abdominal muscles, snapped a picture, and let the thing sit unsent on his phone for over an hour. The sickening feeling in his belly had held him back, just as the feeling had held him back from giving in to Cassidy’s desire that he propose. No amount of sexting or wishing was going to make him want to marry Cassidy.
There was something wrong with him that he wanted more than a perfect woman, that he couldn’t be content with the idea of Cassidy as his wife and the mother of his children, that he couldn’t see himself waking up next to her for the next fifty-plus years. He hadn’t lied when he’d told her they lacked physical passion. He just didn’t feel a spark. Hadn’t in so long he couldn’t recall if there ever had been a spark or if she’d so ideally matched his criteria of what he wanted in a woman that he’d just imagined electricity between them.
Thank God he’d had enough sense to only snap his midsection. No face and nothing below the waist. The worst thing that could happen was he could be reported for harassment and his picture could be a social media blunder sensation, right?
His phone buzzed again. Wincing, he opened the text that no doubt would blast him for his depravity. Deservedly so. Maybe he should just apologize and admit to having sent the message by accident.
By the way, I know this is you, Emily. What did you do? Download that application to make your number appear as someone else’s? I’m so onto you. No worries. You didn’t interrupt anything in this girl’s bedroom except sleep.
Whoever had gotten his text thought he was someone else. That was fortunate. He should let it go at that, not say or do anything more. So why was he texting back? Boredom? Curiosity? Insanity?
What would you like me to have interrupted?
Feeling an even bigger fool than when he’d realized he’d sent the message and to the wrong number, he wondered at the force within him that had directed his fingers to reply. He really was messed up in the head, perhaps just from fatigue, but he definitely wasn’t thinking straight. He closed his eyes and waited for about thirty seconds before his phone buzzed.
Ha. As if you don’t already know the answer to that.
Remind me.
Dr. Eli Randolph tied to my bed and at the mercy of my tongue.
Eli’s jaw dropped. His brows rose. He stared at the number. He wasn’t tired any more. He was curious. Who had he sexted? Why was he typing out another message, because this had to be some kind of joke.
What would you do to Dr. Randolph with your tongue?
He’d started typing “me” and had to change it to “Dr. Randolph.”
The same thing every other living breathing woman wants to do to that man with her tongue.
Eli doubted that most women would even give him the time of day much less have tongue fantasies about him, especially if they knew there was something wrong with him emotionally. Okay, so he was a decent guy—minus the wayward random sext message and lack of ability to take that final step in a relationship—he enjoyed exercise and sports to where he stayed in decent shape, worked hard to where he had financial security, and he lived a good life. All of which had inspired Cassidy to want to shop for rings, but no tongue fantasies for either of them. Lord, how long had it been since he’d even let his mind fantasize about a woman? Any woman? To just close his eyes and think about sex?
With Cassidy, he’d thought about how compatible they were, how well they got along, how they could have the perfect life together, how she’d pass along her good genes to his children, but he hadn’t been able to take the steps that would bring all those things to fruition. Just as he hadn’t thought about sex.
He was a man. He should have been thinking about sex at least occasionally. What was wrong with him?
Tell me.
Because, crazy as it was, he wanted to know. He wanted to think about sex, to feel normal, rather than somehow lacking for not being able to commit to an amazing woman like Cassidy.
Lick every pore on his scrumptious body until he screams my name in ecstasy.
Eli swallowed. This was crazy. He was crazy. He was thinking about sex now.
What name would that be?
You’re a little slow here, Em. He’d be screaming my name.
Which didn’t tell him anything. He stared at his phone screen and tried to figure out how to reply. Before he could decide his phone buzzed again.
The woman he needs to dump his perfect girlfriend for and whisk me away for a wild weekend of really hot S-E-X. Our bodies slick with sweat and gliding against each other. His mouth on me. My mouth on him. That’s what you should have interrupted. Not that I’d have answered your text had I been doing any of those things.
Eli gulped. He was not a guy who got off on this kind of thing. He was sure of it.
Dr. Randolph doesn’t have a girlfriend, he typed. They were no longer a couple even if she had sent him the unexpected sext message. He’d thought she was okay with their break-up, but maybe he’d been wrong. Regardless, he wouldn’t be changing his mind. That he couldn’t respond to her sext message, that he had sent his fumbled attempt to a stranger, that he was more stimulated by a text conversation with that stranger than his ex-girlfriend spoke volumes.
Which was crazy. For all he knew, he could be texting with an eighty-year-old granny. Or a man.
Now, there was a buzz killer of a thought.
No, the texter had implied she was female when she’d said it was the same thing every woman wanted and when she’d said “this girl’s bedroom.” He was texting with a female. A female around his age. He was sure of it.
Dr. Randolph and Dr. Qualls broke up? When? Why haven’t you told me this? What kind of best friend are you?
He should put his phone down and not text any more. He wasn’t a man who texted with women he didn’t know. Totally not cool and not his style. He’d broken things off with his perfect girlfriend and needed to figure out what was wrong with him, not become some weirdo who texted with strangers.
Or not with a stranger. This was someone who knew him and Cassidy. Who?
A couple of weeks ago, he responded. So maybe he was a weirdo who texted with strange women.
Em, if this is your idea of a joke, I’m going to kill you.
Why would this Em person joke about him and Cassidy having broken up?
Are you sure? I hadn’t heard that and you know how everyone at the hospital gossips.
He doubted many people knew about them having broken up. Not that he cared who knew, but he hadn’t advertised the fact around the hospital. His private life wasn’t his coworkers’ business. He doubted Cassidy had told many people either.
Positive.
They’d stay broken up. He’d truly believed Cassidy to be the woman he’d spend his life with. Maybe he just hadn’t been ready for marriage; maybe when the time was right, his expectations wouldn’t be so impossible. Maybe.
They’re still friends.
