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 roll my eyes. “I never said he was dying. There was no slipping away like I had a curfew. And only one woman was a stranger. The others were acquaintances. And for the record, I had a beer every night, but not because I was desperate or an alcoholic, just because I enjoy having a beer. Guess what else I enjoy.”
The blood drains from her face.
“Everleigh, can I make an observation?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
She doesn’t answer.
“I think you hate being a doctor. I think you hate living your life for your father. That disgusted look on your face is actually envy. You wish you could have sex with strangers or mere acquaintances just because having an orgasm with a naked body grinding against you feels so fucking good. I bet the last time you had alcohol was the night we met in Stanford. And I bet the last time you had . . .” I bite my tongue before going too far.
She looks away and quickly wipes her eyes. I wonder if she cries with her patients.
“If you want to feel normal, then go make some fucking mistakes. Get a speeding ticket. Stop worrying about what other people think of you. Drop your panties for a stranger in the bathroom of a bar. Stop trying to live up to anyone else’s expectations. That’s normal. Or . . . it should be.”
She presses a hand to her neck as if there’s an invisible string of pearls to clutch. Her absent gaze lingers on the center of my chest for a few seconds before slowly lifting to my face. “I burned down my house and killed Marie Curie,” she murmurs.
“Yeah, don’t do that again. Let’s not normalize burning shit to the ground.”
She fights the grin that tries to steal across her lips, but I see it, the beautiful smile she gave me when we met eleven years ago. “Well”—she looks at her watch—“I need to book a hotel room before it gets any later. I’m . . .” Her brow furrows. “I’m glad you told Maren how you felt, and I’m glad you told me. Thank you. I’m truly sorry for not only missing the real reason behind your anger but also for not trying to imagine how it’s impacted you all these years.”
I stare at her hand as she offers it to me.
“Friends?” she asks.
“Friends?” I raise an eyebrow.
She shrugs. “Why not? Everything is out in the open. The healing can begin. And maybe things between us ended badly, but during the week leading up to the wedding, we were friends. The really good kind.”
I blink at her delicate hand, and I don’t know why I slide mine against it, but when I do, its warmth sparks those old memories. God, I used to love touching her.
Chapter Eight
Eleven years earlier . . .
It took forever to get the check, so I emptied the cash from my wallet, and we left the restaurant. Everleigh was hard to read. She seemed nervous and anxious. Willing, yet a little terrified. As we waited for our ride, I held her sweaty hands, fingers interlaced, while pulling her into me. She swallowed and squeezed my hands while gazing up at me with wide eyes.
“Thanks for dinner,” she said, her voice breathy and shaky.
“Are you nervous?” I squinted.
Her head bobbed in a way that I couldn’t tell if she was shaking it or nodding. “If you’re going to kill me, make it fast. Okay?”
I didn’t move. Not a blink or a breath for several seconds. Then I barked a laugh, throwing back my head. “You think I’m going to murder you?”
Everleigh curled her lips between her teeth either to hide her grin or control her quivering.
“Then why are we going back to your apartment?” I asked.
“In case you’re planning on kissing me instead of killing me.” She wrinkled her nose while giving me a goofy grin.
I released her hands and took a step backward, running my fingers through my hair. “Everleigh, you take the ride when it gets here. I’ll walk to my hotel.” My hands flopped to my side. “We just met. Skepticism is good. It’s safe. If it works out, we can meet up another night this week for dinner again. If it doesn’t, then I’ll see you at the rehearsal, and that’s cool too. It’s been fun.” I retreated another step as the ride pulled up to the curb.
She whipped her head to the left, looking at the car before turning toward me again. “Th-that’s it? You’re giving up that easily?”
I chuckled, shaking my head. “What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know. Maybe tell me you’re a sane, honorable man. Then kiss me or something like that. Because I’ve never been kissed by a tall fireman with a mustache. And now I won’t be able to sleep without knowing what that’s like.”