Page 37 of Lovetown, USA
“Trey!”
“Okay, fine. “ He chuckles to himself as he watches me finish off my greens. “Make sure you save room for dessert.”
“You brought dessert?”
“Chocolate fudge brownies. Made ‘em myself.”
My eyes widen. “You baked something?”
“I bake when I’m stressed,” he says with a shrug.
“I hear you. I take edibles when I’m stressed, but to each his own.” I push the container away and rest a hand on my stomach. “What exactly are you stressed about, Doc?”
He wipes his hands, his tone shifting a bit. “I have this plan. Ultimately, I wanna open up a clinic for low income patients. Real affordable care.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. I’ve been submitting plans and applying for permits for over a year now and I keep hitting roadblocks. Zoning, red tape…a bunch of bullshit. But I think I have a card I can play. We’ll see in a few days.”
“That’s…very noble.”
He laughs under his breath, a short puff of air, and flicks his hand like he’s shooing a fly away. “I don’t know about all that. It just makes sense, right? This country is fucked when it comes to healthcare. I happen to think it’s a basic human right.”
“I happen to agree with you.”
He nods, and I find him even sexier than I did two minutes ago.
“I respect you for that,” I add. “Deeply.”
He gives me a quiet, grateful look, and something in the air shifts.
“So,” he says softly, “you calledmeto talk about this kiss. Why is that?”
I shrug. “Don’t get too excited. You were my second choice after my best friend didn’t answer.”
He smiles. “So we’re friends now?”
“Trey. You’ve been inside me. You know how I taste. I wouldhopewe’re friends now.”
He makes a face. “I have plenty of female friends I’ve never tasted or been inside.”
“You know what I mean,” I say, waving him off.
He chooses that moment to break out the brownies. I reach into the tupperware container and grab one. It’s still warm.
One bite of the gooey, chocolatey richness makes me forget my own damn name. I moan dramatically with every delicious bite.
“Damn,” he says quietly. “I guess chocolate really is better than sex.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I say around a mouthful. “But this brownie is about as close as you can get.”
He grins. “I accept tips.”
“Tip deez nuts.”
He grabs a brownie for himself. “How’s your article coming?”
I blow out a frustrated sigh. “It’s not an article anymore. My boss wants a serialized column. Embedded journalism. In other words, I have to date. I have to engage this place. Look for love,” I say, fake gagging. “But just between you and me? I’m gonna write an exposé.”
