Page 175 of The Doctors Will See You Now

It’s no wonder I let him give me hickeys and fuck me stupid last night.

His mouth moved from my lips to my jaw to my neck, a slow, perfect path to get his warm breath to my ear. Goose bumps skated across my skin. “I thought last night was insanely amazing, too, Low. You were insanely amazing,” he whispered. “And just so you know, I’ve never given a woman hickeys before in my life. You’re a first.”

He pressed one last soft kiss to my still-wanting lips and then leaned back with a smirk. And before I could stop him, he snuck a quick spank to my bare ass and strode down the hall and toward the kitchen.

“Hey!” I shouted toward him, and he just chuckled.

“C’mon, feisty!” he called over his shoulder. “Let’s eat some pancakes!”

Normally, I’d do the opposite when someone was trying to boss me around. Normally, I’d be stubborn and tell him to shove his breakfast food up his ass.

But pancakes.

Blueberry pancakes.

Yes, I was just doing it for the blueberry pancakes. For distraction.

Too bad him making me breakfast, as it turns out, is an even bigger deal for him than letting me stay until morning.

My asshole mind really knew how to bury the lead.

I finished changing into my scrubs and tossing my shit into my locker before pulling my iPad out and connecting to the internet.

Like it was old hat, I went straight to Harlow’s column on the Gossip site with a click of my favorite bookmarks menu. I knew she’d published a new one today since that was the excuse she’d used when leaving my apartment right after pancakes yesterday morning.

It was all still a little weird to me, the fact that I’d cooked the pancakes in the first place, followed by her being the one to decide to leave. Normally, I was all for the escape act—actually, I was usually the one executing it—but the sex was never that good.

I wanted another round. Or twenty.

Still, I reminded myself. There’s time for that.

I was so used to cramming all of the sex I wanted into one day to avoid a commitment. But Harlow seemed even less eager to settle down than I was, so in this case, I could probably keep the fling going longer.

I waited with a smile on my face while the page finished loading, only to have it melt off nearly instantly.

Ryan Reynolds Sets More than Blake on Fire

Well, shit. I’d have thought this one would be about me for sure. I had her fucking claw marks on my back as evidence that I set her on fire.

Did I not do a good enough job? Were her hickeys already fading?

I hope not.

I didn’t really understand what had drawn me to mark her so thoroughly, but whatever it was, the urge wasn’t waning. If anything, the thought of them fading into oblivion made my collar feel tight and my chest feel heavy.

All of my unsubstantiated, unexpected frustration was cut short with a ping of my phone.

I pulled it out of my pocket, figuring it was a page from the floor, waiting for me to stop reading gossip articles and come to fucking work. But it wasn’t.

It was a text message from Pamela Lockhead—a woman I’d had sex with, sure, but not the one I’d been thinking about.

God, you really are a manwhore, my mind taunted as I tucked my iPad back inside my locker and focused on my phone.

Pamela: I got a meeting with the mayor for you.

My eyebrows shot nearly to my hairline with both surprise and excitement.

Me: Holy hell! Seriously? I think I might be in love with you.