Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger

glory. “You don’t have to be so bossy.”
“And you don’t have to be so stubborn. Go.”
He turns away and swaggers back to Stavros and the other
two men, dragging a hand through his dark hair as he goes.
I want to go into the kitchen and get a vat of wine to
guzzle, but I do as I’m told, muttering under my breath about
bossy men.
When I get into his office, I head straight for the big oak
desk. I pull open the middle drawer on top, but there’s nothing
in there except a blank pad of lined paper, a roll of stamps, a
few ballpoint pens, and an unmarked manila envelope.
I’m about to close the drawer when I pause and take
another look at the envelope.
After David’s safety deposit box letter, every blank
envelope looks suspicious. I’ll never be able to walk into an
office supply store again without being traumatized.
Without taking the envelope out of the drawer, I gingerly
lift the top flap and look at what’s inside.
It’s a glossy color brochure from the Mayo Clinic about
vasectomy reversal.
Great minds think alike.
I set both hands flat on top of the desk, lean over and brace
myself against it, and breathe deeply. After a moment, I start
to softly laugh.
“What’s so funny, baby?”
Coming from behind me, Kage’s voice is warm, full of
suppressed laughter. He runs his hand up my spine to my neck,
which he starts to massage.
“Oh, nothing. Just wondering how many conversations
exactly like this one are in my future.”
“You mean conversations where you owe me an apology
for being so headstrong?”