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 take a drink of water, then shake my head. “Psychiatrists don’t make that kind of money.”
“But people who have VR-related patents can afford it,” Will says.
“What’s that?” Steffi asks.
“He’s talking about virtual reality. I’ve designed therapeutic programs for kids. But I don’t spend my patent money. It’s all being reinvested.”
Steffi sighs. “My son has found a genius.”
Will coughs and shakes his head. “N-no. I’ve not found anything. I know a genius. Found implies more. Like . . .”
“Finders keepers?” I ask, cocking my head to make him as uncomfortable as possible. I find with Will, I do the exact opposite of what my training tells me to do. I don’t want to be his doctor. I want to be the woman he can’t live without. Unfortunately, he’s made it clear that he can live just fine without me.
So why am I still in Montana acting like a lovestruck heroine instead of a brilliant doctor doing groundbreaking research in Maryland?
“Older men are overrated,” Steffi says, saving her son from answering me. “They get cancer. Wear diapers. And flirt with the first piece of saggy ass that waddles past them with a fancy walker.”
“Jesus, Mom.” Will wrinkles his nose.
It’s really hard to keep from laughing, but I’m skilled at controlling my reactions to everyone except William Landry.
Steffi sips her wine. I think she’s had one too many glasses.
“Your feelings matter,” I say. “And you’re lucky to have a family who gives you a safe space to express those feelings without judgment.”
Steffi relaxes and reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. “Will you marry my son?”
“Mom! I’m serious. Enough. No more wine. Maybe you should go to bed early. I’ll take care of the dinner mess.”
I bite back my grin and wink at her.
“You’re right. I’m exhausted.” She stands. “Do you drink coffee, Everleigh?”
I nod.
“Then I’ll see you back here in the morning for coffee. Good night.”
“Good night,” I say.
Will stands, giving her a hug and kiss on the cheek. “Love you,” he says.
We gather the dishes and take them into the kitchen. He sets out containers for the leftover food while I load the dishwasher.
“I regret inviting you here,” he says.
I giggle. “I know you do.”
“We’re a dead end.” He deposits the leftovers into the glass containers and snaps the lids onto them.
“We are,” I say.
“So why are you here?”
I run water in the sink and squirt dish soap into it. “You invited me.” He scoffs. “And I told you I’m here for your mom. A free place to stay. Excellent bison burgers. And I think I’ll add coffee with your delightful mother in the morning to the list of reasons. At this point, you’re just an afterthought.”
“I’m hurt.” He takes the spatula from me and dries it.
“Liar,” I say.
Thunk!
I drop the pan into the empty side of the sink when he swats my ass with the spatula. With a gasp, jaw on the floor, I stare at him through wide eyes while rubbing my ass. That stung.
“What the hell?”
He wipes the spatula again, as if he’s polishing it. Then, he slides it into the blue utensil crock next to the stove.
“That’s going to leave a mark.” I continue rubbing my butt.
“I hope so.”
“You jerk.” I turn on the faucet and click the spray nozzle, pointing it at him.
“What the fuck are you doing?” He grabs my wrist, turning his head to the side as the water sprays in his face and chest. “You’re making a mess.” He shuts off the water.
“You started it.” I grab a handful of suds and wipe them on his face.
“Stop.” He grabs my other wrist, restraining both hands between us.
“Don’t!” I giggle, closing my eyes and wrinkling my nose when he rubs his soapy face against mine.
His lips pass mine once.
I wriggle in his hold.
They pass me twice.
I stop wriggling. Will stills with his cheek pressed to mine. Then he slowly turns his head again, brushing his lips across mine for a third time, but this time he stops, and we kiss. He releases his hold on my wrists and slides his fingers along my neck like he always does until his fingertips brush my nape.
His lips leave mine, ghosting along my cheek to my ear. “Tell me you’re leaving tomorrow,” he whispers. “Then I can tear off your clothes now.”
My eyes drift shut because his touch intoxicates me. “If only,” I murmur.
“We should finish the dishes,” he mumbles between kisses while he works his way down my neck.
“Uh-huh,” I say, sliding my hands up the back of his shirt, curling my fingers into the thick muscles along his back.
“But it’s only Sunday. And I won’t want you here after we have sex.” He palms the back of my legs and lifts me off the floor.
“It’s only Sunday,” I echo, not really registering what he’s saying or what it means as he carries me to the bedroom.