Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“Three, if you count the guy who rolled his ankle at the lunch buffet.”
“Is it swollen?”
“No.” I lower my voice as I continue. “And between you and me, I saw him walking on it just fine to go raid the snack basket a few minutes ago.”
He nods, appreciating my candor. “Give him an ice pack and instructions to keep it elevated. If it’s not better by the morning, we can send him off for an x-ray. Who’s next?”
When I’m released from my post, I all but race back to the hotel room. I’m careening down the hall before I realize it and force myself to slow to a moseying walk. I hold my breath as I slide the key card over the door and then walk into the room, only to be disappointed when I find it’s empty. But it figures. It’s only a little past 5:00 p.m. Cole likely has to work late tonight.
It’s actually better this way, considering my first objective is to immediately strip off my clothes. After spending all day in the clinic, I feel like I need a full spray down in one of those military-grade airlock chambers, but I settle for a quick rinse in the shower. After, in my comfy towel, while I hum a little tune to myself, I pick out lounge clothes: a pair of sleep shorts and an old T-shirt I got from the time my parents took me to Yellowstone National Park when I was a teenager. It’s a little tight, and it exposes a teeny bit of my midriff, but it’s too soft to part with.
I toss everything onto the bed, and the moment—I mean, truly, let’s get an official in here to review the game footage—I drop my towel, the door to the hotel room opens.
I let out an involuntary shriek, and then I’m scrambling to pick the towel back up and cover all the important bits as fast as I can. Boobs are partly covered, vagina is . . . not so much.
“Hold on!”
It’s too late. Cole’s standing in the foyer as the door slams shut behind him. He looks like he’s been frozen in place, a statue of shock. Michelangelo’s David, only replace the weapon in his hand with two Styrofoam take-out containers.
The concept of turning around and averting his eyes doesn’t even occur to him. My naked body has rendered him absolutely senseless.
“Cole!” I snap.
And finally he stammers, “Uh, yeah, um . . .”
He whips around toward the door; then a second later, his forehead drops against it.
“Say you’re sorry,” I demand dryly.
“And what if I’m not?”
Of course he’s not. He just got the milk for free, no purchase necessary.
“How much did you see?”
“Most everything.”
I can hear the smile in his voice.
“Erase it.”
“It’s already been cataloged.” He double taps the side of his head with his finger. “I have a photographic memory for things I care about.”
“COLE.”
“Are you finished getting dressed yet?”
He makes like he’s going to turn around again, and I emit some kind of squawk that forces him back around toward the door.
I wrench my T-shirt over my head and then sigh. “There. Done.”
He turns and looks at me, and it’s like his brown eyes are equipped with x-ray vision. The layers of clothing mean nothing to him.
I throw up my hands. “This isn’t fair.”
“Want me to take off my pants? Even the score?”
I let out a laugh and shake my head, pointing to the take-out containers.
“For you?”
He walks into the room and holds them up. “For us.”
My greedy little mitts take the top container, and I bring it to my nose to inhale. “Thank god. I was too tired to stand in line for dinner, and I wanted to shower. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do . . .”
“I figured. Tough day in the clinic?”
I groan in agony just thinking about it. “You could say that . . . Dr. Missick is a saint as far as I’m concerned.”
He arches both brows. “You didn’t use to think that.”
I lift my chin. “I’ve had a change of heart.”
And not just about Dr. Missick . . .
I open the lid on the container to reveal a cheeseburger (smash style) and a heaping pile of thin-cut french fries. Hubba hubba.
“Ketchup?”
He tosses me two packets, and I catch them deftly.
Then we sit across from each other at the small table in the hotel room, and we eat. It’s civilized in a way we’ve never been before. When I run through my ketchup almost immediately (I need a dollop for every bite, obviously), Cole voluntarily gives me his spare pack without me even having to ask. It’s a far cry from my date with Blaze, where he couldn’t remember my name, oh and he was gay.
Not that this is a date.
I know that.
Cole knows that.