Getting Real (Getting Some 3)

And then we talk. We kiss and cuddle. We discuss in more detail how she felt when she thought I was blowing her off and I describe the torture of my confusion when she seemed so pissed, but not really, and I couldn’t figure out which end was up.

Glad that’s fucking over.

Violet heads into the bathroom to take her contact lenses out and I ogle her shamelessly the whole time she’s out of bed.

Then we grow quiet. I press my nose to the nape of Violet’s neck, breathing her in, and she wraps her arms around my forearms, holding on tight. The rise and fall of her chest evens out and I think she drifts off—so when my phone alarm vibrates at half past midnight, I kiss her neck and scrape my teeth over her earlobe.

“Are you awake?”

Vi inhales deeply.

“Yes.”

I trace my finger up her bare arm because I love the smooth, soft feel of her skin and she wriggles her ass back against my dick . . . and that feels pretty awesome too.

“I have to go. I don’t like leaving the boys alone too late.”

“I figured you were going to say something like that.”

Violet turns over in my arms and kisses me slow and deep, running her hands gently through my hair.

“Will you call me tomorrow?”

“Definitely. Maybe we can grab lunch?”

“Lunch would be good.”

I throw my leg over her waist, keeping my weight off her as I climb off the bed. She takes her folded glasses from the nightstand and puts them on to watch me get dressed.

With my jeans on but open and my shirt hanging unbuttoned from my arms, I bend down and kiss Violet’s lips—brushing her hair back, with all the tenderness that’s currently crushing my ribcage.

“I had a great time tonight, in case that wasn’t perfectly clear.”

Her lips stretch into a smile.

“Me too.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Vi.”

“Okay. Good night Connor.”

But just as I reach the bedroom door, I make the mistake of glancing back to look at her—and like the power of Medusa, my dick turns to stone.

She’s not doing anything blatantly sensual—just lying back in that large, girly bed with those glasses on, wearing a pretty well-fucked expression and watching me with languorous eyes.

Her hair is dark as midnight in the low light—loose and wavy, splayed out in shiny strands against her skin and on the pillow all around her. The white comforter comes to her waist, but her right knee is bent, angled out invitingly, and the rosy buds of her nipples are high and tight—just begging to be sucked.

And I’m so tempted to rip this shirt right back over my head and pounce on her. To kiss her hard, stay the night. It would be so good.

But it’s only a pipe dream right now. A fantasy.

Because Dad-life calls and there are three great kids who need me at home. So I grip the doorknob behind me without turning around, so I can keep looking at her, and then I back out of Vi’s bedroom and out the front door.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Violet

“Sir, please don’t try to get up.”

For the next few weeks Connor and I continue to see each other. We go to the movies or out to dinner, and we come back to my house for long, sweaty, sex-filled hours. Sometimes we go jogging and have sex in the shower afterward.

Sometimes we skip the jogging and just go right to the sex.

“What’s your friend’s name?”

And I didn’t know sex could be like this. Playful and teasing, rough and dirty, tender and intimate. Sometimes all at once.

But always incredible. Always with an intense connection between us—drawing us together—before, during, and long after.

“What did he drink? Was it just alcohol or drugs too? You won’t get in trouble but I need to know.”

Sex is an amazing part of our relationship—but it’s not the only part. We talk too. Flirty conversations in the car and deep, naked ones in bed. We text about our day when our schedules don’t coincide—we joke and make each other smile.

Sometimes we don’t do anything at all. We hang out at my house—happy just being together.

“Run a line. Start him on fluids and pump the stomach.”

We . . . progress. Our relationship evolves, becoming steady and a part of our everyday lives. Our normal. I can feel it happening—not too fast, not too slow. The perfect pace.

Perfect for us.

“Whasshapenning? Wheremy? Hey, letgo. Letmego!”

At work, we keep a slightly more formal distance. I mean, everyone knows—we don’t hide anything—the people Connor and I work with are our friends. And what happens in Vegas might stay in Vegas but what happens in the ED gets told to everyone else in the ED. Plus we have to report the relationship to HR because, apparently, there was a lawsuit a few years before my time and now HR is scarred for life—so any time two people in the same department are dating, that’s what you have to do.