“Your eyes are perfect,” he says, smiling at the retinal photos.
“How perfect can they be when I still need glasses?”
He chuckles without looking up. I fear he might make love to the pictures.
“Should I leave you too alone, doctor?”
He spins in his chair and rolls to my side of the room, pulls my glasses down and places them in my lap. One hand lingers there while the other covers my left eye.
“Read that bottom lip for me.”
But he doesn’t move his head from my line of sight, and my gaze drifts lower.