41

Teagan’s practice was part of an old nondescript brick medical facility ten minutes from Livingston. The interior had been renovated, all clean lines and sterile furnishings. Geometric mirrors dotted the walls in between promotional posters for various cosmetic procedures.

Victoria waited in the lobby as a bleached-blonde receptionist with a swan neck and collarbones so sharp they’d cut a diamond alerted Teagan of her arrival. It was still early, so only a few patients occupied the seats, filling out forms on clipboards while a morning show playing on a mounted flat-screen droned in the background.

As a welcome distraction from her warring thoughts about X, she considered each of them: the circumstances that had brought them to this place, their insecurities or desires. Her own situation with Warren wasn’t so different.

There was a flicker of motion from the corner of the room and Teagan appeared, her white jacket flapping and her auburn hair tied neatly in a signature low ponytail. Her makeup was pristine, but the subtle shadows under her eyes betrayed the late night they’d had.

“Tor, what’s going on?” she asked, concern flooding her voice. “Come on, we can talk in my office.” She motioned for her to follow, leading them down a corridor that smelled faintly of antiseptic and vanilla.

Teagan’s office was bright and welcoming. Her framed credentials behind the desk served as the only personal touch that Victoria could see. No pictures, no books, no artwork. Comfortable chairs anchored her desk, which she no doubt used for consultations, but there was also a settee beneath a row of windows that overlooked the city center in the distance, the steel sheen of the Livingston building at the heart of it all.

“I’m surprised you were able to see me,” Victoria said, taking the seat closest to the door.

“A few minutes later and I’d be elbow-deep in fatty deposits. What’s going on? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine. I mean, not fine, but nothing else has happened since you left.”

“How are you feeling in the light of day?” Teagan asked, shrugging off her jacket and pulling at the fabric of her pants until they were comfortable.

Jilted. Off-kilter. Pissed. “Okay.”

“Obviously,” Teagan said with a roll of her eyes.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

A knock at the door saved Victoria from having to delve further into that. The thin woman who opened it wore blue scrubs and her corn-silk hair was tucked beneath a patterned cap. “Doc Teags? We’re just about ready for you. Are you going to need the extra ring light attachment on the phone today?”

“No, we should be good with the stadium lighting,” Teagan said. “Thanks, Tina.” With a timid wave, Tina retreated and Teagan focused on Victoria. “Newbie. Basically a groupie, but Glen insisted I hire her.”

“Your boss has a type,” Victoria said.

“Don’t fucking remind me. Whenever I mention the word diversity he glazes over until I give up or he can interrupt with a speech about his two black friends from Albany.”

“Glen’s a dick, Teags. Why do you work here again?”

“Believe me, I’m trying not to,” Teagan said. Victoria tilted her head in interest, but her sister pushed on. “Listen, you have every right to be upset about last night. I would be, too, and if I didn’t have so much on the books today, I’d say fuck it and take you out for a boozy brunch, but I’m going to be late for surgery.”

A clear dismissal if Victoria ever heard one. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m not going to search for X,” she said.

“You’re not?”

“No.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Yes.”

“Okayyyy . . .” she said, drawing out the word expectantly. “Care to share with the class?”

“No. At least not yet.”

Teagan nodded as she checked her watch and threw her jacket back on. “I’m not disappointed with this turn of events, but what changed?”

Wait. How loaded could a single word possibly be? “We can talk about it later. What are you doing after work?”

“I’m supposed to meet up with this animal doctor for a romp—”

Christ. “You know most people would just call them veterinarians, right?”

“I’m sure they would, but I’m not most people—and I wasn’t talking about his profession.”

“God, you’re gross.”

Teagan’s tone morphed into faux outrage. “Don’t shame me, Victoria Tate, there’s nothing wrong with a good dicking.”

“How progressive.”

“You know, sometimes you sound like Mom,” Teagan chided.

“And sometimes you sound like Dad.”

Teagan sighed. “Truce.”

“Are you coming over or not?” Victoria asked.

“All right. It probably won’t be until later-later, though. I really need to release some pent-up energy, if you know what I mean.”

“I think a rock would know what you mean. Just be careful. Don’t swipe right on someone you haven’t already talked to, or agree to meet someone in an alley.”

“Sure thing, Dick Tracy.”

They headed to the lobby, but Victoria stopped in her tracks, lowering her voice when the blonde ostrich at the reception table looked up. “X is dangerous, like you said. He was a couple feet away from us and we didn’t hear a thing. We don’t know what he’s capable of.”

“Right,” Teagan said. “He could paint-by-numbers the kitchen next.”

“Teagan.”

“Okay. Fine. No random trysts. I’ll keep to the disco sticks I know.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Lightening the mood,” she said with a wink. “I’ll call you when I get off. Well, maybe a little after.”

“Okay, I’m going to bleach my brain now.”

“Have a good day, dear sister,” Teagan chuckled.

And she walked to her car, Victoria was determined to do just that.