One Moment Please (Wait With Me #3)(50)

“Um…I live here.”

She releases her legs and moves to sit up on her knees giving me a full view of her lush breasts nearly falling out of the top of her bra.

She clears her throat and tucks her hair behind her ears. “You’re usually not home on Saturdays.”

I frown at that response. “Sorry to disrupt your plans. But you still haven’t answered my question…what exactly are you doing?”

She smiles nervously as she adjusts her breasts back into her bra. “It’s prenatal yoga. That was called the happy baby pose.”

“Happy baby pose?” I shake my head, and my gaze caresses her head to toe, lingering on her exposed flesh. “Does happy baby pose have to be done in your underwear?”

She bites her lips and crosses her feet. “No…I just…I’m getting comfortable with my changing body.”

I blink at her.

“One of the baby books said that walking around with your belly exposed helps you feel more connected to your growing baby. They even said I should talk to the peanut out loud because they can hear sounds now.”

“Okay then.” I flinch slightly at the idea of her focusing so hard on the connection. If she’s expecting that kind of involvement from me, she’s going to be sorely disappointed. My eyes move from her when I notice then that the couch is moved a good ten feet from where it usually is.

“Did you move the sofa by yourself?” I ask, my tone clearly not pleased.

She stands and shrugs. “It slid on the hardwood, really easily.”

I shake my head, anger coursing through my veins at that. “Still, I would have moved it for you had you asked.”

She props her hands on her bare hips, and my eyes are practically forced to zero in on her curves. “I don’t need you to help me with every little thing. Dr. Lizzy said I wasn’t a delicate flower, Josh.”

Exhaling heavily, I try my best to temper my frustration. My anger’s easily distracted by her nearly naked body standing in front of me, all soft and luscious. Her belly is round and flawless…her hips wide and begging for my hands to squeeze. And her breasts seem to heave with every breath she takes, making the fact that I haven’t had sex in several weeks painfully obvious.

“Fine.” I jam a hand through my hair. My anger right now isn’t just about the furniture anyway. “Move whatever you want. But please put some fucking clothes on. I have neighbors.”

“Josh—”

“It’s been a long night. I’m going to bed,” I growl and turn on my heel, leaving Lynsey in the living room mostly naked and still as stunning as the day I met her.




Eight hours later, I wake with a raging fucking boner. Like I’m talking steel level hard here. I take an ice-cold shower, trying to wash away the sexual frustration coursing through my body. It’s also frustration in general. No matter how hard I try to control Lynsey, the girl just continues to fight me and makes things more difficult than they need to be. It’s infuriating.

Dressed in a pair of joggers and a white T-shirt, I head to the kitchen for a glass of water. It’s dark outside, and the only lights are a lamp and the TV in the living room.

Lynsey’s toes stick out over the armrest while I take a few long drinks from my glass. My jaw clenches with anxiety because I probably owe her an apology for snapping at her. Her doctor gave her the all-clear to be more physical, and I need to respect that.

Slowly, I make my way into the living room. She looks up from her phone long enough to notice me and drops her feet off the sofa so I can sit. Once seated, I grab her legs and place them on my lap so she can resume her position.

“I’m sorry for earlier,” I grind out, taking in her plaid pajama set with the lower buttons undone to reveal her belly. “I was tired from my shift, and you didn’t deserve to be scolded.”

She continues swiping at her phone. “It’s fine.”

I exhale heavily. Great, she’s punishing me with a mood. “Don’t you ever have a bad day at work?”

“No,” she says, still jabbing at her phone. “I actually love my job…unlike you.”

I frown at that remark. I’ve never told her I don’t like my job. I mean, it’s basically impossible to like. Shitty hours, shitty patients, overworked nurses, and not enough staff to get everything done properly. But she doesn’t know any of that.

“What makes you think I don’t like my job?” I ask, my brows furrowed as I watch her face glowing from her screen.

Her eyes slide to me, looking completely uninterested. “Because you’re miserable all the time.”

“I’m not miserable,” I snap.

“You’re not exactly cheery.” Her brows lift as she shrugs and keeps swiping.

“Not every human is meant to be cheery.” Why is she so goddamn interested in whatever is on her phone right now?

“How long have you been an ER doctor?” she asks, her eyes still not meeting mine.

I frown, wondering if she looked me up to see where I worked before. “Long enough,” I reply noncommittally.

“Too long,” she retorts, moving her phone to her other hand. “Anyone who looks like you on their way to work every day is in a rut, and you, Dr. Dick…are in a rut.”

“I told you I hate that nickname.”