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)
But now that won’t happen.
We won’t ever make love again. I’ll never fall asleep in his arms or wake up to see his morning crazy hair or feel special because I’m the only one who gets to see Barrett sleepy and unkempt.
That fact—and all the house memories—haunted me all night, ensuring I didn’t sleep a wink. By the time I drag myself into the bathroom to shower around seven, I feel like death warmed over and look even worse.
“Ugh,” I say, wincing and holding a hand up to my reflection in the mirror.
As if the dark circles and red eyes aren’t enough, I’ve also sprouted a stress zit in the center of my forehead. I’m ugly in a way a shower probably won’t do much to fix, but at least I’ll be clean when whichever brother Barrett talks into taking over “get rid of my girlfriend” duty gets here at ten to help load the U-Haul.
I hope it’s not Wes. Wes is such a sweet, relentlessly happy guy. Seeing pity and sadness in his eyes will be so much worse than seeing it from Christian or Matty. Though I’d rather have Wes than Drew. Drew’s spent time with us as a couple, Drew knows exactly how deep my feelings run for Barrett and how much this hurts.
If it’s Drew, I’ll probably take one look in his eyes and start bawling.
Just thinking about it is enough to make my eyes water again.
In the shower, I lift my face, letting the warm spray wash the tears away. Then, I do my best to calm down and focus on what needs to get done first. I haven’t unpacked much of the jewelry area at all, so that will probably be easiest. And that way, I’ll have several boxes ready to go on the U-Haul while I throw my clothes back in a suitcase.
I’m so focused on my mental list; I apparently don’t hear the bathroom door open. One second, I’m mindlessly running soap under my armpits, the next the shower curtain pulls back behind me and I’m letting out an ear-piercing scream that would give the lady from Psycho a run for her money.
“Sorry!” a deep voice rumbles as I continue to scream.
I spin, shielding my breasts with my arms to see Barrett standing at the back of the tub and shield harder. “What are you doing? I don’t want you to see me naked right now.”
“Sorry,” he says again, his eyes instantly snapping shut. But he doesn’t move or shift the shower curtain back into place. “I thought maybe this would be a good surprise.”
“No, it’s not a good surprise,” I say, even as the wounded part of me raises her head, hoping he’s here to make things better between us. But can he? Can I let him? After how much he hurt me last night? “I mean, I’m glad you’re here, but not in the bathroom. What if I was doing something embarrassing in here?”
“Like what?” he asks, his eyes still closed. “I’m a doctor. Not much about the human body surprises or embarrasses me.”
“I’m not going to answer that question,” I say. “Because you’re never going to see those things or know that I do them. I’m going to maintain my aura of mystery.”
“Okay,” he says. “I like your aura of mystery. But…can we talk?”
“Right now?” I ask, washing the soap from under my arms.
“I’m afraid I’ll forget what I wanted to say if we wait,” he says. “I didn’t sleep at all last night and my head is a mess.”
“Mine, too,” I say. “I didn’t sleep, either.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You keep saying that.” I turn my back fully to the warm spray, twining my fingers into one joined fist at the center of my chest as I ask, “Does that mean you want to make up?”
“No,” he says, sending my stomach lurching down toward my knees, only to lift it back up again as he adds, “I want to make you a promise. A promise that I won’t ever let someone outside this relationship get in my head again. They haven’t earned the right to be there.”
“No, they haven’t,” I say, still too bruised by the past twelve hours to get too hopeful too soon.
“I also want to promise you that I’ll let you help me make up for what I lack,” he adds in a softer voice. “And that I’ll do the same for you, though I can’t think of anything you lack. As far as I can tell, you’re perfect.”
“I’m not perfect,” I say, tears gathering in my eyes again. “I’m a chicken in so many areas of my life. It’s not just watching scary movies. It’s helping patients deal with rough news and telling my mom I don’t like ceramic frogs and would like something else for Christmas and voting for what I really want for lunch on Fridays instead of what I know all the other nurses prefer.” I swipe water from my face and add, “And telling the guy I have a crush on that I like him instead of waiting around for years after his divorce, hoping he’ll notice me.”