“Let’s go win,” I tell her. It’s not a question.
I know she can make me lose my mind—and my heart—without even trying.
She gives a small nod. Then she shrugs off her white coat in one smooth movement, letting it fall onto the chair.
Underneath, she’s wearing a red dress.
Short. Soft. With a low scoop back that dips almost to her spine.
Her perfect ass curves deliciously beneath it, and I have to physically restrain myself from putting my hands on it.
I refuse to look like Joe—it’s… disgusting.
Sloane throws me a confident smile.
My heart skips a beat, and I’m not even hooked up to the machine yet.
“Captains, you’re up!” Aunt Tina hollers.
The lights dim. A spotlight locks onto me.
A tech clips the final sensor onto my finger.
My resting heart rate flashes onto the monitor.
85.
“Already high, Becker?” Tina remarks into the mic. “Nervous?”
“Impatient,” I correct, without taking my eyes off Sloane.
She’s standing in front of me, right at the edge of the spotlight.
The DJ hits play.
Earned It by The Weeknd.
A slow, deep bass line that crawls right into your bones.
Sloane takes a long breath. She closes her eyes for a single second, then opens them again.
She’s Sloane.MySloane.
The angel from The Aureum. The woman who challenges me. Who drives me out of my damn mind.
She starts to move.
She glides toward me like a predator.
Her blue eyes are locked onto mine.
She stops between my spread knees—without touching me.
The monitor behind me starts beeping.
Beep… beep… beep…
95.
