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The professional building that my new therapist’s office was in had a common waiting area, with halls going off to the various offices, which housed those ranging from therapists to dentists to lawyers.
I wondered if there were ever any mix-ups. The thought of someone leaning back in a dentist’s chair, pouring their heart out about their problems, made me smile.
One of the professionals appearing on the listing, Dr. Anderson, was a couples’ therapist. I sure could have used his help with Kenny, I thought. Maybe then he wouldn’t have fucked my little sister.
The idea still made me feel icky. Not only the betrayal, but also the fact that Kenny had been older than me, nearly thirty-five, and that had felt like a barely acceptable age gap. Granted, Raquel was only a couple years younger than me, but he was old enough to be her dad— if he had had kids when he was seventeen.
Gross! That meant he was seventeen when she was born.
“Maggie Sanders,” I announced to the receptionist when I arrived at the check-in desk.
“You’re a bit early, but we will call you when the therapist is ready for you,” she said. “It’ll be a couple minutes.”
I was glad to hear that, as it gave me time to run to the bathroom beforehand. On my way back out, I all but ran into the hottest guy I’d ever seen.
He was walking away from having just checked in at the reception desk, though I couldn’t imagine what he might need help with. It looked from where I stood as if life had been pretty damn good to him, starting with the genes he had inherited at conception.
He had dirty blond hair with a copper tint and blue eyes that almost knocked me down when they turned my way. His physique was broad and tall, and his muscular arms hinted that he liked lifting weights.
He took a seat, and then it quickly turned into a not-staring-contest as we both tried to hide the fact that we were looking at each other. Although I wasn’t quite sure what he saw in me. I had big boobs and people always complimented my curves, but I was pretty overweight by Hollywood standards and was hardly the city’s prettiest girl. A 7 at most, in a town known for being full of 10s.
I guessed if I didn’t live in LaLa Land, I might be considered cute and curvaceous. But here, some considered me to be plain and fat.
Suddenly, a flurry of bright pink clothing being worn by someone charging in through the front door caught my eye.
My stomach fell to my toes.
Hell to the no.
As the damned fates would have it, Raquel now stood a few feet away from me.
As did Kenny, who had been trailing along behind her.
What the fuck are they doing here?
I did my best to pretend I didn’t see them and hurried over to sit down in the lobby. Mr. Sexy Pants nodded at me as though telling me that he wanted me to sit with him. Not one to defy such a sign, I did so, marveling at the timing.
The hottest guy I had ever seen was hitting on me six months after I’d sworn off guys altogether. At the same time, my back-stabbing sister and fucking bastard of an ex had turned up to try and ruin my life all over again.
I tried to deny it, but they had clearly spotted me. I could smell them as they approached. They both stank of Kenny’s drugstore cologne, which had been her idea, no doubt. She could always be pretty tacky.
“Well, hello, sister dear,” Raquel said, in a way that made me want to slap her.
“Excuse me, Miss. Who are you here to see?” the receptionist asked brusquely, as if she was already sick of Raquel.
“Dr. Anderson,” Kenny said, after coughing slightly.
He looked at me a bit forlornly.
Why the heck were they there to see the couples’ therapist?
Were they having trouble already?
I would be lying if I said that idea didn’t make me smile a bit.
“For pre-marital counseling. There’s nothing wrong, of course,” Raquel quickly followed up. “Everything’s great, and we can’t wait to get married.”
She shot a glance my way. “It’s just standard procedure in our church to have all the couples go through counseling before getting married.”
“What church is that?” I blurted out, “the First Congregation of the Backstabbing Harpies?”
Under the admittedly clever vitriol, I was hurt. Not just from the fronting— Raquel had always been an atheist and had hardly lived life as some kind of religious person, so this must have been Kenny’s parents’ doing since they were pretty devout— but because they were getting married so quickly.
“Everything okay, darlin’?” Mr. Sexy Pants asked, no doubt noticing the shade of red I had turned.
But what I couldn’t help but notice was his soft but deep Irish accent. It drenched my panties right away.
