Can't Touch This (Can't Touch This #1)

The line went quiet.

“Did I pass?”

“Her number is 657-8890.” Polly giggled. “That friend of mine needs some filthy thoughts. Make sure you give them to her.”

She hung up before I could thank her.

Quickly typing Vesper’s number into my phone before I could forget, I pulled up a fresh message and typed: How’s my patient?

Instantly, I regretted it.

Did it come across as arrogant? Did I have the right to ask how she was? She wasn’t my patient. She wasn’t mine, period.

Not yet, anyway.

Would she mind the hint to such a thing in the future?

Fuck!

Raking my hands through my hair, I pocketed my phone and returned to work. Collecting my trowel, I did my best to forget and mix another batch of plaster to work on the dining room ceiling.

However, my phone buzzed, putting me out of my misery.

Vesper: Shouldn’t I be asking that about Corn and Chip? How are my patients doing?

Me: They’re behaving and enjoying their new bunk buddies. The eye drops seem to be working. But less about them and more about you. How are you feeling?

Vesper: Like roadkill but alive.

Me: Thanks to me?

Vesper: I’m alive thanks to you? I thought it was something about the birds and the bees and my parents’ naughty time.

I chuckled at her snark.

And waited.

She didn’t disappoint.

Vesper: Yes, alive thanks to you. Also, I kind of hate you for it, but thank you for stocking my fridge full of easy to eat meals.

Me: You’re welcome.

Vesper: You have the frustrating way of pissing me off and making me melt at the same time.

Me: If I knew groceries made you melt, I would’ve bought the entire store.

She took a few minutes to reply.

Vesper: Why did I just get a text from Polly saying you’re going to do filthy things to me?

Oh, shit.

I laughed out loud, my fingers flying over the touchscreen.

Me: Want a truth or a lie?

Vesper: What sort of question is that?