Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
If I thought I didn’t know what to say before, I’m really speechless now. It’s obviously a touchy subject, and the last thing I want to do is make him uncomfortable—especially about something so personal and private. And even though he’s playing it cool, I sense a boatload of pain under the surface, and that tugs at my heartstrings.
So instead of speaking, I dole out two small pills and drop the bottle back into my bag.
“Here,” I say, offering him the medicine. “It’ll help with the inflammation.” I point at his wound. “It’s looking a little red, and that worries me.”
His lips twitch as he takes them from me. “Yeah, well, you were poking it with a needle ten minutes ago.”
We exchange the smallest, softest grin that deflates the tension. I’m relieved. My shoulders sag as he pops them into his mouth and swallows them with a slug of tea.
“Do you think we should put some antibacterial gel or something on it?” I peer down at the line, noticing it’s fairly straight. Not bad for my first time sewing someone up. “I bet Astrid has some in her first-aid kit in the hallway.”
He shrugs. “Sure. Knock yourself out.”
“I love how you’re so ambivalent about it,” I say, laughing. “Do you even care that you could get sepsis and lose your whole arm?”
“Not really,” he says, popping another piece of chocolate between his teeth. “I’m right-handed.”
This man. I smile at him as I head for the hallway. “I’m going to find some gauze and cream.”
Energy buzzes through me with wild abandon, a brightness flooding every nook and cranny of my brain. It’s like I stitched Brooks shut, but it somehow opened a part of me—pushed me so far out of my comfort zone that I’m in an entirely new mental space. I’m alive in a way that I haven’t been in a very long time.
The cream and the bandages are at the bottom of the medical bin. I grab them and put everything else back in its place.
“Here you go …” I say, my voice echoing down the hall. But as I turn the corner, I come to a full stop in the doorway. My mouth falls open, but words do not come out as I stare at Brooks. Oh, no.
He looks over his shoulder from his seat at the table, grinning like the cat that swallowed the canary.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my chest rising and falling so fast that I’m dizzy.
“Just drinking my tea and waiting on you.”
My computer is in front of him. The screen is open, just as I left it before I went for my walk this afternoon, but he must have bumped or moved it, because it's bright and awake. And my Whimsy List shines from the screen in all its glory.
Crap.
I spring across the room and snap the lid shut. My face is on fire—heat rolling from my cheeks in thick waves, red enough to match his arm. I know he saw my list, and I’m certain he read it. And I’m even more certain that I just want to dissolve into the floor and become one with the earth.
“I just slid the computer back, and it turned on.” He shrugs innocently. “What’s a whimsy list?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“It’s fascinating,” he says, watching me intently. He’s either unable to read my reaction, or he’s reading it just fine and not caring that I’m toeing the edge of hysterics.
Gianna hasn’t seen that list. Astrid hasn’t either. No one knows about my curated secrets but me … and now the hottest guy I’ve ever known.
My eyes close, and I release a silent, internal wail.
“I’m assuming it’s yours,” he says, a tease to his tone that makes me want to punch him. “The pink font at the top was a dead giveaway.”
My eyes fling open, and I toss the cream and bandage box on the table. Then I turn toward the sink. “It’s nothing. Forget you ever saw it.”
“If you think that I can forget that you have orgasm with a man on a wish list, you’re out of your fucking mind.”
Kill me now. I consider how long it would take to run to the door, jump in my Jeep, and speed off the ranch. But I don’t know where my keys are, and I certainly have to take my computer with me. There are too many steps to pull it off quickly enough for him not to intervene.
“It’s complicated, okay?” I say, taking a deep breath and facing him.
He’s leaning back in his chair, wearing a cocky grin and still no shirt. “It’s really not that complicated. I can teach you, if you want.”
I grip the countertop behind me so tightly that my knuckles turn white. Yes, I want him to teach me. I’ve had several orgasms while thinking about him over the past few days. Having one with him would be a dream come true—but that’s not going to happen. Not after he knows how pathetic I am.