Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
So, I was a little taken aback by the priestly restraint Oliver showed me. In fact, he’d been withdrawn ever since I’d woken up from my comacussion (coma-concussion). Not exactly unfriendly … but reserved.
Maybe he’s worried for me.
Maybe this is all in my head.
I lifted a chunk of hair near my temple, observing the greenish bruise there. “I’m sure being back where I live is going to help me remember things.”
“Mmhmm.” Oliver drummed his long, elegant fingers over the steering wheel, looking at everything and anything, just not me.
I turned to smile at his profile. “Trio and Geezer are going to be so happy to see me.”
No response. Oliver’s hooded eyes remained trained on the road. With a small sigh, I popped the glove compartment open, taking a sip from my Stanley. As soon as I saw what waited for me inside, I proceeded to spray the water all over the windshield, choke-coughing for breath.
“Jesus,” Oliver growled, veering to the right as he shot me an alarmed look. A car behind us honked, bypassing us as the driver flipped us the finger. “You okay, Cuddlebug?”
“I don’t know. Am I?” I fished out the contents of the glove compartment, including a glow-in-the-dark dino-dick, a BDSM chastity belt, and a spiky dildo. “What the hell are you doing to me when we’re in bed?”
Oliver’s eyes broadened, and his impossibly sculpted cheekbones turned bright pink. “Nothing you don’t consent to, my little sex kitten.”
“I can’t recall any version of me that would enjoy a spiky dildo.”
“Well, it exists. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be here.”
I frowned. “This is … surprising.”
“Wait till you see your goat-shaped prostate massager collection.”
Oh my god.
This had to be work-related research. I worked as an intimacy coordinator, right?
“You might have to show me how to use it again. I definitely forgot.”
Oliver closed his eyes briefly, his mouth moving in a silent prayer.
I popped a brow up, stuffing our sex toys back into the glove compartment. “Why are you acting so weird?”
“Weird how?”
“You’re, I dunno … stiff.”
He choked the steering wheel to the point of white knuckles, rearranging his buns of steel on his seat. “My being stiff is usually a bonus for you, not a complaint.”
I ignored his very obvious erection, reading the speedometer. “And why are you driving at 30 miles per hour?”
“I’m trying to keep you safe.”
“By boring me to death?”
“Briar, I—”
“What happened to Cuddlebug?”
He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Nothing,” he finally answered. “Last we spoke, you didn’t want me using that nickname.”
“Wow.”
I’d grown to love that nickname. The fight the night of the accident must’ve been major. I hated the idea of being a bridezilla, but I had grown up fantasizing about marrying Oliver. There must’ve been a flower arrangement I couldn’t do without.
I changed the subject, not wanting to bring it up quite yet. “Do we have a big backyard?”
“Yes.” He frowned, eyes still on the road. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Well, you’re obviously in the doghouse, and I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.”
Still, I couldn’t quite believe I’d asked him not to call me Cuddlebug, and he’d taken the request seriously. Something was fishy about this entire thing, but I couldn’t pinpoint what. Contemplating the possibilities made my head feel like every failed drummer in the country currently resided inside it. Something had caused Oliver to feel uncomfortable around me, and I needed to find out what it was.
His phone rang in the central console. The ringtone danced between us. “Sleeping Beauty” by Tchaikovsky. Finally, something that reminded me of us. A string of nostalgia looped around my heart. It left as fast as it had come but doubt lingered. How could it not? Nostalgia is the heart’s way of holding on to what time can’t keep.
I swallowed the kernel of doubt, deciding to break the ice.
I jumped in my seat, slapping a hand to my heart. “HOLY SHIT.”
“What? What?” Ollie swerved over to the shoulder of the road and turned on his hazard lights, his eyes roaming my upper body in a panic. “What’s wrong?”
“Your tiny laptop can sing.” I pointed at the phone, covering my mouth with my whole palm. “Can it dance, too?”
“Can what dan …” he trailed off, staring at his phone between us.
His brows furrowed as he picked it up. Romeo’s name flashed on the screen.
Oliver dragged a hand over his mouth. “Oh, sweetheart. You don’t remember.” He reached to run a hand over my hair, sending goosebumps along my spine as he gently tucked a tendril of my bangs behind my ear. “It’s called an iPhone. A part of the smartphone family. It isn’t a laptop.”
“Can … it …” I bit on my lower lip, shooting worried glances between his phone and his face.
“What?” He leaned forward, angling the phone away from me like he thought its proximity might trigger another freak out. “Tell me.”