Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96007 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96007 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
The first feeling hit me in the chest like a sledgehammer. All the more intense because I wasn’t expecting it. I should have been happy and elated for my friend. Instead, my heart closed in on itself with jealousy.
My mouth moved somehow, trying to force something out. “Congratulations, you guys,” I finally managed. “That’s amazing. Karen, if he ever gets out of line, I’ll whip him into shape. I’m serious. Ice cream any time of the night. If he doesn’t deliver, I’ll make sure he pays.”
She laughed as I’d intended. “Thanks, Callum.” She was too entranced with her husband, the father of her future child, to see the pain I was sure marred my face.
“All right. I’m off to bed,” Karen said pulling me out of my revelry. “You two girls don’t stay up too late gabbing.”
“Okay, honey. I’ll kick him out soon,” Reed agreed, winking my way to let me know he was joking.
“Good. You know I hate sleeping alone.” She leaned down with a smile before gently kissing him, his hand on her still-flat stomach. I felt more like a voyeur now than I ever had at the club.
I wanted what was in front of me. I wanted a wife. A family. A woman to carry my child. My chest ached with a strong desire for those things; my limbs were heavy from wanting to reach out and take them for my own. I just didn’t know how to get to them, waiting on the other side of the dark cloud holding me back. But I wanted them. And when I looked closely and imagined what I wanted, the faceless woman who set me at ease in my future began to take shape.
And all I could see was Oaklyn smiling up at me.
The image knocked the wind out of me. As Reed stared after his wife, I took a moment to collect myself. What the hell was I doing? Oaklyn was avoiding me, and I couldn’t stop imagining her in my future.
What was I doing?
I wanted to pull out my hair, distract myself from the flood of emotions she brought out in me. Pleasure, desire, want, happiness, panic, stress, hope. All of them at war within me. And the more they fought each other, the less control I felt.
I’d just finished my third deep breath as Reed turned back around. We didn’t talk much the rest of the night, just finished watching the game. Him with a contented smile on his face, and me staring blankly at the screen trying to come up with a plan to screw a tight lid back on my emotions.
By the time I pulled into my driveway, I knew what I had to do. I didn’t want to, but indifference was a safe emotion.
At least it had to be better than everything Oaklyn sparked inside of me.
19
Oaklyn
Slamming another drawer closed, I looked toward Dr. Pierce’s office, hoping he had heard, and it annoyed him. I refused to think of him as Callum. He’d made it clear this week that he was officially Dr. Pierce.
Abusing his power as my superior, if you asked me. It was the second night he’d kept me later than necessary. The whole office was deserted except for me and him. Every time we spoke, it was Miss Derringer with a distant voice. Lacking all emotion. What the hell had changed from the heated looks in class last week? Was he pissed that I’d refused to stay to talk to him? That I’d called out on Friday?
I’d just needed time to process, the whole situation clouding my mind. Then the entire time I’d worked at Voyeur over the weekend, I’d been looking for him. Constantly waiting for him to walk through the door, come to me and demand I take his request for another repeat. My heart had been erratic every minute I was there, worried that he’d come, more worried that he wouldn’t.
And he hadn’t.
Feeling that desire for him to come to me had cracked open a door to clarity. I wanted him to. For the first time I had a solid feeling of want. Not fear or indecisiveness but want. Want for him to walk through the door and stare at me the same way he had in class.
But he never came and clocking out on Sunday night had been depressing.
I hoped I’d have time to talk to him on Monday, that we would sit and have our lunch and figure it out. But he’d shut his door and told me I should go grab some lunch and be back in an hour. I’d stared at the wood between us with my jaw hanging open. When he finally opened the door again, it was to request I type up meeting notes.
“If you would, Miss. Derringer,” he’d said, gesturing to the papers on the corner of the desk without even bothering to look up from his work. As though those same fingers hadn’t been buried inside me, hadn’t made me come.