good hour.
Olivia: You’re lucky I already pulled the salmon out to thaw.
Lucian: You’re lucky I already made plans to see you out of that dress you’ll inevitably cook in.
Slowly, button by button, right before dessert.
Olivia: I don’t even own a dress.
Lucian: Then wear nothing.
Saves time.
Olivia: You’re absolutely insufferable.
Lucian: And yet you’re making me dinner.
It’s domestic. It’s romantic.
It’s dangerous.
Olivia: You do realize we should probably have a genuine conversation before anything.
. . happens tonight.
Lucian: Happening in the “I scream your name so loud that Sarah files a noise complaint” way, or in the “what’s your birth control situation” way?
Olivia: The latter. You’ve had your fun, General Crawford.
Now it’s time for responsible adulting.
Lucian: Fine, fine. I’ll be good.
I’ll see your panel—show you mine.
(winks). We’ll talk contraception.
I’ll be very serious—clinical and respectful.
Olivia: You’re incapable of being clinical.
Lucian: That’s not true.
I can be very . . . thorough.
And if a discussion about contraception leads to a demonstration of what happens when we don’t use it?
Well, that’s just educational.
Olivia: You are not turning my reproductive health into foreplay.
Lucian: No promises.
Now hurry up and start dinner, Doc.
I’m almost home. And I’m starving—for everything.
:smirking face: emoji