Her eyes go wide with gleeful horror. “Shit just got real. Continue.”
“It was so unprofessional. And rude. Annoying. Chauvinistic. Assholery—”
“One, that’s not a word.” I glare at her, and she grins. “Besides, it sounds hot as hell.”
“He dragged me down the street like a caveman and said—and I quote—‘If you open your pretty mouth and say one more word, I’ll find a way to shut you up.’”
“Correction.Superhot.” She’s practically panting. “What did you do?”
Grimacing, I shrug. “Called him an asshole, elbowed him in the stomach, and stomped on his foot.”
“Georgia!”
Yeah, that wasn’t my finest moment.
“What was I supposed to do, Abbs? I was working!”
Not really.
I’d just finished my research at the coffee shop, where I’ve been going daily to use their free Wi-Fi. The ambiance is quiet, but not too-quiet, and the coffee is safe for my stomach.
When I ran into Kade, I’d been on my way to check out the bookstore a few shops down, but after everything that happened, I rushed to my car and took off.
Wound up parked in front of Heart Springs Emergency Clinic, and spent an hour debating walking inside under the guise of my job, just so I could poke around and ask questions about past patients.
It was stupid—probably fifty shades of illegal—and only my growling stomach pulled me away before I made a choice I couldn’t take back.
“This is perfect.” Abby beams and claps her hands. “I love this for you so much.”
I groan, tip the box upside down, and start pulling apart the mass of gluten-free baking products to the sound of Abby planning my non-existent wedding.
Despite the midnight, alcohol-soaked decision that led me to finally pursuing Heart Springs after years of waffling, I did do my research—something I’ve learned to rely on ever since I was diagnosed with celiac disease.
There’s no cheat day. No “just a bite.” Just strict cross-contamination rules and a whole lot of label reading.
That’s why I had to pack all my dedicated products and supplies—the ones I’ve spent years, and way too much money, accumulating. This shit’s expensive.
“So, I’m thinking spring. Small, intimate. Say, a hundred people?”
“A hundred people isn’t intimate.” I cock a brow, watching her write something down. “Are you being serious?”
She cackles and lifts a notebook, showing me a full page of black-inked scribbles.
“Dude, we’ve only met twice! We don’t know each other. He’s rude, impatient, condescending, and he has no clue how to use his big boy words. I’m also ethically bound from being with him.”
“You said you’re only covering. You’ll be off the case soon.” She waggles her brows.
“Just because I’ll be off the case doesn’t make it okay,” I mutter. “There is no future for us, so pick a new dream to hang your tits on.”
“And yet,” she says, voice all sing-songy, “you’re still thinking about how it felt to have his hand over your mouth and his arm wrapped around your waist. Admit it.”
I freeze, a package of King Arthur flour clutched in one hand like a weapon. My cheeks burn so hot, I know she can see my guilt from across the room.
“I hate you.”
“You love me.” She bats her lashes. “Tell me, does he smell good?”
I swallow.Hard.
