The Doctor Who Has No Chance (Soulless 11)

She abruptly pulled away. “Okay, this is why we can’t do this.”

“Baby, there’s literally nobody here. And if there were…they can watch.”

She knew I was kidding and gave me a playful smack. “I have your lunch and a couple messages.” She tried to wiggle off my lap.

I tugged her back. “No, this is perfect.” I turned in the chair so I could get closer to the counter and started to work again. “You just stay like that and keep my dick warm.” I rested my mouth against her shoulder and looked at my paperwork on the desk behind her.

She rolled her eyes then pushed off me. “You’re ridiculous.”

I chuckled and let her off me this time. “Okay, okay…fine.”

She grabbed the folder that she’d left on the table and read me all the messages I needed to hear, along with other information that was necessary for the day.

I turned back into a professional, but seeing her in that cute-ass dress was perpetually distracting. “I’ll make those calls over lunch.”

“Are you sure?” She preferred that I had a solid thirty minutes to myself during the day just to unwind and empty my mind, but that never happened.

“There’s just too much to do. I don’t mind eating while I work.”

“Alright.” She turned away.

“Baby?”

She faced me again.

“Free tonight? Wait, let me rephrase that… Are you free every night this week?”

Her cheeks flushed all over again, and she clutched her folder to her chest.

“You wanna get dinner?”

“No dinner. Let’s just cook at your place. I ordered you a meal kit subscription.”

“Perfect. But you don’t want me to take you out or anything?”

She shook her head. “It’s overrated. I’d rather be home with you.”

Work was usually hectic during the week, so while it was nice to see her every day, to talk every day, I actually didn’t get to spend much time with her. My nights were reserved for her, and I wanted to see her every single moment. I didn’t need an evening by myself to unwind.

I already spent plenty of time without her.

Sometimes it was at her apartment, sometimes it was mine, but it was mostly mine. I had a bigger kitchen, more space, and my place was closer to the office than hers, so we usually went straight there. She brought a bag to work and had started her own drawer in my nightstand.

“What do you think?” I stood in my boxers and scooped my spoon into the sauce before I fed it to her. She was sitting on the counter in my shirt, her legs dangling over the edge. I moved between her knees and spoon-fed it to her.

She absorbed into her mouth and caught a drop of sauce from the corner of her mouth with her fingertips. “A touch of salt. Then it’ll be good.”

“Got it.” I moved back, added the salt, and stirred it in.

She leaned against the cabinets as she watched me cook, a subtle smile permanently on her lips now.

I made her happy. I could tell. And that made me happy because she made me happy…and it continued to go on like that, the two of us bringing each other a special kind of joy.

Fuck Catherine. We were never this happy.

Sicily and I had been together for over a week now, and there was no sex. I didn’t even try to make it happen because it was totally up to her. Last time we were together, I’d dumped her literally the next day, so it should only happen now when she was ready for it. It wasn’t like we didn’t do other stuff…

The timer went off, so I pulled the eggplant out of the oven. “That looks pretty good too. These meal kits are pretty cool.”

“Yeah, they can turn anyone into a chef.”

“Even me, apparently.”

“You’re a genius, Dex,” she said with a laugh. “You could be anything you wanted.”

I rolled my eyes. “Anyone can be anything they want to be, regardless if they’re a genius or not.”

“You really believe that?”

“Of course I do.”

“How is that possible? How can you possibly be so gifted and then think someone like…me, for instance…can do what you do? I just don’t think that’s a rational thought. People can have a little bit of success and it immediately goes to their head, but…it doesn’t with you. Perplexing.”

I used the tongs to flip the slices of eggplant over before returning the tray to the oven. “I told you Derek is a professor, right? At NYU?”

“Yeah, I vaguely remember that.”

“He’s the reason I believe that.”

“How so?”

I took off the oven mitt and tossed it on the stove. “Because that’s his philosophy. That anyone with any background, no matter their age or intelligence, can become whatever they want with the right instruction. Yes, intelligence is pretty much a stagnant genetic inheritance, but the most successful people in the world aren’t necessarily the brightest. Why is that? Because they got the right instruction. So, yes, I believe you could be me if you really wanted to. Do my natural smarts make it easier? Of course. But it’s my passion that makes me the best, not my IQ score. Derek teaches graduate students who are obviously well-educated as it is, but he pushes them harder and harder. And his daughter Lizzie was flunking math until he took over her instruction and helped her become the student she wanted to be. Look at her now, going to Harvard. I bet if you measured her IQ, it wouldn’t be genius-level high. Literally means nothing.”