Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
I also don’t want to think about Tony kissing me like he had every right to, like he knew me, like he knew what I needed in that moment even before I did. But the memory unfurls anyway, warm and dizzying and at odds with the icy ache in my fingers. His mouth on mine. His breath against my cheek. The firm, sure way his hands had curled into my hips like he had claimed me in one movement.
A shiver dances down my spine, but not from the cold. I’m old enough to know desire over butterflies any day of the week. The teenage giggles of a girl are gone and in its place is the woman inside me that knows what it is to feel a man, desire a man, and leave the emotions at the door. Tony brings out this need inside of me I haven’t felt in so long. Sex with Eric was good in the beginning. Then over time things shifted. He didn’t care about the buildup for me, he didn’t care if I got mine at all. For years sex has been this thing I did because that’s what married people do, but it wasn’t something that put a fire in my belly like that one single kiss with Tony did.
I groan and sit up, immediately regretting it as a spike of pain pulses between my shoulder blades. Sleeping in a car sucks. Sleeping in a car while freezing sucks even more. I try to stretch, but everything feels stiff, sore, tired. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the rearview mirror and wince.
“Perfect,” I mutter to myself. “Absolutely work-appropriate.”
My hair looks like it lost a fight with a squirrel. My eyes are red in a way concealer won’t fully fix. And my cheeks—still pink from cold—are blotchy.
I grab the travel pack of wipes I keep in my purse and scrub at my face until I feel vaguely human again. The heating vents groan when I start the car, and I sit there for a few minutes, letting the weak warmth finally seep into the cabin. I hold my hands over the vents, counting down the minutes until I absolutely have to start driving if I don’t want to walk into the dental office late.
Dr. Kline doesn’t tolerate tardiness from anyone.
He also hates anything resembling weakness, exhaustion, or personal emergencies, so there’s no way I’m telling him I slept in my car so I didn’t disturb the house or risk waking a potential stranger. Or that I didn’t even know if someone was still there. I also didn’t want it to show how worried I am. Eric doesn’t give up easily. The last thing I need is for him to come to my work and make a scene like at my house.
Nope. Today, I will put on the smile I’m paid to provide and pretend everything is normal.
Even though nothing feels normal.
Not the cold lingering under my skin.
Not the exhaustion humming through my blood.
And definitely not the memory of Tony’s lips—how they’d felt warm and steady and familiar in a way that terrifies me if I think too much about it.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thought, and pull out of the parking area near the trailhead. The steering wheel is still cold. My hands ache. My brain feels foggy. But I make the drive anyway, because the world doesn’t care that last night nearly cracked something open inside me. The world doesn’t care that I’m tired or scared or confused or that I haven’t had more than two hours of real sleep.
The world just expects me to show up.
After a stop at the gym for a shower, space to change into my scrubs, I make my way into the office. The lobby of Kline Dental smells like minty disinfectant and the faintest hint of burnt coffee. It’s too bright—everything is always too bright—and the fluorescent lights sting the moment I walk inside. The heater vents above the front desk hum loudly, and I stand under them for a second longer than necessary before walking to the staff room to drop off my purse.
“Morning, Holley!” comes a chirpy voice from behind me.
Of course. Of course Kendra, the world’s most aggressively enthusiastic hygienist, is already here.
I paste on the smile. “Morning.”
She gasps, dramatically and unnecessarily. “You look exhausted! Are you okay? Are you sick? Oh my gosh, are you getting’ sick? Should we disinfect something?”
She’s half-joking, half-not. That’s the thing with Kendra. She cares, but she cares loudly, in ways that make it seem like you’re an inconvenience for not being in peak physical and emotional shape at all times.
“I’m fine,” I lie, “Just didn’t sleep well.”
“Well, don’t give it to me.” She fans her face. “I have dinner plans tonight.”
I nod. “Not contagious.”