Page 128 of Darling Venom
“Reagan’s asking for you.” She pulled a wallet from her pocket. “I’m grabbing some coffee. Would you like a cup?”
“No, thanks.”
She placed a hand on mine, squeezing. “Thank you for getting her here and keeping her calm.”
I slipped inside the room after she left for the cafeteria. Reagan lay in a hospital bed, the upper half raised. A colony of wires decorated her body, leading to a machine that monitored her vitals.
I stopped at the foot of her bed. “Are you feeling better?”
“Much. The babies are okay, too.” A tired smile ghosted her lips. She reclined against the pillow. “It’s preeclampsia. They’re running more tests to triple-check, but that’s what it looks like. Dr. Marchetti gave me treatment options, assuring me that, regardless of which I choose, he’s confident about the outcome.”
“Do you need anything from me? I can grab you clothes or a go-bag if you have one.”
“My mom is stopping by my place to get it. She took my phone with her, since she wants me off it for the next few days.” She pressed a button, elevating her bed. There was a restlessness to her, like she didn’t want to sit still. Or couldn’t. “I need you to let the team know I may be unreachable for the next week or two, depending on whether we decide to perform a C-section or try other options first.”
“Of course.”
I jotted down Reagan’s instructions, including how she wanted us to divide her work for the next month. By the time I left, my legs were ready to give out, and I didn’t know whether I craved sleep or food more.
A cab pulled up in front of the hospital. I scanned the street one last time for signs of Tate before sliding into the car and rattling off my address.
Tate hadn’t seemed mad, just… I don’t know.
Rigid?
Strained?
I racked my brain, trying to remember the exact words I’d written in the letter. The dirty, cruel, scandalous things I’d only written because I thought he’d never read it.
And that was before the oops-gasm.
Before he offered no-strings-attached sex.
A few phrases bounced around in my head.
I settled on the last one.
The most horrifying one.
It seems you’re incapable of growing a pair and acting on your desires. So, I’ll be the bold one and tell you what I’m thinking.
Last night, when I touched myself, I imagined it was me you fucked on your desk. I think you did, too, that day, because you couldn’t keep your eyes off me while you were inside her.
Face it, Dr. Tatum Marchetti.
I am in front of you, around you, in your head.
And I’m here to stay.
I climbed the stairs to my apartment. The hall light flickered on and off. Contrary to his promise, our landlord had not changed the bulb.
Before me, a large shadow cast over the carpet.
Still.
Unmoving.
Waiting.
