Page 54 of Sex Positive

She doesn’t have time for distractions.

Besides, the podcast is scheduled for release later that week. Nausea makes her gut writhe each time she thinks about it.

Rising from her chair, she retrieves the blood pressure cuff from the wall. “I’m going to grab your vitals and draw your blood before the clinician comes in to see you.”

He rolls up the sleeve of his T-shirt, and her gaze lingers on his left bicep before she schools her features into a picture of clinical professionalism.

“You know,” he says, “I hear it’s good to get tested when you have a new sexual partner.”

She hums. The cuff around his arm begins inflating, the numbers rising on the automatic machine. Reaching for the pulse oximeter, she clasps his right hand in hers. “It’s not a bad idea.”

“I’m anticipating having a new partner soon.”

Her hand slips, snapping the device closed before she can attach it to his finger.

Her face heats under his stare. “I’m sure she appreciates your due diligence.” Keeping her tone neutral, she tucks a curl that has escaped from her bun behind her ear. “Orhe.”

He laughs, warm and full.

She glances at his blood pressure after the cuff deflates. “A perfect reading.”

He grins. “I’m the picture of health.”

Ending their little charade, she asks, “How was the rest of your trip?”

His expression flickers, his smile straining at the edges. “Fine.”

His tone suggests he doesn’t want to elaborate. Her curiosity is piqued, but she reminds herself for the millionth time since leaving his father’s office that they are not friends and that his family problems are not her business.

She’s already navigating her own.

After gathering her supplies for his blood draw, she sits and rolls her chair forward, pausing before her knees brush his legs.

“How do you want me?” Sprawled in his chair with his thighs parted, he smirks knowingly, a devious glint in his eye. An image of sliding between his legs flashes through her mind before she returns to the task at hand, ignoring her body’s reactions to his nearness.

She sits up straighter. “You’re fine like that.”

Pulling on a pair of gloves, she positions herself so her thighs bracket one of his knees but don’t quite touch it. Grasping his left arm, she wraps the tourniquet around his bicep, swipes an alcohol wipe over his skin, and presses the butterfly needle into his vein.

A flash of blood appears almost instantaneously.

Tugging off the tourniquet, she pops the vial into the vacutainer in one smooth motion. Wes’s blood fills the tube.

“You’re really good at that,” he says quietly. “I hardly felt the poke.”

She smiles. “A patient once told me I have gentle hands.”

His skin is warm under her gloved hands, the veins in his forearm pronounced even without the tourniquet. She resists the urge to trace her finger down the length of his vein.

“You do. Very capable and dexterous. Are you working Saturday?”

She replaces the full vial with another. “No.”

“Do you want to come over to my place?”

She snaps her gaze to his.

“For tutoring,” he clarifies.