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But that’s ridiculous.
Caleb has never looked at me like that and he wouldn’t start now. He’s already got a harem of girls everywhere he goes.
And the fact that I’m thinking about how close our mouths are is just the delirium of being up all night setting in.
I need sleep.
“Um…I-I need sleep.” I look down at where my hand strokes him like I’m petting a cat. I snatch my hand away and take a step back, crossing my arms over my chest. “Those bruises are going to ache for a while. And they did a good job on the stitches. I can change the dressing for you if you’d like.”
“That’s nice, Doc Treadwell.” He pushes off the counter and closes the short distance between us, his stare intense, like he can see right through me.
“Now tell me why you’re here.”
CHAPTER2
Caleb
Olivia sighs and walks toward the living room.
I close my eyes against the wave of desire that nearly brought me to my knees.
On one hand, I’m relieved she walked away. The electricity that always runs at a hum between us is more intense right now than it ever has been.
On the other, I miss being near her when she walks away.
I’m in love with my best friend.
Like,she’s the only one who can calm me when I’m mad, andshe’s the first thing I think of when I wake up and the last thing I think of when I go to sleepkind of love.
I’ve been crazy about this woman since we were fifteen and I saw her filing papers at her uncle’s clinic after school. My mom and I had just moved to Madison Ridge and the doc needed to sign off on some forms for me. She was—hands down—prettier than any of the girls at my old school.
Back then, it was easy to shrug it off as nothing more than teenage hormones. She was hot, popular, and didn’t take any of my arrogant bullshit.
All these years later and she knows me better than I know myself. And she still doesn’t put up with my bullshit.
But she’s never seen me for more, and I value the friendship we have too much to fuck it up by professing feelings for her. She wouldn’t believe me anyway given my manwhore reputation.
I find her lying on my sofa, one arm flung over her eyes, her chest moving up and down in a steady rhythm. But she’s not sleeping; she’s trying to figure out what she wants to tell me.
She may have my number, but I also know how this woman works.
I gingerly sit on the ottoman in front of the sofa and poke her leg. “Talk, Treadwell.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Why are you so persistent about this?”
“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”
My brow furrows when she doesn’t give me a withering stare like she always does when I say that.
“Olivia.”
She blows out a breath and drops her arm. “Fine,” she says then sits up until we’re facing each other.
Her knees are between mine and it takes an effort to keep my eyes on hers.
