Chapter Ten
THATCH
“I have a proposition for you.” Austin’s raspy voice always did mess with my head. I quickly turned around.
She was dressed in a short black skirt with a black-and-white striped T-shirt that showed an inch of pale skin at her waist. Her black gladiator sandals wrapped all the way up her calves. Basically, she was trying to kill me by way of high-heeled sandals and a hell of a lot of thigh.
“Austin.” Damn it, could my voice be any hoarser? “I’d say this was a pleasure, but I wouldn’t want to give you the wrong idea.”
She flinched before moving swiftly into my office, closing the door behind her, and grabbing a chair.
“Yes, please come in. It’s not like I have a job where I have appointments,” I grumbled, at my wit’s end with whatever the hell kind of drama she was about to unleash on me.
“I’m going to fail my class,” she blurted, eyes wide with worry. “And I can’t fail, not after everything I’ve gone through to get to where I’m at. I’m living at home still, and I just—” She took a deep breath. “Failure isn’t an option. Ever.”
Which was probably why our failed relationship drove her insane, not that I was going to say that out loud.
“Why is this my problem? Didn’t that little video of me go viral?”
Her lips twitched.
“It’s not funny,” I snapped.
“Admit it, it’s sort of funny.” She tilted her head in that adorable way that would make a weaker and lesser man fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness.
I clenched my hands into fists.
Yeah, not gonna happen.
“Tell you what, I’ll admit it’s funny when we can laugh about the spider chasing you onto a couch.”
She jabbed a finger in my direction. “It had superpowers, and you know it!” In a flurry, both hands went into the air. “That bucket was at least five pounds! And he moved it with his head!”
“The bucket was five ounces at most, and I hardly think spiders move things with their heads.” I rolled my eyes. “You were saying?”
She wrung her hands together and then hung her head, all traces of fear and humor gone. “My professor says the video’s not good enough, that it has no staying power. The whole point of this class is to use social media for marketing and branding, and all I did was drunkenly post a video of you singing off-key.”
“Wait, go back, you were drunk?” I hadn’t ever really seen her out of control, which made me wonder what caused her to go to that place to begin with. Was it me? Was it the class? Maybe a mixture of both? And why did the idea that she was thinking about me and losing control turn me on so much?
“Not the point,” she said through clenched teeth. “Let’s focus on the dilemma—my dilemma.”
A knock sounded at my door.
“Yes?”
Our office assistant, Mia, poked her head in. “Sorry, your eleven o’clock is here.”
“Five minutes.”
She nodded and closed the door.
“Get there faster, Austin.”
Austin bit down on her plump lip. I’d been obsessed with her mouth from day one. It was far from perfect, which was probably why I liked it. My job was to fix the imperfections—and it almost always seemed like a travesty to fix something that made people so unique in the first place.
No amount of money or begging on her part would get me to perform any type of surgery on her.
Ever.
“I sort of came up with this new idea. You see, my professor—the one who hates me?—literally can’t take his eyes off girls with big boobs, and I thought, ‘Hey, why not do a project on his favorite subject?’ I can document the process of getting a breast enhancement, pepper it with other surgeries you perform, and at the end of three weeks, when the project is due, I will livestream, with your permission and a patient’s, a surgery. Not only would the blog be interesting because of the subject matter, but also because you and your office were just recognized by the city of Seattle. It would be great publicity all around, for you and myself. I’d also be helping brand you, which would most likely get my professor off my back. I know you’ll need to clear it with legal, but . . .” She finally took a breath. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know what to think.” I sighed and leaned against my desk. “Other than, how desperate do you have to be to ask me for a favor?”
“So. Very. Desperate.” Tears filled her eyes. “I have to pass this class, and you’re the only surgeon I would actually trust with this.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well . . .” She shifted in her seat. “I mean, I want to go through with the consults and any other appointments leading up to the surgery as if I were one of your patients. That’s the only way to really document what it feels like, the emotions around a stigmatized elective surgery or the fear and excitement before going under the knife.”
Hell.
Her breasts.
Her body.
My hands.
She wanted me to be professional when all I would want to do was suck her nipple rather than use a black marker on her skin.
“I just need your expertise and I’ll get out of your hair,” she said quickly.
“You do realize I’ll be actually touching you, right?” I felt the need to point that out, hoping to God she’d realize how messed up this was. It brought a whole new meaning to looking, touching, but not claiming. Things were complicated enough between us without trying to clinically examine her during the day while I dreamed of her every night.
“Thatch, please.” She leaned forward. “If you help me, no revenge list, and you won’t be always looking over your shoulder, wondering when I’m going to pounce.”
Okay, I did like the sound of that. I’d already had two sleepless nights and was about to change the locks—she still had one of my keys. Stupidity, thy name is Thatch.
I opened my mouth to say no.
To reject her—again.
“Take down the video and we’ll talk.”
“Remove the spider from my house and you have a deal.” She stood and held out her hand.
Something told me not to shake it. The logical part of my brain. The part that said this would only end badly.
But really, what could go wrong? Her threats of revenge were going to disappear, and our war would end without any casualties.
I took her soft hand in mine and whispered, “One more thing, Austin.”
“Hmm?” Her breathing was erratic.
“You’re teaching me how to ride.” I released her hand and stood.
Her mouth dropped open.
I closed it with my finger and winked. “A bike. Get your mind out of the gutter, Rogers.”
“I knew that!” I didn’t think it was possible, but her face grew redder as she smoothed out her skirt. “So, should we go over our schedule tonight while you remove the stupid spider from my house?”
“Oddly enough, I’m already regretting this,” I said, more to myself than to her. “And yeah, how about we go to your house, I’ll remove your pet spider, and you can tell me all about how you’re going to use me to get an A.”
“You’re a whore, you’re used to being used.”
“Funny, since that word was written on your forehead this morning.” I paused. “Literally. Written.” I smirked. “Right there.” I flicked her forehead and grinned.
“Hero!” she coughed into her hand and then thrust out her chest. “Besides, backward doesn’t count.”
“Backward always counts.” I crossed my arms. “So, friends again?”
“Well, we aren’t enemies.” She forced a smile and then looked down at her feet. “Thanks, Thatch. I owe you.”
Wow, thanking me must have been painful if the look on her face was any indicator.
“Oh, I know,” I whispered. “I know.”