Exposing Eden by J.A. Armstrong

Author:J.A. Armstrong [Armstrong, J.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, series, Medical, Artist
Publisher: Bumbling Bard Creations
Published: 2018-09-05T23:00:00+00:00

Exploring Eden

I keep looking at my phone. I wish it would do something, something that equates to beeping with a message from Eden. Eden possesses equal parts charm and intelligence. I can hear her voice when I read her short messages. I can’t stop thinking about her. I haven’t seen her in a week. I’ve talked to her. I’ve texted with her. What is wrong with me? I can’t concentrate on anything. Every thought leads me to the same conclusion—Eden. This morning, I was making my coffee, and I found myself wondering if Eden was doing the same thing. Maybe she stopped for coffee on her way to work. Maybe she had juice instead. It’s laughable. Coffee, juice—who cares? I’m sure Eden isn’t spending her hours contemplating what I’m doing. I’m suddenly interested in breakfast drinks—at least, I am if that’s interesting to Eden.

Eden’s been covering for another doctor this week. Late nights and early mornings have conspired to keep us from spending time together. I love talking to her. The more we talk, the more she makes me laugh, the more I learn about her and share about me, the more I miss her. Jesus. I miss her. I still can’t seem to point to a reason—the reason, I’m drawn to Eden. I’ve tried to bury myself in work to avoid thinking about it. That hasn’t worked. Last night, we stayed on the phone until past midnight. I talked about my mom. She listened. That’s one thing about Eden that I admire. She can listen—just listen. I found myself wishing that she was with me. It’s not that I don’t talk about my mother. I do. For some reason I can’t understand, I feel compelled to tell her how I feel about everything, my mother and her death included. It reminds me of an after-school special sometimes. Jessie is my best friend. I don’t think I’ve shared as much with Jessie in all the years we’ve known each other as I have with Eden in a week. I want to see her again. I don’t want to push. I didn’t want her to leave the gallery after our dinner. Something told me that kissing her goodbye sweetly was what I needed to do—what she needed from me.

I’ve never been one for romantic dreaming. I can do romance. I’ve taken plenty of women to fantastic restaurants with a view, walked with them along the beach, and had flowers delivered to them. I’ve even sprung for a romantic getaway or two. My objective was always to reach a pleasurable conclusion. I don’t have an objective where Eden is concerned. I think about her. Hell, I fantasize about her. I don’t envision a conclusion—an end. I’m not sure what that means.

Right now, I wish she would call. I should call her. It’s the middle of the day, and I know she’s busy. I toss my phone onto my desk, frustrated and confused. “Shit.” I throw my head back and close my eyes. “Just call her, Diana.

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