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When he says that, my hackles rise and I immediately grow defensive. “She’s more than a pretty face, Pete,” I say a little too harshly. Actually, I downright growl.
The man’s steps falter. He trips over his own feet and nearly falls flat on his mug. I have to grab his arm to keep him from going down.
“Um, right,” he says quickly, all playfulness gone from his voice.
Look—I know how Karli feels about always getting dismissed because of her good looks. The woman is brilliant. She deserves credit for that. Her beauty notwithstanding.
“Okay, this is my stop.” Pete nods to the gravel driveway leading up to a modest brick house. “Got to start slow, right?” He chuckles.
“Yes, sir. Don’t want to overdo it.” I give him a salute. “Keep up the great work, Pete.”
We go our separate ways, and I head back home, realizing that I’m already behind schedule for getting to work. I’ve got to get ready quickly if I want to make it on time.
I get inside and jog straight upstairs, but right before I turn the handle to the bathroom door, I hear the water running from inside. My roomie’s in there.
Slightly annoyed, I huff. It’s not her turn to use the shower. Why’d she insist on making a bathroom schedule if she’s the one who never sticks to it?
My fingers hover over that doorknob.
Those visions of Karli’s naked body come back in full-force as I listen to the water run.
I could just walk inside there right now.
I could pin her up against the wet bathroom tile. I could watch the soap suds slicking down her soft skin. I could wrap her curvy thigh around my waist and bury my cock deep inside her hot pussy, right to the fucking hilt.
It’smybathroom rotation, after all. According to the treatysheinsisted on writing up.
I really want to just walk inside that bathroom right now.
My god. I’ve gotta get a grip.
I turn and head back downstairs and start whipping up an easy breakfast for myself. As I’m shuffling across the kitchen to flip on the coffee maker, I notice Karli’s lunch bag and purse on the counter, right next to that dog-eared medical journal she was reading last night.
As I’m standing at the counter, drinking my black coffee, my curiosity gets the better of me.
I pick up the journal and flip straight to the bookmarked page. It’s an article about alternative cures for headaches. I feel my eyes widen. I skim through it, noting how the pages are carefully highlighted and marked up.
I see ginger highlighted, asterisked and circled in red ink.A smile tugs at my lips as I recall the steaming hot cup of tea that my roomie had left sitting outside my bedroom door the other night.
Wait—has Karli been doing her own research to help me overcome my headaches?
I shake my head. That makes no sense. That woman pretends that she can’t stand me, but here she is researching my medical condition and secretly trying to help me?
I cannot figure her out.
I read on and another brightly highlighted section catches my full attention.
“Sexual Activity as an Effective Remedy Against Migraines and Cluster Headaches.”
Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.
This time, my eyebrows pop up to the ceiling. I find my eyes quickly darting to the paragraphs below that are underlined in blood red ink.
“Researchers at the University of Reyfield have confirmed that in the majority of studied patients, sexual activity has been shown to relieve moderate headache pain and is useful for regular stress relief and endorphin release—”
Before I can read on to the juicy stuff, Karli cluelessly strolls into the kitchen, her skin dewy and her wet black hair piled up on top of her head.
She greets me, offering an oblivious smile. “Hey.”
