Chapter 7
7
Malone
I wait outside the restaurant, trying once again to make heads or tails of my desire to see this woman. She’s been on my mind all day. I thought about her at work, between patients. Hell, she crossed my mind when I went to my second-round job interview at the new practice, the one that looks incredibly promising.
Images of Sloane flitted through my head as I toured the clinic with Doug Fredericksen, the guy who owns and runs it. I had to shut off the faucet of thoughts when we went out to lunch to discuss the possibilities of working together. He told me he admires my work and could see me on a fast track to becoming a junior partner. It sounds like it could be a perfect job and the ideal next step in my burgeoning career.
Becoming a partner soon would be a dream. Both mine and the one my dad had, which he didn’t have a chance to fulfill. The one I want to make come true for him since he’s gone. I’ve talked with a lot of clinics recently, and I’ve been looking for the right opportunity to take the next step in my career. This chance with Doug could put me on the path to be the kind of vet I want to be, the kind of vet my father was before he died too young.
I want to do all the things he wasn’t able to do. That’s my tribute to him.
And that’s why I’m so damn glad the new job looks like it’ll happen.
I check my watch. It’s nearly seven, and I’m waiting outside this restaurant in Gramercy Park. I’ll see her any second, and the best part is, I won’t have to war with my own thoughts. I’ll be free to focus on her all night.
She’s all that can possibly occupy my mind when she gets out of the cab a few minutes later, looking radiant and sexy in a green dress that clings to her delicious figure, a little black purse swinging from her hand. She wears a grin that says she’s been counting down the hours too. For a moment, I wonder how two people can connect this deeply, this quickly?
It happened so fast. So unexpectedly.
I didn’t go to last night’s event looking to meet someone. I went with some colleagues to show support. And there she was, and I couldn’t look away.
Lust at first look? Maybe. But then we talked. Then, it felt like it could be more.
As she strides up to me, her heels clicking on the sidewalk, those thoughts of what if , and what’s next , and what’s wrong crumble to dust. I reach for her, loop a hand through her hair, and drop my mouth to hers. I claim her lips, capturing her in a hungry, greedy kiss. I can taste that she’s been wanting to kiss me too with the same fevered need.
This kiss? It tastes exactly like infatuation. It tastes exactly like I feel, and it goes to my heart.
We break the kiss, and in my best deadpan style, I offer, “Want to eat noodles or spend the whole night kissing in front of the restaurant?”
She tap-dances her fingers up my shirt. “I’m going to need fuel to kiss you all night.”
I drop my hand to her delicious ass and squeeze it. “Let’s fuel you up, then, woman.”
We head inside, grab a table, and order, thanking the waiter. She spreads her napkin across her lap. “How old are you?”
I crack up at the bluntness of her question. “Do I look old?”
She shakes her head. “Not really. Not a day over fifty, I’d say.”
I lift my brows. “Wow. The Botox is working, then, since I’m sixty.”
She holds up her hands in shock. “Whoa. I want the name of your plastic surgeon.”
“You’ll have to meet him in a back alley.”
“Only takes cash?”
“Only the best do.” I clear my throat. “I’m twenty-eight.”
She lifts her chin a little proudly as she says, “I’m twenty-two.”
“I had a feeling. Since you said you recently graduated. Is twenty-eight an acceptable age for you to date?”
She taps her jaw as if she’s thinking deeply on it. “Hmm. I suppose so. Actually, I don’t think the age difference is anything. I was just curious.”
Then we enjoy the best second date in the history of dates. She tells me she already heard from an executive at one of the rescues, who she met last night, and she’s hopeful it’ll turn into something good. She’s longed to work in animal rescue most of her life—it’s her calling, she says.
I tell her that I had a good second meeting too, so we toast to new opportunities.
After dinner, we walk again, strolling through the night, and it already feels like this could be our thing, that we could be one of those pairs of New York City lovers who wander through the city, stopping in front of shops, sneaking kisses, slipping hands into back pockets, touching, brushing.
I don’t know how anyone could be so lucky as to meet somebody they share this fast and easy a connection with. But we do. With Sloane it feels like there are no games, there are no charades—we are just two people who like each other and who aren’t afraid to say so.
I push those nagging thoughts away, stealing as many kisses as I can, so many they become countless, till we stop in Madison Square Park. We grab a bench and resume kissing like crazy. When it turns into the kind of make-out session where she’s straddling me, her back arching, her breath coming fast, I recklessly want it to continue and realistically know it must end.
I slow us down, breaking the kiss.
She looks at me, questions in her eyes, her breath coming rapidly. “Are you sure you’re okay taking it slow?”
I stroke her cheek. “Sweetheart, you are worth waiting for.”
And the thing is, I know deep down that she is. I’ll wait for her as long as I have to.