Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Sure, some of her past was clouded with a darkness I wasn’t yet privy to, but some of it sounded like one big adventure. Her family might not see her the way I do, but damn, she was one hell of a woman. She’d picked up three languages during her travels, not to mention stories upon stories about different cultures. She’d always been fascinated with the history of the world, and in between her string of mistake—as she liked to call them—she’d done her best to chase the dream she had when she was younger.
I admired her all the more for it, and while I loved the friendship we had found our way back to, I couldn’t stop thinking about our one-night agreement from last week.
“You’re not working me too hard,” she finally said, blowing out a breath.
“Are you taking too many shifts at Lyla’s?” I asked, more than ready to convince her to take a break. A light dusting of purple swept under her eyes that had my gut churning. She looked drained in a way I’d never seen before. Anne was the epitome of go-go-go, barely able to sit still, and today she looked like she was running on empty.
“No,” she said, visibly swallowing. An alarm buzzed on her watch, and something clicked behind her eyes. “Damn it.” She spun on her heels, heading back to the now empty training room, the new hires having just left after the long day.
I followed her, brow furrowed. “Anne,” I said, practically begged. “What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing,” she said, almost like she was trying to convince herself. She dug through her purse, but slumped against the desk like she’d been hit with a wave of dizziness.
“Whoa,” I said, instantly at her side. I slid an arm around her waist, shifting her into me so I could support her weight.
“Sorry,” she said, closing her eyes as she allowed me to hold her. “I forgot to take my medication,” she explained, sucking in a deep breath and spinning in my arms to dig in her bag again. “And I haven’t eaten much today. I just forgot on both counts.”
“And that affects you?” I asked. I’d done a little research on her condition after she’d told me about it on Thanksgiving, but liver damage wasn’t my expertise.
“Sometimes,” she said, shrugging as she popped a couple of pills in her mouth, grabbing her water bottle from the table and taking a drink. “The doctor said it’s to be expected.” She shifted against me, trying to wave me off, but I gently held her in place.
“Anne,” I said, scanning the tired lines of her face. “Can I help you? Send me your med schedule and I’ll set reminders in my phone too. And I’ll make sure I have better snacks here for you.” We had a small coffee station with an array of packaged snacks, but none of them were likely what she needed, I was now realizing. I’d bring in fruits, veggies, and some healthy carbs tomorrow. I’d read that lowering the sodium intake was helpful with liver damage too.
She smiled, some light coming back to her eyes, like the simple act of taking the medication had cleared some fog laying over them. Moving her hands over my chest, her fingers lingered there, and I couldn’t stop my dick from jumping at the simple touch.
One week.
It had been a week since I’d tasted her, touched her, but it felt like a lifetime. We’d agreed on one night, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
“You’re a cinnamon roll,” she said, grinning up at me. “You know that?”
“Um…thank you?” I posed it like a question, not exactly sure if that was a good thing or not.
A light laugh escaped her lips. “It’s a compliment,” she explained. “You’re always so sweet, so thoughtful with me.”
“It’s instinct when it comes to you,” I said, and she drew a little closer.
Dangerous.
This was incredibly dangerous.
We’d managed to stay professional and safe with each other all week, but here, holding her like this, it made me want to break every boundary we’d silently put in place. We couldn’t keep doing this to each other—crashing together when we were inevitably meant to be torn apart.
Right?
Sure, this week had felt like a new normal edged with a hope for more, but that was me living in a fantasy world. Her family would never accept me, and she deserved a life where she didn’t have to constantly choose between her family and her partner. A life that didn’t involve fighting her father at every single turn when it came to me.
And she was still healing, working through so many different things it would be selfish of me to even ask her to consider fighting for me.
“Do you want to have dinner tonight?” she asked, just like she’d done two other times this week on the nights she wasn’t working at Lyla’s.