CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Sutton
“It’s all the mind-blowing sex you’re having.”
I glance up and grin at Callahan standing at the foot of the couch where I’m currently curled up in a blanket despite the gorgeous weather outside. “Oh, really?”
“Yep.” He takes a seat on its edge and pats my thigh. “You’ve exerted so much energy over the past few days that your body has caught a case of sex-itis.”
I snort despite my misery.
“I have sore muscles.”
“From all the new positions we’ve tried.”
“And a fever,” I add.
“I’ve always thought you were hot.” He shrugs unapologetically.
“And a sore throat.”
“Next time don’t take me so deep. I know I’m big.” He fights his grin. “I apologize if it’s stretched you too wide and your tonsils hate me.”
I roll my eyes. “I assure you that’s not it.”
“Any other symptoms I can diagnose?”
“Just general bleh. How are you going to diagnose that, smarty-pants?”
He brushes my hair off my forehead. “The general bleh is a manufactured symptom whereas the patient complains about malaise—”
“Malaise?” I lift my eyebrows. “I’m impressed.”
“You should be. But please, let me finish my diagnosis.” He leans over and presses a kiss to my forehead. “The complaints about malaise are simply a ruse because they are too embarrassed to admit that their man has more stamina than they do.”
“My man?” I laugh out.
“Yes. That would be me.”
“And the cure?”
“Dick.”
I burst out laughing. “So let me get this straight. The sickness is from too much dick and the cure is more dick?”
“Correct. That’s what all my schooling tells me.” He angles his head and studies me. “Seriously though, get some rest.”
“I feel like I should be there. Solomon—”
“Can be tricky, yes.” He nods. “But I assure you I’m not worried.”
“You sure? I mean—”
“Sutton. I’m a big boy. I’ve got it handled.”
“Okay. Yes. Tucking away my control freak tendencies as we speak.”
He tucks the blanket around my feet more. “Get some rest. I’ll report back with good news.”
I watch him grab his laptop and files full of papers and wonder how in the hell we went from meeting in a bar to this.
Like how is that possible?
I blow out a breath and snuggle deeper in the blanket, my head foggy (Callahan would say it’s because it’s filled with thoughts of dick), and my mind running over the whirlwind of the past few days since A.L.—After Ledger.
Because everything has changed since then.
Yes, we are still keeping things secretive and on the down-low, but there is no more purposeful avoidance when the other is at the villa.
There are sexy texts sent back and forth while I’m sitting at my desk and he’s in his office, and then later, strategically planned departures from said office.
There are late night “working” dinners delivered from The Cove to the villa so we can laugh and talk and tease out of sight of everyone else.
And there is a lack of sleep. So much sleep lost . . . but this girl definitely isn’t complaining.
Not at all.
But the clock is counting down, the days here are numbered, and as much as I’m trying not to think about it, I’m still thinking about it.
Stop it, Sutt.
No pity.
All party.