: Chapter 17

I woke up in Daniel’s arms again, despite knowing for a fact that I’d resolved to sleep on the opposite side of the bed. My body just couldn’t help itself, could it? Not when he was warm and welcoming and safe and stabilized my mental breakdown. I was sprawled against his right side so shamelessly, my right leg draped over his leg, my hand on his chest, the bedspread at our waists.

I carefully grabbed my phone from the nightstand and turned off the alarm so it didn’t disturb this moment. Then I found myself returning to the scandalous draping of legs and arms over Daniel’s very toned body.

He rumbled beneath me. Was that…laughter?

“Too good to get up, huh?” he asked, his voice gravelly and so sexy. Did I just about orgasm from his mere voice, or his gentle caress over my arm, or how he slightly leaned into me so that my legs were perfectly positioned for him?

I bit my lip to keep from moaning and then cleared my throat. “I didn’t want the alarm to jolt you awake. Did you get any sleep?”

“Like old times. I was knocked out. So were you, by the sound of your snoring.”

“I don’t snore.”

“Don’t lie, now. You know you snore when you’re exhausted. You probably woke yourself up yesterday with your own snoring.”

Dang it! I had! “Snoring is a natural process for some people.”

He chuckled. We lay there. Didn’t move a muscle or anything. And I relaxed into him again. My eyes drifted closed and if I wasn’t careful, I might fall back asleep.

“Are you still playing the sex text joke on your friends?” he asked.

“Yeah. They’re just playing along.”

“Didn’t you say a picture in bed might persuade them?”

“I did, didn’t I?” I bit my lip and turned on my phone camera. In dark mode, it made for the perfect nighttime bedroom postsex picture. I angled it one way and then another, trying to get the right angle. “Ready?” I asked when I was satisfied.

“Yep.” Daniel closed his eyes like he was asleep and I took a few snaps.

“If that doesn’t convince Liya, then I don’t know what will.”

“Here. Try this.” He hooked his hand underneath my bent knee, the one already slightly draped over him, and pulled it higher.

I gasped at his touch, at the risqué and very open position, my gut spasming and my lady parts tingling with need. So much need.

The sound of his swallowing echoed through the room. His hand lingered on my leg as the inside of my thigh felt his readiness. I had to move, now.

But first, the perfect picture.

Crap. Was that a moan? Wait, was moaning, though?

“Thanks for the picture,” I muttered, breathless, and hurried out of bed, tripping over the entangled sheets around my waist. Oof! Face-plant.

“Are you okay? Did you fall?” Daniel asked in the semidark.

But there was enough light coming in through the blinds for him to know.

“I’m good!”

I gathered up my pride and went to the bathroom for my morning routine and to cool off. When I returned, Daniel was still in bed as I turned on the closet light and sifted through my clothes for the day’s attire. He had his arm over his eyes, the sheets below his waist. I chewed on my nails as my gaze lingered on those taut, bulging muscles wrapped in a tight shirt, and lower to…um…other bulging things.

It took every ounce of reasoning and good sense to not crawl on top of him. I dressed in no time and just before I was out the door, I studied our boudoir picture a little too hard and ran a finger over the image. It was just like the old days, but imaginary.

I sent it to the girls in our group text. They probably wouldn’t be awake for another couple of hours, but they were sure to freak out when they saw it.

And they did disappoint come seven o’clock in the morning. There were way too many exclamation marks and emojis to keep up with. I had to gloss over all the replies because these girls were putting more sultry images in my head.

How much longer did we have? Two more weeks until he moved out?

All right. I could do this. No more sexy pictures. No more stupid getting-it-on jokes. No more touching.

*  *  *

I decided to sleep in the physicians’ on-call room that night. I figured it was safer with the full moon overhead. Inconclusive scientific studies be damned; there wasn’t one L&D staff member who hadn’t seen the pull of the full moon send pregnant uteruses into chaos. But there was a lull around one in the morning after six deliveries in the past fourteen hours.

I sat on the bed with my textbooks and notebooks spread out in front of me. All of my infection research was ready, main points highlighted to be extracted during the presentation. My slide deck pattern had been meticulously chosen. Now. How to relay pages and pages of information into a few sentences and pictures per slide?

My phone pinged with a text.

: Hope you’re doing better today.

I smiled at the message and then scolded myself for feeling this happiness.

: Are you at work?

: Yeah. On call. What are you doing up so late?

: The guys and Brandy were over for pizza, drinks, and the football game. They hung around late, and I can’t sleep, so I did a little work. Still can’t sleep. Brandy was in charge of decorating my new place, so I at least got my credit card back from her before she puts me in debt.

: She had your card and free rein to use it? Too late.

: Dead. Have time for a bite?

: I can’t leave.

: I’m at the nurses’ station.

: Really?

I jumped off the bed and rushed out the door, down the short hallway to the nurses’ station, where I skidded to a stop. There was Daniel, leaning against the tall counter so that the fabric of his green T-shirt stretched across his biceps. When he saw me, he beamed, flashing those dimples, and lifted a plaid thermal tote. I cocked my chin to the side and smiled.

He met me past the nurses’ station as I led him back to the on-call room, closing the door after him, hoping no one noticed. He set the food on the desk and looked around. “This isn’t anything like .”

I laughed. “Yeah. There also aren’t a bunch of people getting laid in here.”

“That would be sort of gross.”

“Housekeeping does change the sheets every morning. At least there’s that.” I plopped onto the bed. “Thanks for the food. I’m starving.”

Daniel took out containers of cheese-stuffed pasta shells smothered in red sauce. “What are you working on?”

I took a container and inhaled the aromas of fresh Italian herbs and cheeses, my mouth watering. “My presentation on infectious disease. I wouldn’t look at anything if you’re faint of heart.”

“Ah.”

“I think this presentation might give me a much-needed edge to getting the job at my practice,” I said around a warm, gooey, tart bite. “This is so good.”

He sat across from me on the bed. “Thanks. Can I help with anything? I’m sort of a master presentation coordinator.”

I nodded, shoveling another bite into my mouth. “How can I make it the best, most memorable, knock-some-socks-off presentation? There’s so much information to relay, and slides are tiny.”

He laughed. “Where is this going to be presented?”

“Hospital auditorium.”

“So you’ll have a large screen to display?”

“Yes. Why?”

“That’ll determine colors, text size, and picture details. How long is your presentation?”

“Ten minutes.”

“I’d suggest breaking down the information into four major sections across fifteen slides.”

My mouth dropped. “Fifteen slides? Are you joking? I have at least fifty slides’ worth of information.”

Daniel watched me stoically. “Have you never given a slide presentation before in your life, or did no instructor critique you?” He took a big bite and waggled his brows.

“Okay, master presentation coordinator. Show me your ways.”

Daniel very patiently and thoroughly helped me prepare the presentation. Everything from condensing the information into a powerful, poignant ten minutes with a strong finish, to the right design and color of the slide deck, to content layout.

Hours later, he yawned and rubbed the corners of his eyes, gradually leaning farther and farther back against the pillows between us until he was lying beside me.

“It’s five in the morning, you party animal,” I announced quietly.

He shifted, lifting his head a few inches above my lap. He pointed at a photo on the fifth slide and mumbled, “That picture of whatever the hell infection is pixelated. You can’t use it.” And then dropped his head onto my lap.

“Daniel?” I asked.

He didn’t stir. He snored.

I went to carefully move him, but he had a heavy head. I didn’t mind. My fingers traveled over his hair and tugged at a short twist. His hair was longer than it had been in school, but just as attractive. My thumb grazed over his cheek and down to his lower lip.

His mouth twitched into a lopsided smile. “Is this turning into ?”

I sucked in a breath and patted his chest. “Oh my god…”