24. Chapter 24
Chapter 24
Caroline
W ell, that escalated quickly.
I don’t know what I intended to happen tonight, but it definitely wasn’t this. Or maybe it was, and I just wasn’t willing to admit it to myself.
Either way, I can’t say that I’m upset because I feel more relaxed than I have been in months.
After Weston came in my mouth, he didn’t pull away or make some crass comment. Instead, he gently lifted me to my feet and kissed me like he was trying to steal the breath from my lungs. It wasn’t teasing or playful—it was sensual and tender, like he never wanted it to end.
And neither did I.
At some point, we broke apart. Our foreheads rested against each other as he carried me to his bed. He wrapped me in his arms like I belonged there and softly asked if I was okay with everything that happened. I told him yes without hesitation, but my instincts whispered something else entirely—to get up, gather my things, and leave the second he stepped out to grab us water.
But I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.
Because I wanted to be there.I wanted to be with him.
Weston drags a few strands of hair over my shoulder, planting a kiss on my bare back. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Normally, a question like that would make me tense up and change the subject, but I find myself relaxing into his arms.
“Talk about what?”
My voice sounds sleepy, but really, I’m just satiated in a way that I haven’t ever experienced before.
Weston’s fingers gently stroke my forearm, so different from the rough way he handled me earlier tonight. “Anything. We can talk about anything, Caroline.”
The list of things that I probably should talk about with him is growing longer by the minute, but I decide to start with the one that’s the easiest to explain.
“I’m going to fail.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I feel like I can breathe easier. Like admitting it will make it easier to process when the day eventually comes.
Weston’s chest starts to rise and fall rapidly behind me, and I swear I hear the sound of stifled laughter. I have no idea what could possibly be funny about failure, and his lack of sincerity makes a prickle of irritation run down my spine.
I’ve never said those words out loud, let alone allowed my confidence to falter in front of anyone. And when I finally do—when I finally trust someone—their immediate response is to laugh?
I twist out of his arms and sit up, brushing my hair out of my face to make sure I’m not jumping to conclusions.
Sure enough, Weston is covering his mouth with his fist, looking thoroughly amused.
“What?” I snap as I debate smothering him with the pillow wedged beneath his head.
Weston adjusts himself so that he’s leaning on his hand, giving me an annoyingly infectious grin. “You’re not going to fail.”
He says it so matter-of-factly, like he has no doubt in his mind.
When I don’t immediately respond, he reaches out to rest his hand on my knee reassuringly. “Why would you think that, Caroline?”
“I don’t know,” I groan, tilting my head up to the dark-paneled ceiling. “Maybe because I barely passed the practice test I took today. And I guessed on, like, half of them, so imagine how much worse it could have been.”
Sometimes it feels like medical school is always one step forward and two steps back. Just when I think I’m doing well, I get knocked back down again.
It’s exhausting.
“Or,” Weston drawls as he slowly traces lines over my skin. “Imagine how much better it could have been. It’s all about perspective.”
I let out a hot huff of air because that’s easier said than done.
“Right.” I swallow, lowering my gaze to meet his.
“Listen, those practice tests are bullshit. I failed all of them and still passed my exam.”
He chuckles and waves his hand like he’s showing off his body. “And look at me now. A big hotshot doctor . . . just like you’re going to be.”
My eyes roll instinctively, but before I can get a jab in, he continues, “Plus, your exam isn’t until, when? The day before Halloween? I guarantee you’re better off than everyone else.”
I feel my chest tighten.
I’m not surprised that he remembers the date of my exam when I only told him once. Because I’ve come to realize that if Weston Southerland is one thing, he’s intentional. With his time. With his attention. And with me.
And even though I want to thank him for believing in me, I blow off his compliment with a forced laugh. “You don’t know that.”
He wags a brow at me playfully, not taking my bait. “I’m a surgeon. I know everything.”
I scoff and reach for the pillow to playfully hit him, but he beats me to it and somehow tackles me to the bed before I have a chance to react. The laughter that comes out of me this time isn’t forced—it’s raw and real, just like the feelings I’m starting to have for this man.
***
I ’m watching a YouTube video on pathology at 2.5x speed while flipping through Anki flashcards when a text from Weston pings on my phone.
This isn’t funny.
Seconds later, a picture comes through that makes me smile.
The moment I saw the toddler push car at Niemans, I had to get it for Carter’s birthday. It matches his dad’s perfectly, and I knew without a doubt that Weston was going to hate it.
So obviously, I bought it right away.
Unfortunately, I completely forgot to bring it with me when I stopped by last night, so I found some time to drop it off as a surprise this afternoon while they were at the playoff baseball game with his family.
My smile widens as I type out a response because I know that Weston probably isn’t texting me about the gift—he’s talking about the card I left sitting on the seat, which said something about how this car came without airbags so he wouldn’t have to worry about bumming a ride from me ever again.
Note to self—men lose their sense of humor when they hit middle age.
I press send, having no regrets about the fact that my message is going to push his buttons.
Weston and I might have turned a corner last night, but that doesn’t mean that I’ve forgotten about the years he spent doing the same thing to me.
His reply comes through almost instantly.
Seriously? I’m thirty-two.
I wish I could see his expression right now. Is it amused and playful, like he is the majority of the time? Or is it stern and sexy, like he was last night?
My fingers fly over the keyboard, hoping for the latter.
Addendum to the note - some men never had a sense of humor to begin with.
His response is immediate, and it sends an anticipatory shudder up my spine even though I have no reason to react that way—we have no plans to see each other.
Keep it up, princess.
I read his message with the same tone that he used with me in his bedroom—the deliciously dominant one that had me gladly kneeling in front of him, literally drooling for more.
I’ve been letting my mind wander back to him throughout the day, but even when I try to focus on the ridiculously sexy hookup, I get caught up in the rest. It feels like something fundamental has shifted between us, and it shockingly doesn’t freak me out.
As I start trying to figure out a flirty text that doesn’t sound desperate, my phone rings.
“What are you doing?”Weston growls as I answer the call.
I glance at the clock on the bottom corner of my laptop—it’s six thirty. I really should be done studying for the day, but I could probably make it through another set of practice questions if I grab an Uncrustable and an Alani energy drink.
“Just going through some stuff,” I answer cryptically.
“Caroline.” Weston’s voice lowers a register. “Did we not talk about this?”
I snicker to myself because technically, words weren’t exchanged—articles were.
When I left Weston’s house this morning to go study, he reminded me that I needed to take breaks throughout the day. I blew him off, obviously, which resulted in a slew of texts with links to research on information retention and study time.
Snooze .
To be fair, I know that he’s right—I have been pushing myself a little too hard. But there’s an end in sight, and if I can just make it through the next several weeks, I’ll be in a much better spot. I know I will be.
“Relax.” I sigh as I roll my head in a circle to relieve the giant knot in my left shoulder. “I’m fine. I promise.”
I actually feel a lot better than I did yesterday. I’m reinvigorated because of him—because of the surprising amount of peace he brings me.
Weston clicks his tongue like he doesn’t believe me. “Don’t make me come over there and force you to take a break.”
“I’d like to see you try,” I shoot back, knowing he won’t do it.
He has responsibilities that he can’t ignore for me, even if he wants to. And I wouldn’t ask him to.
“I’m about to drop Carter at my parents’ house for the week. I’ll pick you up in thirty minutes.”
My stomach drops as I try to compute what he just said.
“What—”
I don’t get a chance to finish my thought because he interrupts me, his tone so intense that it sends a shiver down my spine. “Bring a bag. You’re staying with me this week.”