Page 19 of Dirty Pool

Silence echoed in the dark bedroom.

For all of five seconds.

Gabbie shook with her laughter as she turned her head on the bed, and eyed him over her shoulder. He was still trying to catch his fucking breath. “Can we do that again?”

Michel smirked. “Maybe.”

But hell yes.

They stayed like that for a bit, his cock still semi-hard inside of her still flexing pussy. Gabbie let out a soft exhale before asking, “Why do they call you doc?”

Michel groaned. “Most of them don’t know why they say it—they’ve just heard it, and ran with it.”

“But those who do know?”

“I just finished my first year of pre-med.”

Gabbie smiled a brilliant sight. “A doctor.”

“Someday, yeah.”

“Huh, I could see that. You’d look good in a lab coat.” Crazy woman, he thought, but he liked it. Her randomness kept him on his toes. She sighed another one of those happy sounds, and her ass wiggled against him. “Don’t leave as soon as you wake up; I make a mean breakfast.”

Michel wasn’t the type to even stay the night, but hell, if she asked … “Agreed, donna.”

FOUR

The smell of turkey bacon egg muffins baking in the stove had Gabbie’s stomach twisting with hunger. That was the thing about this disease of hers—very rarely did she get to a good place with her weight. She was either tipping the scales of too much, or too little. And when she was in the underweight category, like now, eating and making sure it was the right foods was almost constant.

Her entire day could sometimes revolve around what she was going to eat, when she was going to eat it, and recording everything about it from the calories to her sugars before and after eating. It was made harder when she had to go out to eat because everyone else wasn’t like her. They didn’t have to watch everything they put into their mouth because it wouldn’t send their sugars out of control like it did hers. Not to mention, not every place in town was exactly diabetic friendly.

It never ended.

Wiping her hands on a dishtowel to rid any remnants of the juices from the apples she’d cut up, she grabbed the glucose monitor she’d left on the counter the night before for easy access. Turning it on, the machine beeped as a score of zeroes for the day crossed the screen, ready to record the fifteen checks, at least, she would do throughout the day. Quickly, she scanned through the last three days of her testing to see if there was any pattern the device wanted her to know about that she should monitor.

Usually, it leveled out during her exercise periods—twice a day, once in the afternoon, and then again later in the evening when she was alone. She did a mixture of yoga, and HITT training with high intensity aerobics to counteract the amount of calories she had to consume daily, and added in a high protein and fiber diet to help, too.

She slipped one of the one-time use lancets from the bottom of the machine after she’d inserted a test strip into the top of the device, and pricked the tip of her finger. A good drop of blood came out, and she turned her face away as it still made her queasy after all these years, and placed the strip where it needed to go to do its thing for the machine.

A few seconds later, the machine beeped again.

Gabbie read the number.

A little high, she thought.

Not too high, but edging there. Getting a bit too close. She set the items aside on the counter. If her father was standing over her shoulder to see the number, he’d probably tell her to cut the apples from her breakfast, despite the high fiber content, and just go with the wheat toast, fake cocoa hummus, and turkey egg muffins.

She still needed the fiber, though.

And to go grocery shopping.

Something else she did way too often.

“You’re diabetic?”

Gabbie’s head snapped up fast, and she found a sleepy, but still quite sexy, looking Michel standing in the entryway of her kitchen. He hadn’t bothered to toss any clothes on, instead making due with his boxer-briefs from the night before. It allowed her a glorious view of the railroad path of abs leading down his stomach, and the way the band of his underwear rested on the hard cut V of his groin. The dark dusting of hair that led from his navel to under his shorts made her think what it might be like to drag her fingernails across his lower stomach as she sucked his cock.

And wow.