Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 93683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“They all in end in y, Rhonnie.”
“My point exactly.”
It’s impossible not to snigger at her brazenness and her pride and her lack of care what anyone thinks about what she says or does or wants.
I secretly admire that.
Out of all the skills I’ve honed in my life, that isn’t one of them.
I, however, have never had a cavity, so maybe that balances the shit out?
“And now that we’re talking about gettin’ it,” she segues without missing a beat, “how was the wedding? Beautiful? Long? End with you doing the animal kingdom a solid by saving a horse and ridin’ another stallion instead?”
My free hand tucks itself into the pocket of my loose-fitting, maroon scrubs at the same time I announce, “Technically, there was no wedding.”
“What?”
“She ran away.”
“What the hell do you mean she ran away?” Rhonnie doesn’t actually wait for me to explain. “Like hooked up with the priest, take off to Mexico, smuggle themselves onto a cruise boat to The Bahamas where they start their new lives selling coconut water out of actual coconuts, never showed up?”
“Not quite.”
“Too bad,” Rhonnie disappointedly sighs. “I would love to hear about some real-life Doncella en la Noche shit.”
That was a good episode.
And I totally didn’t see them running into the priest’s first wife who he thought had died, which was why he became a priest to begin with!
Gahhhhh, I love good television.
Almost more than a great seasonal cold brew.
“I guess in a way it kinda was that type of drama?” Having a small sip precedes me explaining, “This was the fifth time in three years she’d left a dude at the alter hence why Aly brought me and Kira instead of Lionel who refused to attend anymore ‘En Vogue inspired’ weddings.”
The music reference prompts her to smirk. “You are too young to be makin’ that reference, and I am too old to be jealous of some heifer I don’t know being engaged a literal handful of times when I can’t even get one.”
“First off, I’m not that young-”
“Gurl, I watch soaps that are older than you.”
“And second,” my lips curl upward, “there’s nothing wrong with wanting a bit of romance for yourself.”
At least not according to Kira who interrogated me around Aly’s snores regarding my interactions with tall, delicious, and southern during our drive back to Highland.
It was…uncomfortable.
She basically hung onto my every word, which never happens.
Okay.
Not never, but rarely.
Usually only when I’m talking about whatever athlete came into the office for the day, and she feels like trying to guess who it was since I take patient confidentiality quite seriously.
Especially considering most of my clients are famous in their respective sports.
She swooned and gasped and gushed and then slapped me in the arm for not giving the guy my phone number despite the fact she was the one who made that shit impossible to do.
And to make everything worse?
I didn’t even get his last name.
Just his first.
Trough.
Which is…I’ll admit it.
Weird.
But not that weird.
I mean whatthefuck names are definitely out there.
Pilot Inspektor.
Bear Blaze.
Moon Unit.
Hell, I’ve even got a pro rally driver named Dingo that I’ve performed three root canals on in the last year.
Odd names are a real thing.
It would just make my social media searches a little less cringe if I had a last name to attach it to.
The thought of Dingo leads to me shifting subjects, “Soooo…who are my guest stars for the day?”
Rhonnie casually clicks a couple keys on her computer prior to reading out, “You’ve got toothless, gutless, sunless, funless and then hopeless as well as planless after lunch.”
There’s no stopping me from mirthfully scolding, “Rhonda.”
“What?” She swings one black scrub covered leg over the other and gestures towards her screen. “He’s missing sooooo many teeth.”
“Looft. He’s actually on the hockey team my brother coaches-”
“That’s the one Bull is the team dentist for?”
“Right.”
“Partnering for it through the practice.”
“Right again.”
“Just like I’m right about toothless missing an ass load of teeth.”
“He’s only missing four.”
“So. Many.”
“And he’s coming in for an apicoectomy.”
“Uh-huh,” another flick with her finger is made to the computer, “she whines about anything we won’t put her under for.”
“Frank. Doctenn tennis player. Coming in for a cracked tooth.”
“He’s paler than Elle Fanning.”
“Lourd. Table tennis player originally from Mistletoe, Montana. Also coming in for a cracked tooth.”
“He never fucking smiles.”
“Alkac. Cricket player. Root canal.”
“He never stops complaining.”
“Russell. MMA fighter. Routine examine.”
“And she’s new.”
“Um…” gentle taps hit the side of my cup in thought, “hint?”
“Blonde.”
“Oh!” The joyful squeak prompts Rhonnie to roll her eyes. “Dougherty. Women’s handball player. She suffers from severe dental trauma and needs a better plan on how to proceed forward before training begins for the next season.”
Rhonnie lets the corner of her lips fully kick upward. “You’re proud of yourself, aren’t you?”
“For being able to decipher your cranky code?” I smugly smirk. “One hundred percent.”
Warm laughter bounces back and forth between sips of coffee.