Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Wren is one of those people who never quite fits in. She’s too nerdy for the “cool” nurses at the practice and too intelligent for the vapid ones. She’s a homebody who seems both socially delayed and old before her time, spending most of her leisure hours hunched over her jewelry-making supplies. She’s the only one of my sister’s friends who doesn’t have a boyfriend, husband, or children.
Not that I’ve paid much attention, but I don’t think she’s been on a date in years. Several of them. On the rare occasions I’ve thought about Wren’s relationship status, I’ve assumed she would age into being an old maid, like her mother, albeit without the two kids from a failed marriage to raise all on her own.
With her red-framed glasses, oversized scrubs, and lack of a sex vibe, such an eventuality seemed like a forgone conclusion.
Then she stormed out of the club in that tiny dress, told me off, and started twerking at me, and the world turned upside down.
And now, I’m kissing her, and it’s the best kiss I can remember. Her arms are twined around my neck, her phenomenal ass is in my hands, and she’s nipping at my lips with her teeth in between seductive sweeps of her tongue against mine.
She’s fire, heat flooding my veins, and I’m…confused.
I’m also on the verge of getting a hard-on, and there’s no way she won’t feel it through the thin fabric of her dress. Which means I have to move away from the flame. Now.
I put Wren down so quickly that she stumbles in her high heeled boots. I reach a hand out to steady her, but she slaps it away with a huff. “What the heck was that?”
“What the heck was what?” I ask, fighting to keep my voice even and my cock under control. I can’t get a hard-on in front of an employee, let alone because of an employee. That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.
Not really. There’s nothing in the HR handbook expressly forbidding doctor/nurse relationships. And you aren’t at work right now…
Ignoring the inane inner voice, I continue, “It seemed like the best way to convince you to let me drive you home.”
She blinks, gives a shake of her head, then blinks again. “Kissing me?”
“Yes,” I say, fighting to look bored as I add, “The hypothesis was—if you were drunk enough to kiss me back, something you would never do when sober, then it follows that you are, in fact, intoxicated, and a danger to yourself and others if allowed to operate a motor vehicle.”
“The hypothesis,” she mutters, her brow furrowing and what looks like disappointment flickering in her gaze. “Kissing me was part of a scientific experiment?”
“Indeed.” I draw my shoulders back. “And I’d say the results are conclusive.” I hold out my hand, palm up. “Keys.”
She pulls in a deep breath, as if she’s gearing up to let me have it all over again, but after a beat, she exhales, deflating before my eyes. All the fire goes out of her as she reaches into her purse, pulls out her keys, and dumps them into my hand. “Fine. Drive me home. At least that way I won’t have to risk getting pecked in the backside by the other asshole in my life. Since Kyle’s afraid of you and all.”
Ignoring the jab, I say, “Have you considered naming the turkey may have been a mistake? It’s easier to put down animals without names.”
She narrows her eyes but doesn’t respond.
After a long beat, I motion toward where her SUV is parked a few spaces down. “Fine. Kyle it is and Kyle he’ll stay. After you.”
She turns and walks stiffly toward the vehicle. I pop the lock and move around to the passenger’s side to open her door, but when I follow behind her, she turns back to me, her finger aimed at my chest again. “No. You’re not opening the door for me. I don’t need false chivalry in my life, thank you.”
“It wouldn’t be false. I always open the door when I’m with a woman. You know that. I’ve opened the door for you at least a dozen times.” I pause, searching my memory bank. “I must have. I know we’ve driven places together before.”
Fresh sadness or disappointment or whatever it is that filled her gaze before fills it again. “But you don’t remember. You don’t remember opening my door or where we were driving together or what we talked about on the way.”
Bristling I say, “No, but neither do you. It’s impossible to remember every piece of small talk you’ve ever shared with a person. Especially a person you talk to almost every day.”
“Exactly,” she says. “You talk to me almost every day, but you don’t know me at all.”
I snort. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Say that word one more time tonight, and I’m going to run into the woods, howl at the moon, and hope a wolf pack swings by to adopt me,” she says, an intensity in the words that makes me reluctant to test her.