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“Perfect. I'll swing by after.”
“W-what? No. Really, it's—”
“I'll text you when I get there.”
She licks her lips, trying to find an excuse before she pauses, and her face contorts.
“Wait. How do you know where we live?”
I blow air through my lips, looking away. I can't admit I'm a stalker and followed her car last week after one of our sessions. No, that would be considered crazy. I'm not crazy, so I say, “Greg gave me the address just in case.”
Her eyes narrow as her head tilts. “In case what?”
“Uh…” I scratch the back of my neck with my free hand. “In case I needed to find you...for therapy, of course.”
“You're lying,” she says, staring through me.
Fucking Christ, girl, just stop being so inquisitive.
“Just…” My nostrils flare as I exhale through them. “Just let me in, alright?”
Her glare melts into a hint of panic as she eyes me. It's funny how sometimes I can't get a read on this woman at all, but then other times I can read her like a book. She's paranoid that a guy like me is going to see her place and judge her situation. I know the address and that side of town. I can feel it in the way her eyes dance around the facility, almost already overthinking everything in her home.
But I don't care that I found out she lives with her brother in a tiny apartment. I'd never judge her for that. Anyone who would can get their shit kicked in behind the Special Olympics.Fuck, I should've kicked his teeth out.
I bend down again, whispering in her ear, “I'll see you soon.”
She can deny it all she wants, but I know for a fact I make her world shift, too.
31
Dylan
Thisplaceisapiece of shit.
“Colin! Pick up those wrappers in there and throw them in the trash can!” I yell from the kitchen, wiping cracker crumbs from the counter into the garbage.
Beads of perspiration line my forehead as I hustle around in full-blown panic mode. Lake is on his way over and I could die. I might actually. Maybe this tachycardia will take me out and I won't need to explain why our apartment is more than likely the size of his shoe closet. One can dream, right?
“Too tired,” he says in his monotone voice. “My races...my race is on and I can't miss it. Can't miss it.”
“Pretend they're thongs then, ya butthead!” I yell, contorting my face at an old banana peel I've discovered shoved into the back of the silverware drawer. “Besides, your races are taped, Col. But cute. Real cute.”
Losing the fight before I even start, I continue my massive clean sweep, shoving visible things into closets and drawers where they don't belong, when my phone lights up on the counter with his text.
I let out a whiny groan, dealing with the inevitable, and let him up. I stand by the door, waiting until I see that gorgeous head of hair walking up the stairs to our second-floor apartment.
“You're lucky I just cleared you. This creaky stairwell would've made for a difficult climb with those crutches,” I call out.
His head pops up, surprised by the sound of my voice. Fucking nerves of fire spiral through me as those piercing blue eyes fix on me. His easy smile wards off some of my nerves, and he chuckles.
“I'd have found a way, regardless.”
The party is beginning in my stomach again. Alcoholics everywhere.
He meets me at the door, staring down at me with that little half-grin I hate to admit I love. I breathe in his woodsy scent, and I swear my nipples just hardened.Fucking traitors.
That's the one thing I hate about tits. They're like erections for women. Coming alive when they shouldn't, acting irresponsible and selfish, showcasing your needs to the world. It's incredibly embarrassing and uncalled for.
