My thoughts stutter, and fear grips me. “Pack?”
“I’ll be back for our Monday session. Don’t worry, I’ll be around to witness some more of your self-loathing.” Looking over her shoulder at me, she mutters, “Yay,” and rolls her eyes.
A small dose of relief hits me to know she’ll be back. The problem is I want to know where she’s going, who’s she going with, and why. All the questions I have no right in asking. Biting my tongue, I push them to the far recesses of my mind.
“You can’t get rid of me yet. I need to get you ready for your CPO first. I’m sure the prosthetic is almost ready.”
“Promise you’re not running away from me?” I ask and give her my most charming smile that I honestly can’t even back up right now.
“Why would I run away? You’re my best patient yet. I want to see this to the end.”
And there’s that fucking word again—patient. Unable to reply to her, I grunt and make my way to the mat.
We go through the motions of finishing my session as if we hadn’t shared that intimate moment. I dig deep but can’t help puffing up when she praises me. The session finishes faster than I would like, especially knowing I’ll spend the next two days without her to look forward to. I feel like a sappy-ass bastard. All these emotions inside me are fucking with my head.
After slipping on the shrinker I hop up on my foot, moving easier than I could have hoped for. Belle’s phone rings as she finishes packing the last of her things. I lean against the counter in my kitchen with my crutches resting lightly under my arms and eavesdrop on her conversation.
“Hey! …What? …No. I need to go home and pack. …I told you Friday night I was going out of town this weekend. …Well, I can’t tonight. …Okay, I will. …Yeah I’ll be back on Sunday. …No everything is ahead of schedule. …I’ll check in on Monday. …Yeah, bye.
I process the fact that the caller was her date last Friday night. Jealousy hits me stronger than ever. Questions race through my mind. Is he her casual date? Her boyfriend? If he’s her boyfriend, will she tell him about our kiss? Who was she thinking about when we kissed? Him or me? Where does the fucker live so I can go kick his ass?
“Viktor?” she asks, breaking into my dangerous line of thinking.
“Is he your boyfriend?” What the fuck is wrong with me?
“What?” she squeaks.
Since I’ve already started on this road, I can’t seem to pull over to the safety of the soft shoulder. “The guy on the phone. Is he your boyfriend? Why isn’t he going away with you? He’s a dipshit for not remembering.” Fuck me. Where the hell did she hide my Jack Daniels?
“Wow. None of that is your business,” she snaps.
“He’s a dipshit then.”
“Viktor! God! No, he’s not my boyfriend. There, are you happy now?”
A lightness comes over me at this news. “Actually, yes.”
She laughs. “You’re something else. I gotta go. I’ll be out of town, but if you have any issues just give me a call. You have my number, and I’ll be back on Monday.”
“Promise?” I ask like the pussy-whipped asshole I’ve become. She’s not even my woman.
“Promise you what?” Her brows crease, and her head tilts to the side. Her lips purse in thought, and I’m tempted to kiss the confusion away.
“Promise me you’ll be back on Monday?”
“Well, considering I came back this last Monday even after you acted like the beast you claim to be, I don’t see why you would even worry.”
“I was an asshole,” I admit because there is no reason to avoid the truth. “I’m so sorry about that.”
Her eyebrow raises and she gives me a “no shit” look before grabbing her things and walking to the door. I can’t enjoy the view from behind, as she’s dressed like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. But this doesn’t stop me from imagining myself peeling back every layer—eventually reaching those curves that have been driving me crazy and fueling my daily fantasies.
“Here let me get that,” I say and work my way around her to open the door for her.
“I can’t believe how well you’re doing after two weeks of therapy.” She smiles and looks me up and down.
I reach up and touch the silky strand of hair that escapes her ponytail. Her lips part with a small gasp at my innocent touch. “I’ve had therapy before…in the hospital. The truth is that I couldn’t have done it without my beast master.”
She laughs like I hoped, leaving me with another memory of the sweet sound. “Stop calling me a beast master!”
