Page 29 of Dr. Do-Right
“Coffee machine give you any trouble?” Like he could read my mind, he piped up from the bed. I refused to meet his gaze in the mirror as Siggy jumped up to snuggle into his lap. Lucky dog.
“No. All good.” I tried to sound breezy, but perhaps some of my latent anger leaked through. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I caught him smirking.
“Tutorial didn’t stick?”
“Considering yesterday’s espresso tutorial got derailed halfway through and we ended up sullying the coffee bar for all time, we should all just be impressed I got anything to come out of it.”
Mal and his coffee. He was such a snob. He’d been handling coffee for the last two days, executing the perfect vanilla latte for me as soon as I woke. His machine was a monster. Italian and complicated and shiny, so I’d been happy to leave him on barista duty this weekend.
But I couldn’t expect him to cater to me on days like today, when I was leaving so early for the hospital. And it would be nice, sometimes, for me to make the coffee for him. He worked so hard and was so perfect and gave meso many orgasms. He deserved it.
“I am impressed. It’s delicious.”
“You’re just saying that.” I padded to him and leaned over the bed. He willingly tilted his cup to give me a sip. I considered it as the brew swirled in my mouth.
“Not bad, I guess. I’ll get better with practice.”
His eyes dropped to my lips. I tilted forward for a kiss, easy, comfortable, like we’d done this every day for years.
“Come on,” he leaned away, setting his cup on the nightstand. “I’ll walk you out.”
Between walking Siggy and bouts of very energetic sex, we’d worked a little magic on his new apartment. Most of the boxes were unpacked. We’d spent yesterday afternoon grunting and sweating, moving furniture around his living room until it was just the way we wanted it.
Then spent the evening grunting and sweatingonthe furniture.
His cream sectional and navy pillows looked inviting against the backdrop of his massive windows. We’d ordered curtains for some of the rooms, but those wouldn’t get in till later this week. A huge print of the Rocky mountains broke up some of the white monotony of the hallway. We’d made good headway on his office. His…our?…bedroom was done. Even my extra leggings were folded neatly, looking ridiculous by themselves on an empty half of the closet that he’d refused to put his things on. Mine, I supposed.
I hugged Sigmund to me while I walked to the front door, grabbing my work bag. I’d only been here for two days and it already felt more like home than anywhere else I’d ever lived. My heart hurt to walk out the doors and leave it.
“It’s stupid how much I don’t want you to leave right now.” Mal read my mind again. We paused by the front door. We’d need some shelves here. Hooks for bags. A little bowl for keys.
I sighed. “I’m thinking the same thing, trust me.” I rubbed my cheek against Siggy’s head and set him down. Mal put his armsaround me. Maybe the apartment felt like home, butthisfelt like…finding a part of myself I hadn’t known was missing.
“I’ll be back a little after four.”
“And we’ll be here, a little before four, whining at the door while we wait.”
The image he conjured made me grin. I leaned in to kiss his cheek. “You don’t have to leave your office early for me. I’ll hang out here till you get home from work.”
At four-twenty-seven, I walked in the door to find Siggy, tail wagging so hard his body shuddered, and Mal, doing an equally ridiculous and excited shimmy while holding a gorgeous bouquet of flowers.
Wednesday
“What do you think about this?” We were watching TV in his bedroom, new curtains pulled closed to block out the lights of the city, curled up on his California King and scrolling through our phones every once in a while. Millennial heaven.
I glanced at his screen to see a large, antique-looking wooden apothecary cabinet. Round, blown-glass knobs glittered on each of the dozens of little, square drawers.
“That’s nice. What’s it for?”
His chin jutted toward a box in the closet. One of the only ones we’d yet to unpack. The one he’d personally packed, himself, kneeling on my bedroom floor and rolling each toy in clean bubble wrap. Nestling them carefully into the cardboard. “The collection, of course.”
I’d told him he was being ridiculous. We didn’t even need the toys. Not with all the action we were making ourselves. Yes, I was sore now and no, that didn’t slow us down at all. But he’d insisted, hovering protectively over the massive box of vibrators with a tragic look on his face. “Rija, they’re family.”
Needless to say, the vibrators had made the trek with me to the upper floors.
Still, it was one thing to box them up for sentimental reasons and keep them in the closet. This was another thing altogether.
“You want tohousethe collection? In its own…furniture?”
