Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Like Adam. That was the other reason I’d been rude. I exhaled hard, looking out across the turquoise ocean, counting waves while I admitted to myself that I was jealous. People like Adam, who found it so easy to explore their desires, confounded me. I always managed to overthink things to the point of clicking the app shut amid worries of encountering a patient or appearing silly. I knew on an academic level that my…interests weren’t wrong nor terribly uncommon, but somehow, I seemed to have a hard time turning the theoretical into reality.
Until Adam.
It wasn’t only the alcohol that had loosened my tongue. It was him. He made me want to explore. Made me want to say yes to his hookup offer and a whole lot more. I didn’t like how out of control he made me feel and how tempted I was to throw caution to the wind. Spontaneous bad decisions from here on out. I wished it were that simple.
As I made my way back to the trail, my phone buzzed. And for all my internal rationale that this was merely a thank-you gesture, my pulse still went thready and raced, tachycardiac for no reason other than Adam’s name floating across my lock screen.
We still on? Just checking before I clock out in a bit, he asked in a text.
We’re still on. I typed quickly, then wasn’t sure what to add. I didn’t want to sound too eager, but I also didn’t want to sound distant and clipped. His wounded expression when I’d trotted out my doctor-voice had made me feel like even more of a heel. I typed and erased several options that leaned too far toward flirtatious, finally settling on, Don’t want the ingredients to go to waste. I’m looking forward to the cooking project, but I can’t eat it all alone.
I can help with that. Adam’s reply came quickly with an emoji of a character with a knife and fork, ready to eat. See you soon.
My carotid artery continued to twitch, my whole body way too eager for this dinner. My brain was only too happy to supply naughty suggestions for other things Adam could help with. Still holding my phone, I wandered over to the hookup app I almost never opened and yet couldn’t bring myself to delete. My finger hovered over the icon. I was tempted to look up Adam, see exactly what kinky things he was into, torture myself that much more. But no. I pocketed the phone before I could give in to the urge. Resisting him was going to be hard enough as it was, and worse, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to try.
Seven
Adam
By Wednesday night, I still hadn’t figured out if this dinner thing was a date. Ramona would have laughed herself silly at the internal debates I was carrying on before heading to Quinn’s. Simply deciding to text him had required far more thought than I usually put into these things. Then I’d worried over whether to shower and change after work and show up “date-nice,” or whether fresh-from-work casual would be better.
“Adam. Wear the dress flannel,” I could hear Ramona tease because it wasn’t like my wardrobe held a lot of variety or like I regularly gave a fuck about my look.
In the end, I showered and dressed in a marginally newer shirt and jeans. And I had a bribe in the form of chocolate that would earn me points no matter the mood of the dinner. I arrived at his complex on time too. He seemed like the sort to appreciate punctuality.
“I brought you my mom’s famous brownies,” I said when Quinn opened the door to his condo. I offered him the packed-full plate. Luckily, Mom had accepted my request for extra brownies today, no questions asked.
“You brought dessert?” He looked all befuddled as he accepted the plate. Transferring it over was a nice cover for the way my body thrummed simply from being near him. He was rocking the hot-nerd thing again, with a T-shirt advertising Oregon’s lone medical school, and he smelled good. Expensive but not cloying. Forget the brownies. I wanted to eat him up.
“You like chocolate,” I reminded him, careful to not go too wolfish on him before I was even in the door. “And you swore off liquor, so I couldn’t bring you one of my custom liqueurs. It was brownies or venison.”
“Venison?” His expression shifted to alarm. Cute, the way his eyes popped open wide behind his glasses. And damn if I hadn’t had more than one idle thought about plucking those glasses off.
“I hunt.” I licked my lips, worried that he might be able to guess the direction of my thoughts and trying to stick to safe topics until I got a better read on what he was expecting here. “Mom taught me to never come empty-handed to a meal invite, so usually I’d bring a frozen roast or something for you, but I’ve never seen you eat anything other than chicken breast.”