Page 36 of When You Left Me Speechless

I look back and forth between the two of them. My face must look lost because Pia chimes in. “Lacey and Gray are always getting scolded by Margaret for co-treating together. You know PT and OT just can’t stay away from each other.”

“Yeah and us speechies are always the third wheel,” Chloe says, pretending to pout.

I laugh and glance back at Lacey, who is shaking her head and taking a sip of her drink. “Chloe, I’m pretty sure I asked you to co-treat room 305 with me the other day and you told me you’d rather have room 406 run over your big toe with his wheelchair.” Lacey rolls her eyes and everyone at the table laughs.

“Well Margaret was in one of her moods and I didn’t want to get in trouble,” Chloe explains.

“Damn, are all you speech therapists such rule-followers?” Jasmine asks, looking directly at me.

Before I can say anything, Lacey answers for me.

“Yes, yes they are.” She gives me a knowing look. I shake my head and take a long sip of my French 75. The bubbles tickle my tongue and throat and I let my gaze land on Logan.

For the rest of dinner, I try to focus on getting to know the people I will be working with, but my gaze occasionally floats back to the man sitting in the middle of the restaurant. My stomach flips when he catches me looking. We steal glances from across the restaurant for the rest of the meal.

CHAPTER 23: DIRTY DAYDREAMS

POPPY

I’m standing in the doorway of Logan’s classroom, and he is sitting at his desk. His hair is perfectly messy. The top buttons of his shirt undone, and his sleeves rolled up, showing off his corded forearms.

School is over for the day, and no one else is around. We are completely alone.

He walks over to the door of the room, shuts it, and locks it before turning to face me. “Well?”

“I got it, babe,” I say.

He walks towards me, and for some reason, he is no longer wearing a shirt at all. He meets me at his desk, picksme up, and spins me around. “I knew you would get it.”

My legs wrap around his waist, and his mouth rushes to mine. He kisses me hard, causing me to let out a moan. The kiss is hot. Like really fucking hot. Our tongues twist, and I feel warmth between my thighs as I begin to rock into him. My hands are in his hair. He breathes out my name.

He moves us to his desk and sets me down, pressing a few more kisses down my neck. Without warning, he turns and shoves the contents of his desk to the floor in a single motion.

He picks me up and sets me on top. In an instant, he has menaked, and he’s hovering above me. His hands explore my body, and his mouth finds mine again. “God, I have wanted you for so long,” I hear him say.

I moan into his mouth, and then he?—

My alarm blares, and my eyes shoot open. I let out an annoyed sigh. I must have forgotten to turn it off last night.Shit.I look around and realize it was just a dream, and I’m laying in my bed, in my room, alone. I’m tangled in my comforter and am breathing heavily.

What the fuck was that?

I look at the clock on my bedside table. It’s 5:45 a.m. I beat the back of my head on my pillow and kick my feet. I have made a conscious effort not to think about him the entire break and then I ran into him last night at the restaurant. We didn’t speak, but Lacey definitely gave me shit for all of the stolen glances that were not so subtle during dinner. Now, I’m calling him babe and fucking him on his desk in my dreams.

I try not to overthink it. I’m sure it means nothing. It was just a dream. The product of my post-champagne hangover playing tricks on my mind.

I try to fall back asleep, but I can’t get the dream out of my head.

I’m definitely not wondering how the dream would have ended.

And I’m definitely not thinking about what it would feel like in real life.

Fuck.

I flip over and grab my vibrator from my nightstand drawer.

My interactionswith both real and dream Logan the past couple of weeks complicated things. I decided I needed to hash it out with Lace last night before I went back to Pecan Grove. One glass of wine quickly turned into three and I sleptthrough my alarm. I had to rush to get ready, which means I didn’t stop for coffee. I’m already regretting that decision, but I don’t like being late, so it wasn’t an option. I had ten minutes to throw my hair into a messy bun on top of my head and apply some mascara before racing out the door. I roll into the school parking lot with minutes to spare.

I barely make it through the morning groups. I am doing my best to entertain the kids and keep them engaged, but I’m fighting off yawns. It’s Monday, so that means I’m off to see Freddie and Logan at nine forty. Walking down the hall to his classroom, I wish I looked a little better. Between my hair and the bags under my eyes, it is apparent this morning has not been ideal.

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