Page 79 of One for the Road
Isla
“Be right back,” Alistair said, and disappeared through the connecting door.
I peeked in on Teddy, then changed out of my skirt and into a long T-shirt and slouchy socks, just for something to do. My heart was racing a million miles an hour.
Back in the living room, I switched on the corner lamp and turned off the big light. Then changed my mind about both. Then back again.
Was the lamp too sexy?
Was I trying to be sexy?
I flicked it on again, when Alistair cleared his throat, hovering in the doorway.
Lamp it was.
He’d changed too. He still wore his soft jumper, but had switched out his jeans for grey jogging bottoms that made my breath catch. One of the cuffs was slightly caught in his sock, like he’d changed in a hurry. “How’s Teddy doing?” I watched his eyes register my bare legs. Watched his tonguepoke into his cheek before he held up the whisky bottle and walked into my kitchen, opening cupboards like he owned the place.
“Sound asleep,” I replied. “Tonight really wiped her out.”
“You don’t own anything but mugs.” Alistair scowled, pulling out one in the shape of a cowboy boot.
“Don’t hate on my mugs. Mugs are fun and they have a handle.” I snatched it, then pushed past him to grab a second, which was shaped like a pumpkin, grinning at the utter disgust on his face. But he didn’t argue.
I dished the pie out onto plates, grabbed some kitchen paper and carried them to the sofa. He busied himself, pouring two drams before joining me. The cushions depressed as he sat, less than an inch of space between our thighs.
Much closer than he needed to be.
Accident?
My eyes rocketed to him. But he was busy setting the mugs on the coffee table, then rolling up his sleeves, giving me an unobstructed view of his forearms, like he was starring in a designer watch commercial. A tube of sanitiser appeared out of thin air, and he squeezed enough into his palm to scrub down a crime scene.
My forkful of pie paused at my lips, watching as he thoroughly rubbed it into his hands, then tucked a square of the kitchen paper into his collar, like a napkin.
“Want a linen tablecloth too?”
“Huh? Oh, no I’m fine— You’re teasing me,” he realised quickly, shaking his head.
“Kinda, sorry.”
He shrugged, finally cutting his pie with his fork. Eating the same way he did everything else: slowly but thoroughly, precise, perfect bites.
“Has anyone ever told you how pernickety you are?”
“Frequently.”
I nodded to the frankly terrifyingly large tube of sanitiser. “Is that, like, a doctor thing?”
“No. It’s, like, a hygiene thing.”
I choked on my pie, a piece of apple hitting the back of my throat. “Fair enough. Having a kid kind of blew the hygiene thing out the water for me. I mean, I’m not dirty. I shower,” I assured him quickly. “But Teddy once sneezed into my open eyeball. Nothing will ever top that.”
“A pregnant patient’s waters broke on my shoes once. I didn’t have a spare pair, so I had to walk home in them.” He cringed as I laughed. “Oh, and there’s the time I removed a wine cork from an elderly man’s rectum. I was still two knuckles deep, his wife overseeing the entire procedure, when he asked if they could try it again when they got home.”
“And I’m done with the pie.” I dropped my fork and reached for the whisky, sinking back against the cushions. He snorted but tipped the remainder of my slice onto his plate.
“This is way too fucking good to waste.”
I assured myself the heat in my chest was just the whisky, still I twisted to face him, entranced by the strong column of his throat as he ate. Had Cameron ever looked attractive when he ate? Even if he had, I don’t think I’d ever paid enough attention to note it. “What did you tell them? The anal couple?”
