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Best Friend’s Boyfriend (Be My Boyfriend #2)
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Wrong. This was so wrong.
So, Dr. Nate Williamson kissed me like I’d never been kissed before.
God. That laugh. That smile. That dimple.
Hell…I should have asked him to stop.
I knew I wasn’t the woman meant for him,
My best friend was.
But then, he offered himself to me on a silver platter,
I touched, I tasted, I felt, I couldn’t deny myself anymore…
And all the reasons that I should have said no for,
Well…let’s just say ‘wrong started feeling so right.’
And now, my best friend knows my secret,
The one that’s going to be out in nine months.
She just doesn’t know who the father is!
What the hell did I land myself into?
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Fabric swirled around me. Chiffon and tulle, velvet and French lace. In sweet nudes and pastels and then vibrant, shocking crimson and chartreuse. It was a storm of color and texture and I was trapped in the middle of it.
I looked down, surprised to see my sharp, fabric shears held in the palm of my hand, and then I was surprised that I was surprised. I always had my tool kit on me, usually tied fashionably around my curvy waist in the black leather and tasseled bag I had made specifically for that purpose.
The fabric moved faster and faster, more violently as I lurched after it, scissors upraised as I tried to catch it, to cut it, but it was always just out of reach. Suddenly, it was tangled around my ankles, tripping me in my vintage lace up boots.
I tried to catch myself as I stumbled, desperately fighting to stay on my feet. Slashing at the fabric with the shears did nothing. The fabric wouldn’t be cut. It wouldn’t budge. If anything, it just drew tighter and tighter, winding around my wrists and pinning my arms to my sides.
Panic rose like bile in my throat and I could taste it, sour and awful as I tried to open my mouth and scream for help but there was no one else there. Just tons and tons of delicate fabrics, squeezing me to death. I was falling. Lights started to sparkle like fireworks in front of my eyes as the oxygen was slowly cut off from my brain.
“So…pretty.” I whispered hoarsely before falling into a pit of pitch black nothingness.
I woke up with a gasp, kicking violently at the thin material of the sheet that had gotten itself wrapped around my legs, trapping the entire lower half of my body.
“What the actual hell?” I asked out loud, my head throbbing painfully. I was surprised to find my throat sore and rough feeling as I tried to make sense of the room I was in.
It was floor to ceiling beige, and not the good kind of beige that can be paired with leather mules and a skin tight skirt and look chic as hell. It was the bad kind. The knock off, early nineties, tasteful pant suit with shoulder pads beige.
I wrinkled my nose at the offensive hue, continuing my inventory of the sparse space. Blinds covered the windows, making it impossible to tell what time it was. An oversized clock hung next to a placid painting of two ducks flying over a pond, proclaiming it was just after ten. Whether that was am or pm was a mystery to me. I was in a small, uncomfortable bed, with a tiny table next to it.
The beeping distracted me, and I glanced up to see a monitor with numbers flashing in bright red and green font overhead. There were tubes and wires sticking out everywhere, and my gaze followed one all the way down to the I.V. stuck in my arm.
Shock erupted inside me and my hand was reaching to pull out the IV before I even realized I was moving.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. We’ve already had to re-stick you twice because you kept pulling it out in your sleep. It’s going to leave some nasty bruises.”
I looked over in dumb surprise as the older woman walked towards me. She was in her mid-fifties, her gingerbread colored hair pulled up in a messy bun and wearing aqua green scrubs that did nothing for her.
“Where…What…?” I stopped myself, fully aware that I was making absolutely no sense and waited until I was once again capable of forming complete sentences. Besides, I could answer those first two myself. Where? A hospital. What? Me, confused, sore in all the wrong places, and bone tired in this awful hospital bed.
“Why am I here?” I asked as calmly as I could, resisting the urge to tug at the IV. I did not do well with needles. I settled for avoiding looking at where it was stuck into my arm, as if that would somehow make it less real.
The Nurse gave me a look over her oval shaped glasses before glancing at the chart that was hanging at the foot of the bed.
“You passed out, knocked your head pretty bad. A few bumps and bruises from the fall but nothing broken.” She said matter of factly before stepping over to take note of the numbers that still flashed on the screen above my head.
“Wait, I fell and knocked myself out?” I couldn’t remember any of that.
“No, you passed out from exhaustion, dehydration, and stress. You hit your head when you fell. No stitches needed but I’m sure you’ve got one hell of a goose eye.”
I reached up, my fingers gingerly touching the large bump on the back of my head. I winced, blinking away the tears of pain that threatened, focusing instead on getting answers. Because the nurse wasn’t making any sense at all.