Page 68 of Altius
“It’s…an idea,” Kelsey said diplomatically.
Shoving broken frame pieces into a garbage bag, I said, “Don’t listen to him. He painted three rooms in his condo the same shade of midnight blue, and now he thinks he’s a home decorating genius.”
“I thought you didn’t have opinions about paint colors, sweetheart,” Cal teased.
“See,” Kelsey said, piling on with glee, “the worst type of client. The half-asleep backseat driver.”
“Oh, shut up,” I grumbled, futilely tugging at another picture backing.
Wyatt’s nimble fingers came to my rescue once again.
It wasn’t my day, but things would get better. They had to.
Cheers erupted from the laptop speakers. The announcer’s voice went up three octaves.
“Narwhals at the ten… The five… Touchdown! And here comes Choi for the field goal… It’s up—and it’s good! Northport leads Wakeland State, twenty-four to fourteen, with seven minutes left in the third quarter.”
See? Already looking up.
***
“Do you smell that?” Reyhan asked, giving the air of the indoor practice field a few tentative sniffs.
My spine went rigid. Was the culprit responsible for the pheromone spikes nearby? I looked up from my tablet, as serious as a heart attack, only to find Reyhan doing his best not to laugh.
Glaring at him over the rims of my glasses, I asked, “What?”
“Your phone. It’s burning a hole in your vest pocket.”
“Ignore it.” I certainly had been. On multiple fronts.
It started Monday morning when Owen’s assistant emailed me several dozen studies and white papers related to vocalization. More than enough information to tide me over for weeks, but the emails hadn’t stopped. They kept coming, one after the other, for three entire days.
Owen also fast-tracked my access to Redwing’s internal library and added me to the distribution list for several leading industry publications.
The most verbose apology in the history of the world.
At least it was an unobtrusive avalanche, since I’d created a new filter, automatically moving anything from Owen or his assistant to a separate folder to review later.
The text messages were a different matter.
What had started as an innocent text from Kelsey, asking the guys what drinks and snacks they’d like to have on hand during my heat, had evolved into a full-blown meal-planning bonanza between her, Alijah, and Cal.
But the real culprit was my favorite menace.
Jacobi was in rare form, having recovered from his prolonged mood and irked by my vengeful radio silence. His need for attention had grown ravenous, demanding to know everything about my upcoming heat while simultaneously pretending he knew more than my actual designation counselor.
How many guys did you wind up picking?
I never settle for anything less than six. Think that was part of your problem last time. Not enough variety.
You should use my safe word: flic-flac. It’s more distinctive than red light.
Not that I’ve ever needed to use it.
Ignoring Reyhan’s amused expression, I turned off the vibration function on my phone.
The only reason it was still on was that university human resources had yet to confirm the interview date and time I’d selected from their invitation email. They’d confirmed Reyhan’s appointment via text two hours ago. We’d both applied for the sports medicine physician position, but neither of us held out much hope of making it to the second round.
