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A sudden knock on my window has me jumping, and my phone slips between the seat and the center console.
My heart smashes against my sternum as I roll down the window, meeting the stare of a concerned police officer.
“You okay?” the officer asks, and I gulp loudly, feeling overheated and flushed.
“Yes, I apologize. I had an important call and had to pull over,” I explain. The officer eyes me suspiciously because I probably look high, like I just snorted a brick of cocaine.
“I’m a doctor,” I explain, my tone as even as it can be when I’m fucking breathless. “I’m on my way to see patients.”
I swear to god, if I get a ticket for this shit, Luke will be in so much fucking trouble. I’ll edge him so hard, he’ll cry.
But luckily, the officer lets me go after checking my license and registration, and I’m on my way to work, my phone still wedged impossibly between the seats.
I should burn it. Just douse it in lighter fluid and light a match because it’s caused me nothing but trouble. Ever since I gave Luke my number, he’s been turning me inside out.
But, of course, when I arrive at work, I frantically pry my phone free with trembling fingers, and when I click on the screen, my heart restarts.
Luke:What’s my punishment, Doc?
Oh, I’m not going to respond. I get a sick sense of glee, knowing he’s going to squirm all day over this, and then I spend every minute between patients thinking up ways to make him beg. Which only makes me hotter and hornier.
By the time I get home to an empty house, I’m agitated and frustrated. I need to get off again.
I’ll have to wait for Luke though, because I have plans.
So. Many. Plans.
I spend an hour going through all of my toys, cataloging each one, and spending way too much time thinking about what I’ll do with that ass of his.
But he doesn’t come home.
He doesn’t even text.
I wait for him, playing scales on the piano until my fingers ache, running around the block until my legs collapse.
Then I’m up until midnight, pacing.
I should text him and see where he is, see if he’s okay. But I resist, because that’s not what this is.
I don’t even like the guy.
Shit. That’s not true.
I like him too much.
Worry gnaws at me, and I sleep terribly, tossing and turning, my mind unable to shut off.
The next day, I’m a miserable cow. I’m exhausted and end up snapping at everyone. Amanda glares at me when I bite off her head for not moving fast enough. She just smacks her gum between her lips and clacks away on her computer. She’s not even looking at the screen though. She’s glowering at me. I have no idea how she does that. It’s creepy.
I move away from her and stare at my phone screen, and my stomach drops.
He still hasn’t contacted me.
Welding isn’t that dangerous, right? Is he okay? Or maybe this isn’t work-related at all. Maybe he grew tired of me. I’m not the easiest person to be around. I wouldn’t be surprised if he dumped me.
I’m completely dumpable.
My phone pings, and I grasp it so hard, I swear I hear it crack.
