Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 104657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
I closed my eyes and sighed. Drunk Victoria was not a good friend.
“Everleigh, you’re a virgin?” Mel didn’t exactly whisper.
The DJ probably heard it and could have announced it between songs.
“I’m seventeen,” I reminded them.
“You’re not buying alcohol. It’s your body. Spread ’em and go for it,” Victoria said.
By that point, I took everything she said as nothing more than drunken musings.
Mel laughed. “Spoken like a blushing bride.”
“I’m ready for you to wipe me.”
She could have wiped herself, but I played the part of a good friend (one of us had to), and I wiped her.
“I was sixteen the first time,” Mel said, adjusting Victoria’s dress while I washed my hands.
“Fourteen,” Victoria confessed, which earned her judgmental looks from Mel and me. “What?” She shrugged. “I was an early bloomer.”
Mel shook her head and laughed. “Whatever. But seriously, Everleigh, you’re in medical school. Don’t be a virgin. Not cool.”
I wasn’t keeping my virginity because I thought it was cool. Just the opposite. I had been actively trying to lose it all week.
“Let’s go dance, then you can do all the groomsmen if you want,” Victoria giggled.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Why is being with William Landry such an astronomical feat? It was eleven years ago, and it still is now.
If at first you don’t succeed . . .
How many times are we supposed to try, try again? After all, he’s moving to Somers. And it’s breaking my heart again, but I can’t tell him that because his dad is dying. So I do what I do best: I pretend he is my patient, and I wear my doctor’s hat.
Pragmatic.
Detached.
Will arrives home early Sunday morning as I finish cleaning out the fridge. It’s too late. He already knows I don’t keep a tidy house all the time, but I want him to feel good about leaving me here. I want him to trust me.
“Good morning,” I say, returning the last of the food to the top shelf.
He toes off his black boots. “Morning.” The weariness in his voice matches his expression.
I know his firehouse has been busy helping with nearby wildfires, so I wonder how much sleep he’s had since Thursday night. Doesn’t look like much.
“What can I help you do? Pack? Laundry?”
Will untucks his blue T-shirt and then runs his hands through his hair. “Sleep,” he says through an enormous yawn.
“You need something to help you sleep?”
After his yawn, he drops his hands limp at his sides, and he stares at my feet, working his gaze up to my face. It’s almost tangible, eliciting goose bumps along my arms. The release of oxytocin makes my smooth muscles contract, hardening my nipples. Does he know what he’s doing to me? Does his brain, like mine, take mental notes of his physiological response to seeing me?
“I need”—he slowly shakes his head—“something.”
I rub my lips together and swallow. “A shower?”
After a moment, he shakes his head again.
I crack my knuckles, then reach for my pockets, a place to hide my fidgety hands. But my Lululemon Hotty Hot high-rise shorts have zipper pockets, and there’s no way to casually unzip them with one hand.
What do I say? The silence is liquefying me. Before long, I’ll be nothing more than a puddle on the floor that he’ll step over on his way to bed.
“Do you want to go to the bathroom with me?” I cringe as soon as the words pass my lips. That sounds awful, and the tightness of Will’s brow confirms it.
I’m not a genius with Will. I’m just a blubbering, lust-crazed girl with a crush on someone who feels out of my league.
“I know you’re not a stranger, but I’d lose my panties for you.”
A slow grin steals across his face, and my cheeks burn with a heavy mix of desire and embarrassment. I couldn’t channel Dr. Reichart if my life depended on it.
“Is that so?” He takes a step closer to me.
I hold my breath and nod, unblinking gaze locked with his.
“Are you even wearing panties?”
Of course I’m wearing panties. Who wears jogging shorts without them?
Before those thoughts form into spoken words, he leans forward and brushes his lips along my neck while his fingers tease my inner thigh for a second. In the next breath, two of his fingers trace the leg of my cotton underwear as if he needs confirmation. He teases my earlobe with his teeth, and his two fingers hook into my panties’ crotch, pulling them aside.
Am I wet? Embarrassingly so.
A harsh breath catches in my throat when he drives those fingers up inside of me. My nails curl into his biceps as I steady myself when my knees try to buckle.
“My tongue is jealous of my fingers, Dr. Reichart,” he whispers in my ear. “What should we do about that?”
Click.
The back door opens, and I jump away so quickly, I nearly lose my balance while fixing my underwear and then crossing my arms over my chest to hide my nipple/no bra/tight shirt situation.