It takes a few minutes for me to be able to speak again, partly because it’s hard not to devote my full attention to the food. But I’m also worried that if I open my mouth without sticking a fork in it that I’ll say something insane, like I want to sit on his knot while stuffing myself with what might be the most deliciously cheesy potatoes I’ve ever eaten.
That’s crazy.
That would be the most insane thing imaginable. Obviously, parts of my brain are still soaking in heat hormones.
And if I say it enough times, I might be able to convince myself of that.
After about ten minutes, I have myself under enough control to talk like a normal person. “When you were already gone this morning, I thought maybe you were…”
“Thinking it wouldn’t be a great idea for us to show up together still smelling like each other,” Noah finishes, eyebrow raised in faint challenge. “I figured you wouldn’t want everyone here to jump to conclusions.”
When he points it out, I feel even stupider.
“I did shower this morning,” I grouse.
His nostrils flare, wide chest rising and falling as he takes a deep breath. “It’s going to take more than that. I scented you the minute you stepped foot in the waiting room.”
Suddenly stricken, I take a sniff of my collar. “You don’t think anyone else can tell, do you?”
“Um, no…” he starts, seeming suddenly uncomfortable. “I think it’s just me. You know because of the…”
He trails off, but I don’t bother to finish the sentence. The word he is very careful not to use echoes in my head.
Because of thebond.
“Speaking of, I thought you might be wanting these.” Noah reaches into his lab coat and sets something on the table in front of me. “I assume your long-term plans haven’t changed.”
I stare at the orange prescription bottle on the table, my name printed neatly on the label. The sight of it—exactly what I’ve been desperately searching for—renders me speechless.
“Is that…”
“Your specific dosage and formulation of Omegablock,” he finishes, leaning back enough in the plastic chair to make it creak under his weight.
My fingers hover over the bottle, afraid it might vanish if I touch it. “How did you get this?”
“You might have noticed that I’m running the only medical clinic for two hundred miles. I’m used to finding creative solutions to medical issues.” There is mild censure in his voice, though that might just be something I feel through the bond. “If you’d told me what you needed earlier, I probably could have gotten you a refill before the storm hit.”
I wish I knew whether that’s regret I hear in his voice or if my guilt is just telling me to expect it.
The accusation stings, but he’s right. I wrap my hand around the bottle, feeling the weight of the pills inside. The relief is almost dizzying as I take one out and swallow it dry.
“Thank you,” I whisper, unable to meet his eyes.
“Your secret wasn’t worth risking your health over.” Noah’s hand briefly rubs his chest, the move compulsive as if he isn’t even aware of doing it. “Though I suppose it’s too late for that now.”
He abruptly stands, muttering something about needing to get back to work. I’m suddenly desperate to explain myself, to make him understand why I’ve been hiding, even though I know that no explanation would be adequate for what I’ve done.
“I’m sorry,” I say automatically, though I’m not entirely sure what I’m apologizing for. For bonding with him? For lying about being hungry when it was enough for him to feel through the bond? For all of it?
Noah takes a step closer, and I have to fight the urge to clamber up to meet him. His nearness makes it hard to think and easy to forget that he has every reason to despise me. The bond pulls at me, wanting to close the distance between us.
Before I can decide between throwing myself at him and jumping out a nearby window, the break room door swings open hard enough to hit the opposite wall. A man old enough for his hair to be more salt than pepper and wearing a crisp white coat strides into the break room, stopping short when he sees us, his eyebrows rising slightly.
“Noah, I see you and our new resident are getting along,” he says, his voice carrying the authority that comes from years of being in charge. He turns to me and offers his hand, grip firm when I shake it. “Welcome, welcome, I’m Dr. Mercer. Apologies for missing your first week, but I assume you’ve been in good hands.”
I nearly swallow my tongue at the reminder of exactly how good Noah’s hands have been, but manage a greeting that sounds at least somewhat coherent.
Noah straightens, his demeanor shifting back to the professional mask he’s worn all morning. “Welcome back, Victor. Yes, Dr. Chang and I have been able to manage.”
