Sillas Wilder, right?
Meet someone better?
That seemed like a good time to switch to theactualtopic and start using dear rude Rudy to gather more information about my mate, without him realizing what I was doing. Tapping my finger on my chin, I fired off a message with a tiny grin.
Maybe a gigantic, deadly hot, blond, fluffy-haired werewolf with a jaw that could slice my hand if I didn’t wear protective gloves.
Then I typed another text.
And before you ask, yes, I found my mate too! And his hotness equals Mark’s.
I resumed my studying. Before my short-term memory could even try to absorb what I was reading, texts bombarded my screen.
Gigantic? You think he’s fat? Jaw slicing your hand?!?! Why would his jaw want to do that?
That Michael Salami dude is old and 100% into dudes
I stifled a laugh.
My mate’s not fat, Rudy. By gigantic, I meant he’s so tall that I think I’ll need a ladder! His jaw’s chiseled! I was using a metaphor, though I imagine it’d still be dangerous to stroke. Also, the surgeon’s called MARK not Michael.
You want to stroke his jaw?
It’s a very strokable jaw!
And this ladder is for what?
Of all things, he had to focus on the ladder joke. I wanted to start asking questions about my mate, not answer his.
Oh, you know what.
Nope, I don’t. Why don’t you tell me, Bunny Doc?
A blush blasted my face like I’d just opened a pre-heated oven. My mind served up an image of me climbing a stepladder just to kiss my giant of a mate without him having to bendover a meter or crouch. Him leaning down, me reaching up, our mouths meeting in the middle…
Shut up, Rudy! Don’t you want to know who he is, instead of asking unimportant questions? I’ll give you a hint: You’re from the same pack!
Hey, all my questions are important, Bunny Doc. I’m very curious to know what you’re planning to do with a ladder
Also, good to know you have a jaw fetish
I sighed, scratching the side of my neck. What harm could there be in telling him my thoughts about my soulmate?
Okay, fine. Since he’s at least three stories tall, I’ll need a ladder to kiss him properly. Or he’ll eventually get back pain, and I’ll strain my neck. Neither is advisable, health-wise.
I decided to be honest, so we could move on quickly—and I could ask my questions.
But again, Rudolph didn’t answer me right away.
What a frustrating reindeer!
I reminded myself he was in class, and I had a ton of pages to digest and absorb before dinner. Medical students had to follow a rigorous schedule, planning out the insane amount of work that was required. All to heal patients in the future and hopefully not become patients themselves—after losing their mind and sanity during med school, of course.
My chair screeched across the floor as I sprang to my feet. I walked over to the same girl who had hushed me like a proper library loyalist.
She was curled into her seat like a little owl, surrounded by towers of books and an oversized Thermos covered in black cat cartoon stickers. Post-It notes dominated the small, portable board to her left.
“Excuse me?”
