Page 173 of Altius
Making it to July seemed increasingly impossible, especially if I really did have waning syndrome.
“We could get fried chicken,” Cal mused, “or maybe ramen would be better considering the weather…”
Pressing a kiss against his chest, I closed my eyes and drifted off, content in the knowledge that by the time I woke up, Cal would have procured enough food for four people.
Once he was refueled, I should have no problem convincing him to fuck me again.
If he didn’t want to give roleplaying a shot, maybe he’d agree to do it against the window…
Joaquin would do both.
Ignoring that intrusive thought, I decided we could eat in bed and pick up right where we left off.
Anything other than having to message Chantal.
Forty-One
Morgan
“You two did a damn fine job,” Dr. McEwen said, leaning back in his ergonomic desk chair so that his sling-clad fractured wrist could rest against his chest. “Too bad it had to end in an absolute shitshow.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Reyhan said with a fake smile, grinding his heel into the industrial carpet. He was still angry about what happened in San Diego. And rightfully so.
Dr. McEwen let out a dismissive grunt. “There’s no need to sugarcoat things. Snakes rot from the head. And the stench around here…”
His gaze turned toward the snow-covered expanse of campus outside. Students trudged along in twos and threes, huddling together for warmth.
“It’s almost enough to make a man want to put in for early retirement. Almost. But I think I’m going to finally throw my hat in with our omega and petition to move somewhere warmer. Had enough of this godforsaken winter nonsense.”
Pulling out my phone, I said, “I saw an opening for a head physician at a school in South Carolina last night. Want me to send it to you?”
“Think I saw one in Tennessee,” Reyhan added. “Or was it Texas?”
A sheen of fondness softened Dr. McEwen’s stalwart gaze, then he cleared his throat and gave a dismissive wave of his good hand. “I don’t need you two young pups to worry about me. Not when…”
“We know we’re out of the running for the sports physician job,” I said, emailing him the link to the South Carolina posting.
The sneer on Reyhan’s face was a thing of incredulous beauty. “My panel interview didn’t even last twenty minutes. Morgan’s wasn’t much longer. We always knew they’d probably pick an alpha.”
“They always do.” Dr. McEwen sighed. “No wonder the university’s in such a mess. Your designation doesn’t mean jack when the shit hits the fan. Character does. And you two…”
He fixed us both with an intense stare.
“You’re damn fine doctors. I’d have hired you both in a heartbeat.”
“That would have been nice,” Reyhan said, giving me a fond smile. “We make a great team.”
It was the truth.
Reyhan was steady and methodical without being stodgy, and we had an excellent professional rapport, relying on one another for second opinions and to muscle through challenging moments, like pheromone bombs and Tyler’s tantrums.
It was a comfortable push and pull of professional equals.
After saying our final farewells to Dr. McEwen and the rest of the football team’s medical staff, Reyhan and I made our way toward the lobby.
“What’s your dream job?” I asked.
“Somewhere sane,” he grumbled, holding the door for me. “With strong ethics and accountability. I don’t care if it’s a major hospital or a rural clinic.”
