Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Suzie stood and took her plate to the sink in silence. She turned to face me and slowly sauntered back to the table, resting her palms flat just a foot away from me. “When your next album drops, I promise to heap a ton of praise onto you the next time I see you.”
“I look forward to it.” No matter where I was in the world when that happened, I would make a trip back just to hear what Suzie thought. I was sure of that.
“I’ll just bet.” She scanned the kitchen in search of something, a frown on her face.
“What are you looking for?”
“Something sweet,” she said as her gaze bounced from the countertop to the bag of pretzels on top of her microwave and back to the uneaten pizza and wings.
“Why didn’t you say so? I’m right here.”
She laughed and pushed at my chest. “Hilarious.”
I took a step closer and wrapped my arms around Suzie, dropping kisses on the back of her neck. “I have something sweet you might enjoy.”
With surprise in her eyes, she turned in my arms. “I’m listening.”
“I made a stop to the bakery on my way to see you and I got this jar of butterscotch body paint.”
The words were hardly out of my mouth before Suzie tugged on my arm and dragged me up to her bedroom.
“Bedroom first, shower second?”
“Bedroom third?”
Suzie laughed and nodded, and then she started stripping down in front of me, making my mouth water and my cock hard. “Suzie.”
“Hmmm?”
“Neither of us will be quiet tonight.”
Heat flared in her eyes and then I pounced, ready to enjoy another night with her sweet curves pressed up against me. Days spent writing and nights spent talking and laughing and sexing a beautiful woman? What else could a man ask for?
Suzie
“Oh God, I’m dying. I am totally dying.”
Obviously, as a professional in the medical field I knew that I wasn’t actually dying, but I felt as though I might be. My skin was flushed with sweat, fever slightly elevated, and I couldn’t move without causing my stomach to lurch and flip. It was quite a disorienting feeling, having no control over my body. Suddenly, I knew what many of the patients at JRMC had gone through, losing sensation in their limbs, hit with cancer, having no control over the way their bodies functioned.
I now understood completely and made a mental note to call each and every one of those former patients and offer my sincerest apologies. Every move, every shift of my limbs made me feel ill, sent painful fireworks shooting off behind my eyes. I hated it, spending more than an hour in bed when I should have been dressed and already embedded in my office, checking emails and making sure each department had what they needed.
Instead, it was going on ten o’clock and here I was still in bed, eyes screwed shut, willing the sickness to go away or make my death quick and painless. Either way, I just needed it to stop.
But it didn’t.
When noon rolled around, I managed to peel myself off the uncomfortably damp sheets and step into a lukewarm shower without the room spinning. I dressed quickly, as if I could outrun the feeling of nausea and fever that had settled over me like squatters, taking up residence whether I wanted them there or not, in black leggings and a long-sleeved black T-shirt, the only splash of my color my yellow-rimmed eyeglasses. I didn’t look the part of capable hospital administrator, but a slightly incognito patient as I entered Jackson’s Ridge Medical Center.
Instead of stopping at Melanie Gibbons’—thankfully—empty desk, I rushed past it with my head down and went in search of Persy. I found her bent over her phone inside her office, a wide smile on her face that said she was chatting with Ryan.
“Hey, Persy, think you can fit me into your schedule for the day?”
She looked up as if she’d been caught sexting, cheeks pink and a sheepish smile on her face. “Yep. What’s up?”
She listened with a neutral expression as I listed my symptoms.
“It started as soon as I woke up this morning, or maybe it’s why I woke up. Either way, I feel terrible.”
Persy stood and put on her white coat like it was a cape that transformed her immediately into doctor mode. “Let’s go start with blood and urine tests and then I’ll get you into an exam room.”
I nodded, feeling slightly relieved now that I was doing something about the symptoms, but I couldn’t deny the worry that went through me. “I hope it’s not the flu because I just don’t have time for that right now. Though I suppose it could be exhaustion, I have been working a lot lately.”
Persy snorted a laugh. “When would ‘lately’ be, exactly? Have you even taken time off in the past two or three years?”