Page 114 of Summer with the Single Dad

She blinked at him. “I’m a lot right now. You’ve been so wonderful. So patient. I’m just going through a lot. I’m trying to reconcile my emotions and figure out what I want for this next stage of my life. I don’t expect you to hang around as I sort it out. You didn’t sign up for crazy. It’s only been a week.”

“You’re not crazy.”

“You haven’t entered the trailer. That tells me you still have reservations.”

“I assumed you left because you wanted space. I’m trying to respect that. But I didn’t want to leave things between us as tenuous as they were.”

Dear god, the man was perfect.

The perfect father. The perfect baker. The perfect lover. Was there anything wrong with him?

Now she was thinking about when the other shoe would drop. Because nobody was this perfect.

He had to have skeletons in a closet or some kind of weird quirk.

“I’m going to leave you with your thoughts and feelings tonight,” he went on. “I think you need to spend some uncomfortable time with them and do a bit more self-discovery. We’ve been all over you and that hasn’t allowed you to do what it is you came here to do. And that’s redefined your future.”

She swallowed past the hard lump of raw emotion at the back of her throat.

“In my opinion, I don’t think you’re finished with medicine. I think you need this break—this sabbatical—but I think choosing to leave medicine because you lost a patient and choked at the funfair, is something you will ultimately regret. Maybe switch to a new specialty, but don’t leave medicine.” He patted the metal side of the trailer. “I’ll see you bright and early for our run. I also look forward to your notes about the proposal. I’ve got tough skin, so don’t be gentle. Slash and burn, baby. Slash and burn.” He turned to go, but she lunged forward and reached for his hand. They were almost the same height now, with her up in the trailer and him standing on the ground outside.

Her lips found his with urgent ease and his hands rested on her hips as she kissed him fervently, coaxing his mouth open with her tongue.

She moaned softly, and he gripped her tighter.

Her arms rested on his shoulders, and they stood there, kissing in the fading light of the day as the crickets began to chirp, attempting to keep up with the already wild chorus of the frogs.

It was he who broke the kiss, and she stowed her mewl of sadness by clearing her throat instead. Her lips buzzed, and she touched them with her fingers as he stepped back, his lids at half-mast and a noticeable erection in his shorts. “Sleep well, Justine. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Then, before she could ask him to come inside and to bed with her, he headed for the front door of his house, leaving her standing there on the threshold of her trailer, sad, confused, and incredibly aroused.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Her four forty alarm was like muzak you hear when the bank puts you on hold. She barely stopped herself from throwing her phone clear across the trailer.

It was too early.

Her body wasn’t ready to get up and start moving.

Neither was her brain.

After Bennett left her bereft of pleasure last night, she decided to take matters into her own hands—literally. So, for the first time ever, Justine touched herself with the intent of giving herself an orgasm.

And she did.

After a very long time of working circles around her clit and feeling her labia swell beneath her fingertips. She probably could have gotten off a lot sooner, but shame kept creeping up and prohibiting her from reaching the pinnacle. Her wrist was sore and her fingers wrinkly like she’d sat too long in the bath, but by twelve forty-three she managed to achieve her first-ever, self-administered orgasm. And it was wonderful.

Of course, once she cracked the code on how to make it happen, she needed to test her findings and see if she could do it again—only faster.

And she did.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Sated, smiling and with the threat of carpal tunnel, she fell asleep sometime around two in the morning. So her four forty alarm was about as welcome as a toenail in an omelet.

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