Page 17 of Texting, Trouble & Touchdowns
Lucian: Or are you wondering when I’ll be letting you have my cock after you show me that you’re a good girl.
Olivia: Are you always this arrogant?
Lucian: Only when I’m right.
Lucian: And I am right, aren’t I? You’re thinking about it now. My hands on you. My mouth on you. My voice in your ear telling you exactly what I want to do to you.
Olivia: I think you need to take a cold shower.
Lucian: And I think you need to admit that if I were there right now, you would be begging me.
Lucian: You’d let me back you up against the counter, tilt your head back, let me slide my hands under that cute little shirt you’re probably wearing.
Olivia: You’re wrong.
Lucian: And yet, you’re still playing along. Wonder why that is?
Olivia: I’m trying to figure out if you’re certifiable and if I should have you committed, or just delusional.
Lucian: Nah, you love this. You love how I make you feel.
Lucian: I bet you’re pressing your thighs together right now, aren’t you? Trying to ignore how hot this is making you.
Olivia: I’m deleting this conversation.
Lucian: No, you’re not. You’ll read it again. Maybe later, in bed, when you think I won’t know.
Lucian: You’ll think about what it would feel like if I were there, whispering these words against your skin, my fingers tracing down, lower, lower?—
Olivia: We’re heading back home. I’ll drop Sarah at home before I head to work. And make sure you keep a closer eye on her.
Lucian: You’re no fun, Doc.
Olivia: Oh, I can be fun, just not with anyone.
Chapter Six
Olivia
When The Dream Is . . . Not What You Expected
There’s something truly poetic about chasing a lifelong dream, uprooting your life for it, and instantly realizing you may have made a terrible mistake.
Like, soul-crushing, gut-churning, hyperventilating-in-the-parking-lot levels of regret.
However, let’s rewind.
This was meant to be the beginning of something wonderful. I had everything planned out—acquire a charming old vet clinic in a quaint small town, win over the locals, and ultimately, finally, be my own boss.
Instead, I’m standing in my clinic, staring at a gurney with a missing wheel and a wall that may or may not be growing its own ecosystem. It’s like my new house and this clinic are competing for the biggest disaster, and honestly, it’s too close to call.
A groan climbs up my throat, and I press both hands to my face.
“It’s fine, Liv,” I say out loud. “Everything is fine.”
Except it’s not.
The air conditioning wheezes like it’s gasping for its last breath, the front desk computer is running on an operating system so ancient I wouldn’t be surprised if it were powered by a hamster on a wheel, and the retired vet who sold me this place conveniently forgot to mention that the entire back storage room floods whenever it rains.
