Page 68 of Every Promise Broken

My heart is in my throat as I reach for the brush, dipping it into the bowl, and scooping out some cream. He’s completely still as I spread it along his neck, but I can feel his gaze on me with every move I make. Next, I set the brush down and grab the razor, dunking it in the water before bringing it up to his skin with steady hands.

Conrad has always preferred a straight razor to a disposable one. It’s something that’s made him seem more distinguished in my eyes.

The air thickens, electricity cracking between us with each brush of my fingers on his skin and every swipe of the blade. I’ve seemed to have forgotten how intimate this is, my skin on fire and my pulse racing the closer I get to finishing.

After I’m done, I clean him up with a warm rag, making sure to get every last speck of cream off his neck.

Conrad looks down at me as I set the rag off to the side, and I swear, my heart’s got a mind of its own right now. “Thank you,” he husks, the gravel in his tone sending a shiver down my spine.

“You’re welcome.”

The oxygen in the air evaporates as we continue staring at each other, the outside world vanishing. It’s just him and I, and every emotion in my chest that I’m not sure I’m ready to face yet but can’t help but lean into. Conrad lowers his head, lips barely brushing against mine as he breathes me in. My eyelids flutter closed, and my stomach flips as he kisses me soft and slow. Passionate. Tongue swiping along mine, he groans as he tastes me, and I revel in the feel of him. By the time he pulls back, my mind is hazy, and I want so much more, but I know we can’t.

I have to get to work.

“Have a good day,” he tells me as I jump down from the counter, trying to compose myself and steady my breathing.

“Th-thanks,” I stutter, catching his lip quirking as he watches me. “You too.”

“Shooter isready in room two for you, Dr. B,” Tasha murmurs, standing in the doorway to my office.

“Thanks, Tasha.”

I leave my office, making my way down the hall toward the patient room. Opening the door, I come face to face with my smiling friend and his brand-new puppy.

“What do we have here?” I murmur as I enter the room.

“This is Sophie,” Shooter beams like a proud dad, gesturing toward the tiny blue heeler puppy. “Isn’t she the cutest?”

Standing on the exam table, her ears still floppy because she hasn’t grown into them yet, she looks up at me with her tongue hanging out of her mouth. One of her eyes is surrounded by an all-black patch of fur, making the ice blue of her eye stand outeven better. “She is adorable,” I agree. “I’m glad to see you got a dog who can now terrorize you the same way you terrorize all of us.”

Shooter snorts. “Sophie is an angel. I don’t know what you’re talking about. And so am I.”

I breathe out a small chuckle as I get to work checking her out. “Right, keep telling yourself that. She may be an angel now because you just brought her home, but you just wait.”

“Haven’t talked to you in like a week,” he says after a few moments. “How’s married life treating you?”

My body flushes as I think about his question and remember the kiss we shared before work this morning. I don’t know how much of the situation I want to tell Shooter. Then again, his perspective may help.

Exhaling a breath, I glance over at him. “Things have gotten…interesting,” I murmur, knowing I don’t need to say much else for Shooter to put two and two together. I know I’m right when his eyes widen and a grin brightens his face.

“No fucking way,” he blurts out. “You guys are banging, aren’t you?”

“Jesus, Shooter,” I scoff. “Why do you have to say it like that? And can you keep your voice down? I work here you know.”

“I’m right, though, aren’t I?”

I can feel my cheeks heat; they’re probably bright red. “Yes, we have been…intimate, okay?”

“How are you feeling about that?” he asks, all humor gone from his tone.

I shrug pathetically, feeling entirely too vulnerable right now. “I don’t know. It feels good to be back in this place with Conrad again, but at the same time, I’m scared I’m going to get hurt again.”

This is much more vulnerable than feels comfortable, but it’s Shooter. He’s not going to judge me, and I need to tell somebody.

“That’s valid,” he offers.

Sophie walks between Shooter and I on the table, getting love from both of us, soaking it all in. She’s so little, she’s still got puppy breath, and I love it.

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