Page 87 of Fourth Point Of Contact

His hand wrapped around mine in a gentle squeeze, and then he leaned forward and brushed a kiss over my cheek. I whimpered again, my knees nearly collapsing, and then Dr. Lipska spoke.

“You’re fired.”

That was the shortest job I ever had.

I strodethrough the door of Jeanie’s apartment and tossed my purse on the table in a huff. Jeanie was already watching me warily, probably guessing that by my mood, things hadn’t gone well.

“So, you didn’t get the job?”

“Oh, I got the job,” I grumbled, walking over to the fridge and grabbing the bottle of Moscato I’d purchased to celebrate any potential new jobs. I angrily tore the wrap off the top, then took the wine opener to the cork, stabbing it inside before angrily pumping the plunger over and over until the cork popped up.

I didn’t even bother with a wine glass. What was the point? Holding it to my lips, I let the sweet wine pour down my throat, not stopping until the flavor became too much. The bottle thunked on the counter with just a little too much force, but Ihad zero shits to give at the moment. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I finally met Jeanie’s wide-eyed gaze.

“He’s a freaking model!”

“The dentist?”

I nodded, taking another swig of wine. “Beautiful eyes, buff arms…he freaking kissed my cheek! And that was all it took. I was fired two minutes after I was hired.”

“She fired you because the doctor kissed your cheek?” Jeanie asked in confusion.

“Oh,” I chuckled humorlessly. “Stupid me thought it would be wise to tell her about my relationship with James. I didn’t see another way. She wouldn’t let up on the fact that I had no reference. And you know what? For a minute, she was actually sympathetic. Everything was going great!”

“And then he kissed you on the cheek.”

“And then he kissed me on the cheek,” I repeated, taking another drink of wine. “Seriously, how is it my fault that the man is so freaking handsome?”

“It’s not.”

“And is it my fault that my ovaries nearly exploded when he kissed my cheek?”

“A sound reaction from any child-bearing woman.”

“Exactly! I can’t control this shit,” I said, waving at the lower half of my body. “Women were made to reproduce. A hot man walks by and a woman’s body has no choice but to scream outTake me! I’m fertile!”

“Well, that’s not entirely true,” Jeanie winced.

I slapped my hand on the counter, angered by the situation. “I mean, the guy was like a Norse God! I mean, maybe not. Maybe he was only a sort of God. But he had these amazing puppy dog eyes and the cut of his face…Ugh! So freaking handsome. Like, why couldn’t he have been a random stranger on the street?”

“Because it would be weird if you got fired for ogling a random stranger on the street,” she concurred.

“Exactly. My body failed me! I swear, she could scent me!”

Jeanie’s eyes squinted in confusion. “Scent you?”

“It’s a shifter thing,” I said, blowing off the comment.

“I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to explain.”

This required another swig of wine. “In a shifter romance, a wolf can smell everything about you—when you’re horny, when you’re scared—it’s so damn sexy. And when he sees you, he just knows. There’s this thing that clicks in place and he knows you’re his mate.”

“Ugh, give me that,” she said, snatching the bottle out of my hand and taking her own swig. “Why can’t a man do that to me? Why do I have to go through all the dating crap?”

“Right? Why can’t a man walk up to me, sniff me, and know that I’m his mate? I mean, of course, he needs to be insanely hot, ripped, and have dimples.”

“Of course. He can’t be a troll.”

I agreed, but shrugged. “There are romances about trolls. At this point, I might take one just to run off and live in a magical kingdom.”

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