Read Online Between the Sheets by Molly O'Keefe - Free Book Online Page B

woman, the contained universe of her with her stern eyebrows and deep, unruffled quiet—she seemed like the kind of friend he needed right now. Or if not a friend, a surprising ally. An intriguing confidante.
    “Thank you,” he said.
    “For what?”
    He shrugged. “Listening.”
    “Well.” Her pale skin glowed pinker and he loved it. Loved that reaction. Loved that he’d somehow caused a ripple across her calm surface. “It’s … it’s no problem.” She opened the yellow file and took out a business card. “These are the therapists that I’ve worked with in the past. Dr. Osmond is my favorite. Kids respond very wellto her, but I’m sure she’ll put Casey on a waiting list. In fact, most of these counselors are going to put you on a waiting list. No one, unless it comes with a court order, is going to see you right away.”
    “Waiting list?” Damn it! He was drowning, and every single piece of floating wood that drifted by sank when he grabbed it.
    “Probably a month.”
    Ty wasn’t sure Casey had a month. Not at this rate. Suspension from school loomed and Ty didn’t have any tools to make sure it didn’t happen.
    Frustration boiled through him.
    But he said, “Thank you.” She handed him one of each of the cards from the files.
    “Please use my name when you call them,” she said. “I don’t know if it will help, but I doubt it would hurt.”
    She had this habit of catching the corner of her lower lip under her tooth. Just a little, just enough that she seemed somehow less … removed. Less cold. It made her seem doubtful or worried. Human. And he liked that. He liked it a lot.
    Because all of his wires were crossed these days, because nothing was as it had been or what he was used to, the sight of that full, pink lip caught under the edge of a perfect white tooth turned him on.
    She was a hot mix of stern and tolerant. Reserved and open. The humanity of her: of her tennis shoes and ponytail. The color-coded folders, that flower wall behind her that was somehow the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. The cling of her pants on her long legs, the way he had to work for her smiles but never had to work for her attention—it all joined forces against him and made him think of sex. With her.
    “I wish there were more I could do for you.”
    What he’d told her, he’d only told a few people. Counselors. A few friends. And suddenly this barn was themost intimate place he’d ever been. Which said probably way more about how sad his life was than the everyday magic of this barn.
    He was attracted to her because she was decent. Because she’d listened to him.
    Because the way she bit her lip made him think about sex.
    Because he was so damn frustrated with his life, he needed a release or someone was going to get hurt.
    He imagined her letting him in. All the way in. Opening her arms, kissing the anxiety from his head. The doubt and worry and fear. He imagined her letting him work out all his aggression inside of her willing body. He thought of causing more than just a ripple across her calm surface. He thought of her screaming under him. Sweaty and undone.
    The thought spread like spilled motor oil; thick and viscous, it covered everything in his brain. And he couldn’t think about anything but her.
    You could do that for me , he thought. You could help me forget just for a little bit that so much is at stake .
    That electrical current that traveled through his body, making him crazy, making him want to leap out of his skin half the time, it lit him up from the inside. Focused and hot, vicious and violent, it roared through him. He wanted to fuck all the ice from her, sort through all the different and surprising pieces, the sharp edges and hidden softness, until he got to the heart of her. The animal of her.
    He shifted in his chair, hiding his hard-on.
    “Mrs. Jordal says he doesn’t have many friends.” She pushed the edges of the blue file in front of her, to match up with the yellow file.