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)
Everleigh giggles so hard she has to hug her belly.
“I used to think your hidden talents were sexy as hell. That feels like a lifetime ago,” I say. “Just like my dad was hiking ten-plus miles a day. No one believed he was seventy.” I stare at the ceiling, blinking my watery eyes. “I wanted to be like him. And now, I’m afraid I’ll be eighty and losing my mind and my body to some awful disease, and everyone who loved me will not remember the great things I did. They’ll remember I had an adult tantrum over the missing lid to my portable urinal, and how I thought someone filled it with gasoline and my roommate was drinking it.”
“Ew . . .” She laughs. “Well, it’s unlikely that anyone will remember urinal lids. Humans get selective memory when someone dies. It’s an unspoken rule that we don’t speak negatively about the dead. We focus on the good memories. You’ll see.”
“I’ll be dead. I won’t see anything.”
She elbows me. “I mean when your dad passes on. But let’s get back to things you found sexy about me.”
“Good idea. As I recall, you were humble. I didn’t know you were a genius. You were just a cool chick who played video games and giggled at all of my jokes.”
“So I’m no longer that cool chick? Or I’m not just that chick. I’m more, a doctor who doesn’t hide my intelligence. And I’m confident—”
“Whoa. Stop right there. Just minutes ago, you were hanging from my neck, begging for forgiveness.”
“Compassion isn’t a sign of weakness or lack of confidence.”
I grin, secretly loving how well she talks her way out of any situation. “What are you doing?” I ask as she shuts off my phone.
“I’m removing any roadblocks.” She slides it onto the nightstand.
“Roadblocks?”
Folding her hands on her stomach, she sighs. “Yes. If you want to kiss me without interruptions.”
I roll my head toward her, but she stares at the ceiling. “I’m not kissing you.”
“I didn’t say you have to. It’s just an option.”
“What if my dad needs me?”
“Your sister is with him.”
“What if he dies?”
She rolls her head toward me and frowns. “A few seconds won’t change anything.”
“Still not kissing you.”
“An option, Will. It’s just an option.”
“My vision is less blurry. I can drive now.”
“Fine,” she says with a huff as she jackknifes to a sitting position. Then she stands and stretches her arms above her head before twisting from side to side.
“Here’s the thing. If I kiss you, I’m going to fuck you. There’s no middle ground. If I fuck you, I’m still going to live in Somers. And if I live in Somers, your fragile heart will break. If your fragile heart breaks, Jamie will be pissed at me. And if Jamie’s pissed at me—”
“I get it, William.” She crosses her arms over her chest and rolls her eyes. It’s very unprofessional of her. “I’ve read If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. I understand escalating consequences. If Jamie is pissed at you, then Fitz will have to take sides, and he’ll take her side. And I understand you need to call it fucking because it clearly delineates the difference between sex for a physical release and sex for an emotional connection.”
“You’re shrinking me.”
“You’re making excuses for your erectile dysfunction. It’s fine. I have to get back to work anyway.”
“Take off your clothes.”
She plants her fists on her hips, eyes narrowed. “You take off my clothes.”
“I want you to do it.”
“I wanted you to save my house.”
“I wanted you to tell me your age eleven years ago.”
“Whatever. I’m not that easy.” She tucks her feet into her boots and turns to exit the trailer. “Hope your eyes feel better.”
The door clicks behind her.
I sit up and run my hands through my hair while chuckling. I want to fuck her and love her, hate her and forget about her, yet remember her until the day I die. None of it makes sense.
Shoving my feet into my boots, I press my fingers to the corners of my eyes. They’re still sore, but no longer blurry. Just as I stand, the door snaps open.
Everleigh stomps her boots into the trailer and kicks them off with another exasperated huff. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be a psychiatrist.” She unbuttons her flannel shirt. “My common sense has been obliterated by a fireman. When I’m with you, my IQ drops below a hundred.” Her words hold an angry edge as she shrugs off her shirt. “It’s fucking embarrassing,” she enunciates.
My gaze drops to her fingers as she unzips her jeans. With no sort of sexy fanfare, she peels them down her legs and kicks them off.
One sock.
Another sock.
I barely get my boots toed back off before she wedges herself between my legs, grabs my face, and then kisses me.