Page 27 of Clinically Delicious
Chapter Ten
Cate
He was back.
My faceless ninja, butter knife gleaming in the moonlight, ready to strike. But something was different this time. Very different.
He wasn’t wearing his usual black tactical gear.
He wasn’t wearing anything at all.
And he was dancing.
Not just dancing—gyrating. To ABBA. Specifically “Dancing Queen,” which was blasting from somewhere in my subconscious at a volume that should have been illegal. The ninja spun in a circle, his bare ass catching the dream-moonlight, a white towel clutched in one hand that he waved above his head like he was at a particularly enthusiastic sporting event.
“You can dance!” dream-ninja sang, his voice somehow both menacing and melodic. “You can jive!”
He did a body roll that would have made a Chippendale dancer weep with envy.
“Having the time of your life!”
The towel twirled. His hips swiveled. And then—oh God, then—he turned around, and suddenly the faceless ninja had a face.
Gabriel’s face.
Gabriel’s very attractive, very naked face and body, dancing toward me with the kind of confidence that suggested he knew exactly what he was doing and was enjoying my mortification immensely.
“See that girl!” he sang, pointing the butter knife at me. “Watch that scene!”
I woke up screaming.
Not a cute little gasp-awake. A full-throated, horror-movie-victim scream that probably woke up half the neighborhood and definitely woke up my mom, who came bursting into my room as if the house were on fire.
“What? What is it? Are you okay?”
I sat bolt upright in bed, sweating, my heart racing as if I’d just run a marathon. “He was naked. Dancing. To ABBA.”
My mom blinked. “What?”
“The ninja. My dream ninja. He was—” I gestured wildly. “He was naked and dancing to ‘Dancing Queen’ and waving a towel and then he turned around and he was—” I couldn’t even say it.
Understanding dawned on my mom’s face. “Oh, honey.”
“Don’t ‘oh, honey’ me! My subconscious has officially merged my recurring anxiety dream with the towel incident and now I have to go to work today and look him in the eye and pretend I didn’t just dream about him naked and dancing and—” I grabbed my pillow and screamed into it.
My mom sat on the edge of my bed, rubbing my back. “It’s just a dream, sweetheart.”
“It’s a sign,” I said, my voice muffled by the pillow. “A sign that I’ve completely lost my mind and should probably move to a remote island where I never have to face another human being again.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I’M BEING REALISTIC.”
She pulled the pillow away from my face. “Cate. Listen to me. You’re going to go to work. You’re going to be professional. You’re going to take care of Megan. And you’re going to survive this.”
“What if I can’t look at him without thinking about the towel?”
“Then you look at his forehead.”
