Page 17 of Sharing Shane

“I can hear you thinking,” Wyatt drawled. “Do you want to call Seth and double-check with him?”

Shane almost smiled. He should’ve known Wyatt would know where his head was. “No.”

“Do you agree that you need a break?”

Shane stifled a sigh. “Yes.”

“Do you think we can all be adults and maintain the healthy boundaries we’ve all agreed work for us?”

“I thought Seth was the lawyer.”

“Just answer the question, dickhead.”

Shane grinned. If Wyatt was calling him names, he was getting agitated. “Yes.”

“Then?”

“We’re sure this Veronica woman is cool with it?”

“Completely. She was there while Delia and I were talking. She doesn’t want the ex-boyfriend coming along, and she needs a warm body to fill the spot or she loses the vacation.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, and half of the resort fees. Which I’m more than happy to cover since this was my idea.”

“I can handle the money,” Shane told him.

“Is that yes?”

“It’s a yes,” Shane grumbled, then laughed at Wyatt’s loud cheer.

Wyatt dove for his phone. “I’m calling Delia back before you change your mind.”

“You do that.” Shane sat up. “I’m going to grab a shower.”

“Uh-uh.” Wyatt slapped a hand on Shane’s broad chest, holding him in place. “You stay put.”

Shane hid a smile. “For what?”

“For that.” Wyatt nodded at Shane’s dick. It had softened while they bickered, but was rapidly coming back to life.

“Don’t you have to go to work?”

“Nope. I switched my off day with Jane,” he said, referring to one of the other nurses on his floor. He raised the phone to his ear. “I want to fuck you this time, but first I want to suck that fat dick.”

“Well, then.” Shane stretched out on the bed. “Talk fast.”

Three

Veronica shuffled through the Detroit airport a week and a half later, tired and cranky and more than ready to get out of town. Derek hadn’t stopped calling every day, though she hadn’t listened to any of his messages. Delia had, on the off chance there was anything in them to worry about, and reported with a grin that when he’d found out she’d canceled his plane ticket, he’d called back three times to rant because her voicemail kept cutting him off.

She’d hoped by not engaging, he’d get the hint and go away, but it didn’t seem to be working.

She’d packed light for the trip, only toting a carry-on and her messenger bag, so she headed right for the security line and shuffled through with the rest of the bleary-eyed, early-morning passengers. The trip through security went quickly, even with having to be rescanned because she forgot to take her earbuds out of her pocket, and she was sitting on a bench putting her shoes back on when she heard her name.

She looked up and found herself staring at some guy’s belt. It was a nice belt, black leather with a plain silver buckle threaded through the loops of faded jeans. The plain black T-shirt tucked neatly into the waistband over a flat stomach was as generic as the belt and jeans, but the gold watch chain made her pause. Curious, because it was such an odd detail, she looked up.

Her fingers went lax on the ankle strap she was trying to fasten, and her mouth fell open. Wow.

---