Wondering if she was remembering how I looked naked, I fought off a smile. “How was work?” I tossed a handful of sliced peppers into a wok, then added some onion.
“Fine,” she said, moving a couple of steps closer. “What’s all this?”
Enchilada wandered over, the desire to greet his master momentarily winning out over hunger, and Paige reached down to pat his fluffy head.
“I grabbed the ingredients for fajitas at the store today.”
“Oh.” She looked down at the chicken strips already browning in the skillet.
“Hope that’s okay. You named your dog Enchilada, so I assumed you like Mexican food.”
“Of course. It’s just . . . I didn’t expect you to cook for me.”
I shrugged. “I have my first couple of days off in what seems like forever. And besides, I had a craving. Would you mind stirring that chicken?”
She took a rubber spatula from the crock that held her utensils on the counter and turned over each piece of chicken, concentrating on her task carefully.
“I got tequila, and margarita mix too,” I said.
She eyed me carefully, her expression serious, but still somehow playful. “Tequila? Do you really think that’s a good idea for us?”
I laughed at her honesty. “Hey, we survived night one, didn’t we?”
“Yes, and it was a small miracle since you were naked.”
I smirked. “Sorry about that. It was an honest mistake.”
Paige moved on, busying herself filling the blender with ice, and I couldn’t help but notice the pink tinge to her cheeks.
While she mixed the drinks, I sautéed the vegetables and combined them with the chicken. The whir of the blender drowned out the silence around us, and then Paige poured two margaritas into festive glasses.
“Thank you for the flowers, by the way. And the treats for Enchilada. That was thoughtful of you.”
I nodded. “It was nothing. I’m just happy to have a place to stay.”
I wouldn’t tell Paige, but I’d been a little traumatized after staying with Peter and his husband. I was fine with whatever happened in their bedroom, but drew the line at being forced to overhear it. No one should hear their friend shouting for his husband to take him deeper.
“We never got to discuss rent. How much would you like me to pay?” I asked.
“I . . . I’m not sure.” Paige’s teeth sank into her lower lip.
Damn, that was distracting. “I’ll pay half of the rent and utilities. Just let me know how much it is.”
“Okay.” She nodded. “I suppose that’s fair. Your half will be seven hundred, and it’s due on the first of the month. I’ll let you know about the utilities.”
“Perfect.”
I turned off the burners and grabbed a couple of plates. “Do you need to change before dinner? I’ve got this.”
Shaking her head, she took a sip of her frosty drink. “That’s okay. Fridays are casual dress.”
I recalled that yesterday, she’d been wearing a skirt and a silk blouse. Today she looked just as tempting in a pair of dark jeans that hugged her curves, and a fitted, long-sleeved burgundy T-shirt. A long gold necklace hung around her neck, a sparkly pendant swaying as she moved.
After making up our plates, we carried them into the dining half of the main room. Luckily, the empty silence was soon filled with Paige’s questions about med school, a topic I could talk about for hours.
“Do you have classes during the day, and then internships at night? That seems like an awful lot.” She looked down at her plate. “Sorry, I don’t know how this stuff works.”
I waved her off. “Not at all. I finished my classroom time during my first two years. The next two years of med school are spent in rotations. Basically, I’m like a doctor without the medical license. I’ve delivered babies, assisted with surgery, tended to gunshot victims in the ER. It’s a little bit of everything.”
“Wow. That sounds intense.”
I shrugged. “My stepdad once said you’re not a real doctor unless you can handle traumas. Kind of a weird statement, but something about it resonated with me. I’m glad I got to experience that firsthand in my emergency-medicine rotation. Basically, if you’re ever stabbed or have a flesh-eating virus, I’m your man.”
She laughed as she took another bite of her fajita. Salsa landed on her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away.
“It’s smart the way they structure it,” I said, “because you’re forced to learn everything before you can declare your specialty. And then after that, you apply for residencies.”
“Right . . . your residency. Allie said you’d be moving in about two months.”
I nodded. “That’s the idea.” I just had to figure out where in the hell I wanted to go. Part of me wanted to whisk off on an adventure, maybe go and live overseas, do humanitarian aid in India or Africa for a few years. But I knew Mom and Allie would freak if I did that, so I was torn.