Page 50 of Doc Showmance
“He can drive his own car. They didn’t specify the camera person had to be in the car with us.”
I whispered, “I don’t want to be on camera anymore.”
“Me either.” He leaned in close. The smell of his aftershave, or maybe simply his deodorant, hit me as it did every time he got close. My mind whirled as that Ian-induced mush brain set in. If I were standing my knees would go weak. He smelled that good. He whispered, “Admit if we’d kept going we’d have been naked.”
I stared, mute.
He was right.
“It was that hot, Amber. There’s something here. I don’t know what it is, but we’re getting screwed over. Promise me when this is through and maybe we run into each other later that we will try to figure out what’s real about this.”
“I can’t make that promise. You still irritate the hell out of me eighty percent of the time.”
“Well, at least I’ve improved by twenty percent.”
19
Ian
“Why is there a rabbit in the back seat?” Amber craned around to stare at the mini lop hopping around in her travel cage in the back seat of my Jeep. “She’s cute.”
“Olive needs to be syringe fed every four hours until she starts eating on her own. Her owner had surgery on one of her hands and can’t manage the syringe. Her daughter is the real owner, but she’s up in LA for a job right now and only visits some weekends. There’s no one else to help her.”
“You offered to take Olive home?”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “It’s only for a day or two. If she doesn’t get fed, we might lose her. Besides, it’s not a big deal for me to do the SQ fluids and meds she needs.”
She laughed. “You’re a softy. Who knew. That’s sweet of you. How many other patients do you babysit at home?”
“No patients. I have a bird.”
“A bird? I saw you as a dog person.” She looked disappointed.
“My life hasn’t been conducive to a dog or any pet recently.”
“Because a bird is so much lower maintenance than a dog? What kind of bird?”
“An African Grey. She’s a handful. Her dad was a friend of mine. He died last month in a motorcycle accident. It was in his will for me to take care of his bird.”
“I’m sorry you lost your friend. That’s awful.”
“Thanks. We were roommates in undergrad.”
“Does the bird talk?”
“It only speaks lines fromThe Princess Bride.”
“Could be worse.”
“Sure. She greets me all the time with:Inconceivable!Then, when I feed her, she says:Good work. Sleep well. I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.”
“I might like this bird.” Amber laughed a rich belly laugh. It was the kind of infectious, whole-hearted laugh that I couldn’t help but smile and laugh with, too. To know I caused that joyful noise made me smile broader.
“Is Olive going to be okay in the car while we do this date?”
“If we go beyond four hours, I’ll have to feed her.”
“This better not go on that long.”
