Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
They must have some ergonomic benefits. After an hour of waiting, my butt cheeks aren’t numb, and my back doesn’t hurt.
Another half an hour passes, and I wish I’d brought my earbuds. Not to resume the monster smut but to listen to some music or get a podcast going. Something educational and distracting. The place is surprisingly quiet, and there’s nothing to do except flip through the token fitness and health magazines on the table.
Twenty minutes later, the door finally cracks open. I shoot to my feet, even though it could be someone else. Ugh, skull emoji to my overzealous reaction. I can practically see Granny tittering away in my head. It makes me miss her and my parents a thousand times more. I need to get back home for a few days. It’s been too long, and video chat just isn’t cutting it. I need my family. Healthy interaction, cooking, laughter, board games, Granny’s inappropriate comments.
Meatloaf molded into horrific shapes.
The whole freaking deal.
My sigh vaporizes into the hushed atmosphere while my heart does a double kick, running laps in my chest when I realize it is Warrick. He looks much better. He’s also rubbing at his wrist, which makes me think he probably got an IV to get hydrated. I wonder if he got an anti-nausea shot.
He settles up at the front while I wait, and the receptionist flirts obscenely with him, all smiles and easy, perky laughter. She’s also wearing a black blouse that is unbuttoned by at least three buttons at the top, showcasing her marvelous breasts.
I’m not wildly jealous of her confident smiles, and I don’t find her laughter grating at all. Nope. Because that would be…ridiculous.
I’m just here to take my sick boss home. There was no one else to bring him, and short of calling an ambulance, he was not in any condition to drive.
Err, wait. Does he have a private driver? If he does, I don’t know about it, and it would have been silly, making them come all this way and exposing them to a nasty bug. I’m already living and working in the house. I’ll take the mumps if they come my way, but there’s no sense in getting someone else involved and—
Warrick is finished. He doesn’t even blink at the receptionist’s forward persistence or notice the way she waggles her fingers at him in the form of a goodbye.
Outside, he stops in the middle of the clinic’s neatly trimmed sidewalk so abruptly that I nearly rear-end him.
Shit. Now, I want to drop my eyes and actually take in his rear end. Totally wrong thing to do and absolutely the wrong time.
I focus hard on the grass. Thankfully, it actually has a lot going on. I have to do a double take to my left and then my right. What the ass? I’m ninety-two percent sure they have fake grass. It’s just way too perfect.
Warrick doesn’t say anything, but he’s not moving either. I tear my eyes away from the grass and focus on him in a safe way. Meaning his face, not his danger zones. Abs. Butt. Huge shoulders. Chiseled jawline. Muscles for days. That beard I shouldn’t like because I’ve never found facial hair the least bit enticing.
Fuck, the only safe zone pretty much belongs to the eyes, and I’m even having trouble with that because his eyes are nice. Really nice. Swoony nice.
“Are you okay?” Obviously not, genius.
He rubs his wrist absently. “According to all the tests, I’m fine. It really is just a bug. Blood sometimes happens if you’ve thrown up too many times, too hard.”
My insides go liquid with relief. “I’m glad that’s all it is. Sorry that I made you come,” I tack on, feeling like a total heel for overreacting. This poor man probably just got poked and prodded to kingdom fucking come because of me.
“The doctor agreed with you. It’s not something to be taken lightly. He did hydrate me and give me an anti-nausea injection, and I feel much better.”
I can’t help laughing. “I’m so sorry!” I slap my hand over my mouth. “It’s just, I was thinking exactly that. Maybe I was a doctor in my last life. I’m glad you’re feeling better.” I fish his keys out of my bag. “I’m still not letting you drive though.”
“That’s…yeah. Good idea. Better is a subjective word.”
“You look wonderful.” For the love of cat-shaped meatloaves. Foot, meet mouth. “I mean, I think what they gave you is working. You were pretty much waxy all the way here, and at the house, your skin had this horrible pallor. Did they give you something for the fever?”
“They did. It pretty much took care of the headache from hell I was rocking. The IV helped the dizziness, even if I hate them.”
“I do too.” I shudder at the thought of needles. I’m such a wimp when it comes to them.