Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
CHAPTER 35
LACHLAN
I caved. I’m a human being, goddamn it. I’ve been patient enough. I thought I was turned on before, but when everyone was gone, Lyla walked to the beginning of her fucked up obstacle course and set her timer. I watched her do the entire thing at record speed. She’d looked at the timer and nodded her head as if to say, “not bad.” I almost went out there to scoop her into my arms but I didn’t. I kept my hands to myself and helped her pick up what seemed like a thousand cones. I thought I wouldn't be as pent up by the time we finished putting everything away, but I was worse. All I could do was think about that little fucker Barlow. I didn’t even take his picture. I know he’s not a threat, but seeing her laugh with him was too much for me.
I stood outside, staring at the door, trying to convince myself to walk away, but I couldn’t. It’s physically impossible for me not to touch her. All day, I wanted to kiss, touch, claim, and make her remember how it feels between us. Honestly, I don’t even know who I’m torturing anymore — her or myself. I’m still angry, but when I see her do things that make her come alive, like running the obstacle course or interacting with the little kids from this morning, I just want to throw her over my shoulder, take her to the nearest surface, and devour her.
After the nudity this morning, and now this, I’m going to need an ice shower today. Regular cold temperatures won’t do it. I could’ve fucked her. I could still do it, but I’m not going to. I’m too angry right now, and it’s not part of the plan. She makes me lose all reason, but I hold onto my anger. She fucked me over. She left me.
“What now?” I ask when she finishes her Gatorade.
“I normally shower, but I’ll shower at home today.” She shuts her eyes and takes a breath. When she opens them, she asks, “Do you want me to show you around?”
“Sure.” I shrug. I’ve been dying to see this place.
I have to admit, this place is impressive as hell. Indoor pools, saunas, multiple gyms, and areas for doctors to work with patients. An X-ray machine. The list goes on. I personally think Lyla should be playing pro soccer, but I can see what attracted her to this career and this place. She guides me down a hallway and pushes the door at the end open, turning on the light as she steps out of the way so I can walk inside.
“This is my office,” she says.
“You have your own office?” My eyes widen.
“Yep. We get an office after six months,” she says.
It’s a good-sized space with a desk, three chairs, and a small bookshelf. No windows but Lyla doesn’t need shit like windows. She’d shut the blinds and never look outside anyway. I’m surprised she doesn’t have blinds on the glass partition with the view of the hallway that takes up half the wall. I take it in and picture her here. Does she dress in office attire? Scrubs? Fuck, I want her to dress in both and visit me at my office. She doesn’t have any personal items, only little owls on the bookshelf and a mason jar filled with colorful pens. There’s no display of her ribbons or her glass trophy. If you walk in here to have a conversation, you’d never really notice how bland it is, but I do. It’s the kind of office that you can pack up in under five minutes if you need to leave. Maybe Marissa’s right. Maybe Lyla’s pretending to be happy here. Fake it till you make it, right? Yeah, that hasn’t worked out very well for me.
I go around her desk and look up to see her standing by the door. She suddenly looks tense as fuck, like she’s trying to keep herself from moving. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her like this. Well, she was like this about the dildo, which I understand. But I can’t imagine she has one of those in her office.
“What, do you have a picture with that douchebag here?” I half-joke. If she does, I’m going to rip it. I should probably warn her.
“I have a picture with a douchebag,” she says in a bored tone and crosses her arms as she looks down the hall.
I’m not prepared for what I find when I step behind her desk. She has two unframed pictures taped to the bottom of her iMac. There’s no way to hide my shock when I see them. They have creases on them like they’ve been folded and unfolded — one of me in my Fairview Blaze uniform. I was probably skating up to her when she snapped it. The other one is of us sleeping on her couch, her head over my heart, my arms around her. I’ve never seen it before, but I assume Marissa took it. We look so fucking peaceful. So happy.