Mary goes to the dentist's office

"A little wider," the dentist tells you. "Good. All right there." He withdraws his gloved hands. "You're in excellent dental health, Mrs. Forbes. I shall leave you in the hands of my lovely assistant."

You nod. "Thank you, doctor," you tell him.

"Doctor," the receptionist says, looking in. "Your wife is here with your lunch."

"Thank you, Laurel," the dentist says. "I'll be right there."

"How sweet," you tell the dentist. "Does she do that every day?"

"Lately," he says. "I think she's keeping an eye on me."

"Oh, doctor," you say, laughing.

"Sumita was one of my hygienists," the dentist says. "So she does have cause."

"There you are, Bill," you hear.

A petite woman with glossy black hair, medium-brown skin, and dark eyes stands in the doorway carrying an Indian style lunchbox, a three-layer stack of stainless-steel dishes with a top handle. Her eyes and lips are crisply outlined. She's also extravagantly pregnant, her belly the dominant feature of her figure.

"Be right there, darling," the dentist says. "My office?"

"I'll set things out. It's all hot, don't wait," she says. She turns round, swinging the steel lunch pail.

You notice his wiener is doing a salute inside his scrub pants.

"So sweet of her to come," you say. "Looks like you're happy too. Why, my Brian couldn't get enough of me when I was carrying one of my girls."

The dentist clears his throat. "Why, Mrs. Forbes."

"I'm afraid I was the same way," you tell him. "Do-me, do-me. But Brian's a truck driver, so was only now and then. My poor honeybear's on the road right now, so the fires are wanting poking."

"Thank you, Mrs. Forbes," the dentist says. He tugs his white coat down, but you can tell his wiener's sticking up with the tip out of his pants. Poor man. Looks like he's trying to make his exit as graceful as he can.

Roll +COOL to STALK HIM/HER. On a 7-9, you find them in a public place.
Choose the dentist, his wife, or the hygienist, and choose your next Move.