Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“It’s okay, Ronan,” she says. “You don’t need to tell me right now.”
She takes our plates to the sink and then comes back a moment later.
“Hey, you can get prescriptions, right?”
“Aye,” I answer, relieved that I can actually do something she asks.
She pulls out a piece of paper from her pocket and hands it to me. I don’t recognize the name of what she’s scribbled down, and I worry that something might be wrong with her.
“Can you get me that?” she asks.
I nod, but already I’m making other plans. I don’t want anything happening to Sasha. So I’ll get her a prescription, but I’ll bring her a doctor too.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sasha
When I finish with my shower, Ronan shows me to the room where Conor stored all of my belongings. It’s strange, having them in his house. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to my apartment.
It’s a silly thought, but that dingy little box was the place where I grew up. The place where I had some of my best memories. I wonder if Ronan would take me back there one last time. Probably not. He says it isn’t safe, and I doubt he would understand the emotional connection I had to it.
As I knot my towel around my chest, I bend over to take a peek in one of the boxes that holds my clothes. But when I do, I notice Ronan’s dress shoes behind me in the doorway. I crane my neck to look at him and catch him staring at my ass.
I smile.
Sometimes he seems so unsure of himself, but right now he’s as close to a man as any other. He catches me staring and his eyes move to the blue thong dangling between my fingers.
“You should wear the black ones,” he says. “With the red bows.”
I’m pretty sure my mouth is open, but there’s nothing coming out of it. I don’t know whether to be flattered or think he’s totally nuts for knowing what all of my underthings look like.
“I’ll do that,” is the only thing I can think to say.
“The doctor will be here in ten minutes,” he adds.
His voice is back to being formal, and it makes me want to ask if he will ever feel comfortable around me. But before I get a chance, he disappears down the hallway.
I dress in a pair of yoga pants and an off the shoulder sweatshirt and braid my hair. It isn’t until I look in the mirror that I realize that though Ronan may not be comfortable with me, I am with him. He’s seen me in pretty sorry shape a few times now. I don’t feel the need to dress up to impress him. But a part of me does wonder how his hands would feel roaming over the tight material of my leggings and up beneath the loose material of the sweatshirt.
When I hear the front door shut, I walk down the hall and wonder if the doctor can prescribe me something for my obvious insanity. Because I seem to be forgetting that this situation is only temporary, and I don’t have the luxury of fantasizing about Ronan like that.
In the parlor, I stop and cover my mouth to stifle a laugh when I catch Ronan carting the Corgi up the stairs beneath his arm while she tries to lick at his face.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He sets her down at the top landing and smooths out his suit.
“Her legs are too wee for the stairs,” he explains as he points at the offending limbs. “She can’t get down them to go outside.”
I laugh and he stares at me in confusion.
“She’s got you wrapped around her little paws,” I tell him.
A knock sounds at the door, and Ronan is grateful for the interruption. On the other side is a female doctor which surprises and relieves me. I half expected the same guy that tended to Ronan after the fights to show up here.
“Sasha, I presume?” the doctor walks up the steps and holds out her hand.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Is there somewhere we can speak in private?” she asks.
I look at Ronan, and he’s already edging towards the door. “Conor’s just outside,” he says. “I’ll be back after.”
After what, he doesn’t say, but I presume it’s probably mafia business.
The doctor takes a seat on the sofa and pulls out a notepad with the name of birth control I requested scribbled on it. She goes through a whole host of routine questions about my health and dates of last exams and I’m suddenly grateful Ronan did leave. I don’t think he could have handled this part.
“Have you taken this medication before?” she asks.
“Yes,” I tell her.
“Okay and did you have any issues with it?”
“Not that I can remember.”
“Great, well unless you have any other questions for me, I’d be happy to write you a prescription.”