For a minute she does nothing but stare at me. “Caleb, I’m in a residency and shit. I’m going to be a trauma surgeon. I work at a hospital in Kentucky. It’s a great teaching hospital and I happen to love my job.”
“I know, baby, and I’m proud of you. Surely, you can do all of that from any accredited hospital, though.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I checked and St. Lutheran Hospital is an easy commute from Dreary, and it’s a highly accredited teaching hospital with a Level 1 trauma center.”
I see the minute fear hits her face. I don’t like it, but I see it. “You checked all that out?” she whispers.
I should probably retreat and try to break through later, but I don’t. It’s just not the man I am. “Hell, yeah.”
“Why would you do that?”
“What kind of question is that, Isolde?”
“A simple one. There’s no reason for you to check into all of that. We’re just … hooking up. That’s it.”
“Lie to yourself if you want, but you’re my woman, Isolde.”
“No, I’m my own woman,” she argues. Despite my frustration, I smile.
“You are, and I fucking love that, baby. But you’re also mine.”
“You can’t own people, Caleb,” she denies at once.
“You’re wrong, baby. Ask me how I know.”
“I’m not wrong.”
“Ask me.”
She shakes her head at me. “This whole conversation is stupid. I’m not asking you anything. You’re clearly delusional.”
“I’ll tell you anyway. I know you can, Isolde, because you own me. I’ve been telling you that. You just aren’t listening, but the truth is, I am yours—body, heart and soul. You own me completely. You’re it for me, woman.”
“We barely know each other.”
“That’s not true. We’ve been talking nonstop?—”
“It hasn’t been that long,” she interrupts.
“Baby, I know everything important about you.”
“Lies. You do not.”
I grin. “I know your favorite Christmas was when you were five years old. Your mom was helping you bathe when you heard bells ringing. She put on one of your dad’s T-shirts on you and you walked into the living room. The Christmas tree had gifts everywhere. You said there was a baby doll unwrapped under the tree, lying in a play bassinet. A Wii game console with some fairy game?—”
“It was Fairly Odd Parents: Breakin’ da Rules, and it was awesome!” she interrupts.
I laugh. “If you say so.”
“It is!”
“You’re so cute, gorgeous.”
“Okay, you have to play it with me. I want to see your face when you admit you are addicted to it.”
“Okay, now. Hold up. You want me to play a kid’s video game from years ago?”
