The One Real Thing (Hart's Boardwalk) Read Free Page A

only reminded me of what a jackass he could be. Which was one of the reasons it would only ever be sex between us. His arrogance and self-involved sense of importance would drive me up the wall.
    He thrust the shirt at me when he realized I wouldn’t back down. “So what is so important that it’s worth messing up my schedule?”
    “I said I’d cover Dr. Whitaker’s shift at the prison,” I lied. In truth I was desperate to get home so I could finally open the letters I’d found. They had been on my mind my entire shift. For a moment I’d considered canceling my sex date with Andrew so I could read them, but I remembered he said he had a conference in Sweden coming up. Our sex dates were weekly and I’d gotten used to getting myself a little something-something on a regular basis so I figured I’d better get it while he was around to give it.
    I watched his delicious ass as Andrew stomped across his bedroom to grab his neatly folded pants off a chair. “Why on earth do you insist on working in that shithole?”
    My blood turned instantly hot at his condescending attitude toward my job. I swore to God, if the man didn’t know what to do with those hands of his I’d have wiped my own clean of him long since. “Quit it,” I bit out.
    “No.” He spun around, his hands on his hips. “Jessica, you’re a fantastic, talented doctor. It’s a crying shame that you’re locked up in some dingy prison doctor’s office when you should be a surgical resident.” He donned his shirt, a look of disgust on his face. “I still can’t believe you left your residency and gave up the chance of a fellowship at the hospital. No one can.”
    “Can we not do this again?” I snapped. We’d been having this argument for two years.
    “Maybe if you’d tell me what the allure of the prison is, then yes. Why do you insist on staying there?”
    Instead of answering I sighed, grabbed my bag, and walked over to him. I brushed my fingertips over the frown line between his brows and leaned in to press a soft kiss to his mouth. “Good night, Andrew.”
    I walked out of his apartment, knowing he’d gotten the reminder.
    We were just fuck buddies.
    He had no right to answers about anything in my life.

THREE

Jessica
    Despite the fact that I spent little time away from work, I stretched myself financially to rent my two-bedroom apartment downtown. I’d wanted the extra space so that my best friend, Matthew, his wife, Helena, and my goddaughter, Perry, could visit whenever they wanted.
    It was a spacious and airy apartment with an open-plan kitchen and living room. It was stylish and comfortable, and my whole body seemed to sigh with relief every time I stepped inside it. I didn’t get much alone time here, but when I did, I savored it.
    The first thing I did was shower, hurrying through the process and then speeding through blowing out my hair. It was still damp when I changed into my pajamas and wandered casually into the kitchen. The kitchen was the reason I chose the place. It was sleek, glossy, and white—white cabinets, white tile flooring, white sink, white stove: white, white, white. But the whiteness was broken up by the backsplash of leaf tiles—copper foil encased in glass. It was a glamorous touch of luxury, as was the huge picture window at the end of the kitchen that gave me a fantastic view of the city.
    I grabbed a cold beer and stood at my kitchen counter, staring out the large window as if I hadn’t a care in the world. But trying to relax was impossible when my eyes kept drifting to my purse. I’d left it sitting on my favorite armchair.
    Screw it.
    I couldn’t wait anymore.
    With cold beer in hand I curled up on the chair and pulled the envelopes out of my purse. Part of me wondered why whoever wrote them didn’t mail them, and why they stuck them inside of a book. Did they want them to be found eventually? Or was it wrong of me to read them?
    I let my conscience decide it was the former. Putting my beer