Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 103530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
“I know, I know.” I held up my hands. “I’m terrible. I’m a terrible friend.”
“What is it with the men in this family and their inability to keep their dicks in their pants?” She stubbed out her cigarette. “Too angry to smoke” wasn’t a good sign, but it wasn’t like she could punish me, anymore. She certainly couldn’t ground me if she wanted me out of the house.
“Why would you do that?” she went on. “Don’t answer. There won’t be a good one.”
I tried, anyway. “I liked her. I mean, I really, really liked her.”
“Oh good. Always nice to hear that my son isn’t out there fucking strange women he’s only lukewarm about,” she muttered under her breath.
“I shouldn’t have done it. And I’m being cowardly by not owning up to that to Scott.” When I heard it aloud, it sounded stupid. And selfish. I couldn’t coast off “recovering from a bear attack” forever.
“Then call him, for god’s sake. Grow up.” Her tone softened. “I’m worried about you. I know Brett hurt you more than you’re letting on. And I think you’re using this bear incident as an excuse to keep from moving forward.”
“Being attacked by a bear is an excellent excuse for almost every situation,” I countered.
“Call Scott. He’s been your best friend for twenty years. You did something hurtful. The least you could do is apologize.”
She was right. My mother was absolutely right. But that didn’t stop me from being cowardly.
I would call Scott. But there was another call I would make, first.
* * * *
(Charlotte)
I’d just gotten out of the shower when Matt called.
“I hate talking on the phone,” I reminded him, in lieu of a hello.
“And I hate not hearing your voice, so it seems we’re at an impasse, Mr. Bond.”
I was sure he could hear me rolling my eyes over the phone.
“What do you want?” I asked, tossing my towel aside on the way to my dresser.
He ignored my question. “What are you wearing?”
“Stop being a pervert,” I scolded him. “And if you must know, I’m naked.”
“Wow, I called right on time.” He paused. “Are you naked with someone and I’m interrupting?”
“Naked by myself. For non-sex reasons.” Not that our conversations, either by phone or text, had been all that sex-focused since we parted ways in the ER. It had taken him a lot longer to recover than anyone had anticipated. We’d talked a few times, but it had always been about his recuperation and how Scott was doing. We’d only recently gotten back into horny territory. “Took a shower.”
“Rub it in, why don’t you?”
“Rub one out to the thought of my soapy tits,” I countered.
“I will, now.”
“While I’ve got you here…” I opened the top drawer. “Maybe you could help me pick out which panties to wear.”
He half-groaned, half-laughed. “You’re killing me. Go to video.”
I caught my bottom lip between my teeth and smiled a giddy smile as I flipped the phone over and hit the camera icon.
I gasped aloud at how fucking good he looked. His dark hair had grown out recklessly, and an adorable curl flopped over his forehead. He was sitting in great light; it accentuated the contours of his face and the stubble on his square jaw.
He grinned at my reaction. “It’s good to see you, too, princess.”
I hoped the blush I felt didn’t show in my cheeks. I shouldn’t encourage the pet name, but it did something for me. Probably because his deep voice caressed the word the way it did. I bet he called every woman he fucked a princess. Still, he managed to make me feel like I was his princess.
“So, show me the panties I’m supposed to help you choose,” he said, and I turned the phone to face my drawer. “Look at that. They’re all neatly folded.”
I scanned the phone slowly back and forth over the rows of underpants. “Yeah, I worked at Victoria’s Secret. One of my many, many, many jobs.”
“Still at the dispensary?” he asked, without any of the judgement I would have felt from anyone else asking it. Over the weeks of his recovery, when there wasn’t anything particularly sexy to do, I’d told him about my new job and my hopes to stay there longer than any of the other places I’d worked.
“Yeah. I like it a lot.” I turned the phone back to face me. “Did you see an option you liked?”
“That depends.” He tapped his finger against his lips and pretended to think it over.
“On what?”
“On what you’re planning to do today,” he replied. “What you’re going to wear, where you plan to go, who you’ll see… I can’t imagine you’d want to get coffee with your pastor knowing you’re wearing something nasty down there.”
“No pastor,” I assured him. “I don’t do church.”
“And on second thought, you might be the type of girl who’d like to meet her pastor for coffee in crotchless lace.”