Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
"Any better?" I asked, unable to feel for a temperature when I was pressing something cold to her forehead.
I got a tight little nod from her at that.
"I think you were hallucinating a bit before," I explained. "You scared me," I added.
"Excuse..."
"Excuse for what?" I asked, brows knitting.
"Getting my clothes off," she said, shooting me a tired smile.
"You had fifty layers of clothes on," I said with a smirk.
"I feel like shit," she admitted.
"I gathered," I agreed.
"I'm a bad patient," she added.
"Big baby, huh?" I asked, folding the compress to get a cooler side to put on her forehead.
"I hate needing help."
"Tough shit," I said, getting a surprised snort out of her. "We all have to learn to accept help sometimes," I added. "I've needed to do it a lot lately."
"You lost your wife," she said, shrugging. "You have a son. I'm just me."
"And just you are really fucking sick, babe. You were something out of an exorcism movie back there," I added, getting a big smile out of her.
Which made me learn something new about her.
She had dimples.
Deep ones.
"Sounds hot," she decided, shaking her head at herself.
"It wasn't your finest moment," I agreed, getting one of those dimples with a lopsided smile.
"I probably should have mentioned that I spike wicked high fevers when I'm sick. I didn't think I'd get sick, though. I never get sick. I'm gonna make that kid of yours pay for doing this to me," she added, shaking her head. "Big bowls of broccoli for dinner or something."
"He likes broccoli."
"Freak," she declared, getting a laugh out of me. "He made me tea," she said, eyes soft, her hand going to her heart.
My damn traitorous eyes followed the movement, knowing it wasn't a good idea, but unable to stop myself regardless.
And there right under her hand was her soaked white tee clinging to her breast. The bath water must have been cooling off because her nipple was hardened against the material.
I had no fucking right to look, let alone have a reaction. But there was no denying the way my cock started to stiffen, reminding me how long it had been since I'd been with a woman.
Shit, I didn't even know when that was.
Things with Brit and I hadn't been physical in ages. And I hadn't been comfortable stepping out until the divorce was final, even though we'd both agreed it was fine. Don't ask, don't tell kinda thing.
It wasn't just the too-long unmet need, though. I knew myself well enough to tell genuine interest and superficial attraction apart.
I liked Alessa.
She wasn't someone I thought I would ever say that about. I guess I'd always gone for traditional feminine women in both dress and demeanor.
In all our years together, I'd only heard Brit utter a curse once or twice, and never one of the big ones. She'd also been a woman who had her hair and nails and brows done regularly, who enjoyed her makeup and perfume collections.
Alessa was, well, none of those things. I'd yet to see her in anything but utility pants or jeans and tees or sweatshirts. If she wore any makeup, it was subtle enough that it was impossible to tell. She smelled like soap, not perfume. She never wore her hair down. She kept her nails military-short and there wasn't any polish on them.
And, well, she cursed with the same reckless abandon that I did.
But regardless of how she didn't check the boxes I always thought added up to interest for me, there was no denying it.
I couldn't help but smile every time I walked in to find her trash-talking back and forth with my kid over a video game or board game or even a fucking Nerf fight.
I liked that when Avi wanted to go out to eat in the morning, she was five minutes from being out the door. No fuss.
I liked how that hard-as-nails exterior softened just ever so much when she was talking to Avi, or talking about him to me.
Like that sweet softness in her eyes over the fact that he'd made her tea.
"He was scared," I told her, forcing my gaze back up to her face.
"Scared?"
"That you were going to die," I told her.
"Oh, the poor guy."
"Yeah," I agreed. "He was teary about it. But I think the conversation about it made some progress with him being willing to talk about his Mom. He mentioned her a few times when talking about making you tea."
"That's good. He's mentioned her to me a few times too. Maybe if, you know, you talked about her more," she suggested.
"It feels... strange," I admitted.
"To talk about your wife?" she asked, brows knitting.
"It's not hard with adults who know that we were separated for ages, and heading toward a divorce, that we weren't actually together. But with Avi who didn't know that? I don't know what to say," I told her.