Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
What I wouldn’t give for one more night with her.
A sequel.
A grand finale.
My pulse kicks up every time I think of all the ways this could play out.
Running into Cooper should’ve scared me senseless, but now that I’ve had Stassi, now that I’ve had a taste—I want more. And that craving is overpowering any good sense I have.
Growing up, Cooper and Aidan used to give so much shit to any guy who so much as expressed an ounce of interest in their little sister. Dickhead Jonathan was the only one they let slip through, for reasons I’ll never understand.
Over the years, I watched them shove guys into lockers and trashcans, key their cars, or corner them in the bathroom, towering over them with menacing stares and profanity-laced threats. Hell, I even joined in a time or two—for reasons of my own. Mostly they were guys I’d caught checking Stassi out or talking like they had a chance in hell with her.
I’d like to think Aidan and Cooper are different now.
We’re all adults …
But I’ve been gone a long time.
While I’ve changed, I can’t know for sure if they have.
The nurses sneak glances at me as I walk to the locker room to hang up my white coat. There’s one in particular, Cherry—yeah, that’s her government name—who has been begging, giving me bedroom eyes since my first day here. She’s cute, giving me a dimpled grin as she takes her purse out of her locker and slips into an oversize pink puffer jacket with a white fur hood.
She’s cute.
But she doesn’t hold a candle to Stassi.
“Where are you off to now?” she asks me in a femme fatale voice that matches her sultry gaze.
“Off to sleep.” I yawn.
She chuckles through her nose, even though I wasn’t trying to be funny.
My bed and I have a date, one I’m really looking forward to. But I’ll forgo the sleep if I can convince Stassi to join me again.
“Same.” She sidles up to me. “Want some company?”
“You’d hate my bed. My mattress is on the floor. And I hog all the covers,” I say. “I toss and turn a lot, too. Sometimes I even talk in my sleep. I’m told it’s kind of creepy.”
“Oh.” Her coy expression fades. “We’re actually talking about sleep?”
“What else would we be talking about?” I play dumb. I easily could’ve flat-out turned her down, but since I’ll have to see her at work on a regular basis, I didn’t want to make things awkward.
During my residency, there was never a shortage of nurses and doctors throwing themselves at me. It was like Grey’s Anatomy, but in real life. But it didn’t matter how hot and heavy things got, Stassi was still the last thing I thought about every night and the first thing I thought about in the morning.
Since I left Stassi this morning, I’ve been thrilling over the image of her among the things in my apartment, wondering if my sheets smell like her … if she got that lock fixed … if she’s thinking about round two as much as I’ve been …
It may not be realistic, but I’ve even found myself fantasizing about coming home to her after my shift. She’s naked (or wearing nothing but one of my old medical school t-shirts) and waiting for the next round. I’m sure that scenario has a snowball’s chance in hell of coming true, but every time that thought plays in my mind, it sends a rush of blood between my legs.
Cherry watches me gather my things, hesitating on purpose I’m sure, like she’s waiting to walk out with me and hoping I change my mind.
I motion to the office. “I’ve got to talk to Burns before I head out.”
With an exasperated sigh, she tears off, leaving me alone by the lockers. The Burns thing was a lie; after this never-ending shift, the last thing I want to do is stick around here one second longer than I have to. I pull out my phone. If I’d been smart, I would’ve asked Stassi for her phone number. Then again, she’d have probably said no.
Right now, all I have is the app. Opening it, I navigate past all the messages from women who’ve matched with me, searching for a new message from Stassi.
Nothing …
Pulling up Stassi’s profile, I scan it for a little green circle next to her name—a sign that the user is online. But hers is grayed out. Underneath her profile are the words: Last active 2 days ago.
So she hasn’t been active since … the last time she messaged with me, before we met up at Houlihan’s, implying she isn’t even remotely interested in getting in touch with me again.
After all, I have a dozen messages on the app from beautiful women who want to sleep with me, a plethora of nurses fighting for my attention, and Cherry, who probably would’ve given me a blow job on the spot if I asked.