Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Before she can say anything more, I jump in with, “Friends. We’re friends. We’re all friends.”
Do I sound like I’m covering something up or what? My stomach churns.
“Hey, Nova,” Hollis says easily, stepping in perhaps to save me. “Good to see you.”
I don’t know how they know each other, but Hollis is the type of person who knows everyone.
“Good to see you, Hollis,” she says, but her eyes are shrewd, curious still as she studies us, like we’re a math problem she’s determined to figure out.
“Can’t wait to see you at the big cross-town rival game in a couple weeks,” Hollis says. “We do plan to beat the Sea Dogs.”
Nova scoffs. “We’ll see about that.” Then to me, she says, “And we have lots to work on when you get back.”
Like I’m on a vacation when we’re all here. “I’ll be ready,” I say, upbeat, and so damn eager to impress her.
“Have fun with your friends,” she says, but her tone is a touch skeptical.
It’s one thing to be friends with your rivals. It’s entirely another to sleep with them. Three of them.
My neck prickles with worry. But that doesn’t mean I want to pursue a…foursome relationship.
I have enough on my plate, and I need to do what my father always taught me. Focus on what’s reliable—business and family. Not romance. Never romance.
When she’s out of earshot, Rhys is the first to turn to me. “Are you okay?”
“That was a very close call,” I say.
But for what? I don’t even know. I just feel off. Weird. Like I’ve done something wrong.
I really need to get my mind off it. I glance around, spotting the Tilt-A-Whirl at the edge of the festival grounds. “I haven’t ridden one of those in forever.”
“Let’s do it,” Gavin says, and we head over, then climb the steps and onto the ride, where I try to put that odd encounter behind me.
But three minutes later, when I step off the ride, I’m so dizzy I can barely walk. I can barely see straight. My skin is both cold and sweaty, my stomach churning. I don’t know which way is up.
I’m stumbling, and Rhys sets a hand on my shoulder. Gavin takes my other arm while Hollis leads us away from the crowds to a quiet bench on the outskirts of the festival where I sit and try to catch my breath.
It’s not working though. The world is still upside down. My head aches and I feel like I’m going to throw up, but nothing happens—nothing except this cold, clammy feeling that won’t leave me.
It looks like Gavin is tapping on his phone, but I can’t focus as he rattles off some instructions.
In seconds, Rhys is scooping me up and carrying me away from the festival.
45
NURSE DOG
Briar
“I’m fine,” I insist, even as the houses on both sides of the block sway toward me.
Rhys makes a soothing noise in his throat as he strides along the sidewalk, then says tenderly, “Of course you are.”
“I swear I am. You don’t have to carry me,” I say as he turns onto the block with the cottage. At least, I think that’s the cottage. Is the cottage sideways now?
“We’re almost there,” he says.
“I can make it the rest of the way.” Sure, my hands are still clammy. But you don’t walk with your hands, so I should be fine.
“I know you can. But I can also carry you.”
This is so embarrassing. I’m a capable woman. I can do things. I don’t need to be carried, but he hasn’t let me go the whole way. “I don’t mind,” I point out, then breathe in quickly once, twice.
Another time.
He cuts a glance down at me, a swoop of his midnight hair falling across his forehead, his brown eyes assessing. “Motion sickness is no joke, Briar. The guys should be back soon with Dramamine,” he says, since he sent Hollis and Gavin to the store in town.
I curl a hand tighter around his neck, tucking my face into his chest, my breath still short, the world still tilting, my skin still cold. “Did anyone see you carry me?” I whisper.
“Are you worried someone is going to figure out what’s going on?”
“No. That’s not it,” I say as he reaches the cottage and cuts through the yard.
“What is it, love?”
Love. I know he just says that because he’s English, but it’s so…mesmerizing. The way the word curls on his tongue, gusts past his lips, floats to my ear.
“I hate being sick,” I mutter.
He dips his face to my forehead, grazing me with a kiss. “Me too. I get it.”
“I just didn’t want anyone to see me like this. Like people I work with. Or might work with. That’s all.”
“I don’t think anyone did. I didn’t walk through the town square. I took some side streets through the neighborhoods. There weren’t too many people.”