After scrutinizing the other photographs again, she returned to number eight. Her finger hovered over the phone number as she took a deep breath, and then she pressed it and hit the speaker button. She chewed on her bottom lip as the phone rang once, twice, three times.
Four times, five, six …
Seven, eight, nine …
“Hi, you’ve reached Phil Jackson. I’m probably busy in the operating room. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you when I can.”
When voice mail started recording, she hit the end button, and Khai looked at her in confusion.
“You don’t want to leave a message?” he asked.
She shook her head quickly. For a long while, she continued worrying her lip as she stared at the photograph on the screen. “Do you think … he is a doctor?”
“Maybe. We can check.” He got the phone from her and Googled “Phil Jackson MD.” Sure enough, there was a Phil Jackson in Palo Alto who specialized in cardiovascular and thoracic surgery.
Esme snatched the phone from him and zoomed in on the man’s picture. He looked nice enough with his distinguished white hair, glasses, and easy smile, kind of like if Santa Claus worked out and got a shave.
“He is a doctor,” Esme whispered, but she didn’t look happy about it. Her brow wrinkled, and she kept torturing her bottom lip.
“Is that a problem?”
She ran a hand through her head-banger hair and lifted a shoulder. “A man like that … for his daughter … I’m not …” She gave up and looked out the window.
“You don’t think he’ll like you?”
Her eyes searched his. “You think he will?”
“Of course he will.” How could someone not like her?
She surprised him by tackling him with a hug and burying her face against his neck. After a shocked moment, he tightened his arms around her and rested his cheek against hers. Was she sad? Was she happy? Was she crying? He had no clue whatsoever, so he held her and waited.
But as he waited, he couldn’t help noticing he had a very naked Esme straddling his very naked hips. Her breasts were plumped against his chest, and her sex was right there. It took a tenth of a second for his body to respond in the expected manner, and he winced. This didn’t strike him as the right way to react when you had an emotional woman in your arms. He was wishing his erection away, when she brushed up against it, stiffened in realization, and deliberately rubbed herself over his length as she bit his ear.
“Again?” she whispered.
There was only one possible way to answer that question. It looked like they were having morning breath sex after all.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The month that followed was the best month of Esme’s life. Now that she’d gotten the hang of things, waitressing suited her just fine, and she saved up enough to either fix her grandma’s house or buy something better. Her grades in school stayed high. She couldn’t become Esme in Accounting, but she was getting close.
Best of all, her time with Kh?i was like a dream. Things had become easy between them. She knew to turn the exhaust hood on when she cooked with fish sauce, and he’d learned to kiss her every morning when she left for work and hug her every evening when he picked her up from class. He still didn’t speak much unless she asked him specific questions, but that was fine. She talked enough for both of them, and he was a good listener. She’d made an offhand comment about wanting to ride on a sailboat someday, and he’d surprised her today by taking her to Sunday brunch on the water in the San Francisco Bay. It had been lovely. Their first date.
Now they were settling onto the couch at his place. She had studying to do, and his work was seemingly endless. She’d highlighted a few textbook pages before she made the poor choice of glancing up at him. He was wearing his reading glasses again, dressed in formfitting black as usual, and brooding over his computer screen like he was masterminding an elite sniper attack. A peek at his computer, however, revealed spreadsheets instead of battle blueprints.