Page 16 of Dr. Attending

The 8:00 a.m. library wake-up call is going to hurt like a bitch.

“Not true,” Morgan counters. “It’s because you’re the most gorgeous runway model I’ve ever met.”

“Prettyandtall. Got it.” I roll my eyes. “Truly legendary debate skills you’ve got there, Morg.”

Her foot kicks at my shin under the table, and I instinctively retaliate by stomping on her toes with the heel of my Veronica Beard wedges.

“Ow!” she wails a little too loudly, causing the couple beside us to turn in our direction.

I plaster on my best country-club grin to assure them that everything is okay while Morgan mutters something dramatic under her breath.

Once they return to their meal, she leans in and whispers, “See? You’re into causing pain. It’s giving . . . slutty sadist.”

I don’t have a clue how to respond to that, so I take a sip of my drink, hoping she gets bored with the conversation.

She doesn’t.

She pulls up a website on her phone and shows me a picture of a model wearing a shiny black latex bodysuit with matching thigh-high boots, proudly displaying it for the entire restaurant to see.

Discretion and Morgan have clearly never been introduced.

“It says if you’re a 34C, we need to get a medium, but I need you to confirm because the fit is super tight. I think it comes with special lube to get it on.”

“No.” I try to sound as stern as possible, but it’s really hard to keep a straight face around her. Especially when she’s blatantly staring at my chest, trying her hardest to assess my bra size.

“Too bad. I’ve already decided this is going to be your Halloween costume.”

“It’s not even September yet,” I argue, even though it won’t make a difference to her. “And the answer is still no.”

I’m not against dressing up—I actually love the outfit. But dominating someone isn’t something I’ve ever tried, nor is it something I’ve ever fantasized about.

All of my partners in the past have been guys who took control, and I liked that—I liked being able to turn my brain off and not think for a while.

Were they the super kinky hookups that my friend loves to brag about? No. I’ve never had anyone I could try that kind of stuff with. But they were enough to make me recognize that I don’t want to be the one who makes decisions about my pleasure. I want a man who will do that for me.

“Please?” Morgan whines, drawing out the word for far too long. “I feel like putting this on will change your mind. You’ll be transformed into Kinky Caroline for the night.”

She pushes her lower lip forward as far as it will possibly go.

“Fine,” I concede, knowing she’s probably going to forget about this in the next two months anyway. “But only if you do it with me.”

“Can’t,” she huffs. “The last time I tried to top Walkie, I learned the hard way that a cane isn’t a fun punishment tool—it’s a torture device. And since I have no intention of relivingthatparticular experience, my domme days are over.”

“I’m not dom—”

As I’m about to have to make the same point for the millionth time, my phone starts vibrating with a text from my brother.

You’re still coming to our wedding this weekend, right?

I gesture to Morgan that I need a second to respond, and she takes it as her cue to head to the bathroom.

Parker and I haven’t spoken since our last family dinner almost a month ago. While minimal communication isn’t abnormal for us, especially because Cassidy sends us updates on his life in the group text, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he might be upset with me after our last conversation.

When he first shared the news at Christmas two years ago about what happened between him and Weston, I remember feeling so much rage on his behalf.

What Weston did to me was one thing. And while I definitely haven’t let go of my resentment for him over the years, I could at least understand why he did it. He was immature, selfish, and we barely knew each other.

But what I couldn’t understand was Weston’s choice to deliberately ruin his best friend’s career. It was a betrayal on a level that I didn’t think was possible, even for him.

---