Page 68 of Knot Their Starlet

“Maybe... have you ever thought of seeing a therapist before?” he asks slowly. “It could be helpful.”

“Are you calling me crazy?” I ask, jerking away from his touch to get a better look at his face in the dim lighting of the restaurant.

“No, not at all.”

“Have you seen a therapist before?” I snap.

“I mean, I have before,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “But you’re right, it’s a bit hypocritical of me. I just haven’t had the time recently. Everything’s been so crazy. But that probably means I should go even more, you know?”

“Oh,” I say, deflating. “Was it—was it helpful when you went?”

“A hundred percent, especially if you find one you click with.” His hand traces down my arm before he clasps mine under the table. “It’s definitely a little scary, talking about shit with a stranger like that, but I think it’d be a good idea. You’ve been through a lot.”

“I’m fine, though,” I say automatically. My expression grows tight, and I regret that I can’t hide behind my hair with my current style. I’m lying. Straight through my teeth. I can’t help reaching up to brush against my neck. The bruises are long gone, but that kind of experience doesn’t just go away. “Actually, you’re right. I always... had issues growing up. I caused a lot of trouble.”

“You know, I kind of doubt that.”

“You didn’t know me when I was younger,” I scoff, taking a sip of my water.

“Well, I know you now and I don’t see any of what other people say they see in you,” he says, his expression growing pensive. “That photographer, Stuart, hell, even your mom. I truly don’t understand what they’re talking about sometimes.”

“R—really?” My mouth goes dry despite the fact I just took a drink.

“Yeah. The more time I spend with you, the more I think they’re all insane. You’re special, Andi. I mean it.”

My heart starts fluttering in my chest in a way that leaves me uncomfortable. I’ve never felt like this before.

“I’ll do it,” I say, wiping some of the condensation off my glass and averting my gaze. “I’ll look into talking to someone.”

“Awesome,” he says, reaching for my hand once more.

Our waiter chooses that moment to appear.

“Hello there, good evening, have you guys had a chance to look at the menu?” he asks, clasping his hands in front of him, the red blazer all the staff are wearing pulling across his broad chest.

“Not yet, we got a little distracted,” Beck says, letting out a soft chuckle.

“No worries at all, take your time,” the waiter says before taking a step away to give the two of us privacy.

“Order whatever the hell you want,” Beck says as he turns to me, his eyes warm.

“Really?”

“Of course.” He lets out a little huff of laughter like my question was absurd. “I’ve got one condition, though.”

I nod, waiting hesitantly.

“I’ll never be able to finish it on my own, so please split the mac and cheese and the potatoes with me?”

“You really like carbs and cheese, don’t you,” I huff, my lips quirking into a grin.

“Can you blame me? I swear, it’s probably written into our omega DNA somewhere.”

“I’m also a pretty big fan. Let’s do it.”

I can’t help drawing a comparison between Beck and all the previous dinner companions I’ve had. My mother is the kind to order rabbit food and complain about how they added too much olive oil to their balsamic vinaigrette. Ezra was always the type to insist we get our own dishes. He was never into sharing food the way I was.

A girl could get used to it.