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“Leigh, you care way too much about what my dad thinks.” The corners of her lips stretch, stretch, stretch. What’s with her today? “In a month, we’ll be doing all the chores and paying all our bills. Let him spoil me by spoiling you.”
“He’s been spoiling you vicariously through me for years, Ry.”
“Seriously, it’s nothing.” She waves me off. “Let’s go out to the pool. It’s beautiful outside.”
She’s right. When I’m lounging in the sun, everything’s better.
“I’ll wait for you downstairs.” Rylan’s halfway out the door. She stops, turns, and leans her shoulder against the doorframe. “My goal is to get sixty laps in today and then we’ll hang out. Deal?”
“Deal.” I join her in the hallways, heading to the bathroom. “See you in a few.”
“See ya.” She races down the flight of stairs, light and carefree as ever.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m sliding open the glass door and stepping outside to join her.
I have a white summer dress over my white bikini. White-printed flip-flops on my feet. A towel under my arm. With sunscreen lathered on my skin, my oversized round sunglasses on, and my pink hair in a bun, I’m set for a lazy afternoon in the sun.
Then I remember yesterday and how I forgot to hydrate. I should go back inside the house and get both of us ice water. That, and the watermelon we cut into a container yesterday.
Dropping my towel on the nearest wicker lounge chair, I shimmy out of my dress and spin to go back inside—
“Oh!”
Marcus’s chest collides with mine. His voice engulfs me. Surrounds me. Sucking out every ounce of air in my lungs.
I nearly stumble back, but he’s quick to balance me by grabbing my shoulders. My bare shoulders.
He’s touching me. After yesterday…
Shame washes over me, hot and scalding. Except, he can’t know what happened last night. His eyes were closed. The Sleep Token playlist he had on had to have muted out my gasps.
I was quiet. Bit my inner cheek as hard as I could to suppress the screams that rose in my throat.
“Leighton.”
Even in a casual pale blue T-shirt and blue jeans, the man is painfully hot. His thick black hair is a bit ruffled, giving off these just-fucked vibes. His two-day-old scruff adds to his edgy look. He smells of sunshine and his virile cologne.
It’s an effort to stop myself from running my tongue along his neck. Huge effort.
“Hey.” He sounds warmer than the sun, despite his cold, assessing glare.
“I-I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Strong fingers rub my shoulders. I have to focus to realize it’s actually happening. It does, though. Wow. “You couldn’t have seen me coming, and—”
Oh, but I have.
“—I was the one who should’ve slowed down.”
“No, you’re good.” Even though I’m no longer in danger of tripping, Marcus doesn’t let go of my shoulders. The longer he’s holding onto me, the more comfortable I get. The more my stomach flutters. “Really good.”
That’s why he’s such a sought-after psychiatrist. The effect Dr. Kingston has on me with one look is staggering. From being a stumbling, mumbling mess, his smoldering eyes and composed tone have somehow put me back together again.
It’s unfortunate he’s the stuff my dirty dreams are made from. Otherwise, I might’ve considered going to see him. But that would open something worse than Pandora’s box. A can of motherfucking worms.
“Am I now?” The temperature climbs rapidly at the change of his voice. At how his nostrils flare. “You think I’m good, Leighton?”
I lick my bottom lip. Can’t help it.
