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He huffed out a laugh. “Oh, you know. Living the dream.”
Gregory was a high-profile defense lawyer who didn’t always love his job or the clients he represented. That was how he’d gotten involved with Boss and the Outreach. He’d won a case that he shouldn’t have because he was just that good, and he’d felt like crap about it. He’d called me at my home, rip-roaring drunk, consumed with guilt that his client had gotten away with some bad shit without even a slap on his wrist. His conscience had been eating him up, and he’d worried that he was going to end up hating himself.
We’d been friends since we were kids, so I remembered why he’d become a defense attorney. It wasn’t for the riches he’d ended up earning, and it wasn’t because he was a bad man. His father had died in prison. Wrongfully convicted for no other reason than because he’d been at the wrong place at the wrong time, and they hadn’t been able to afford good representation. Greg decided then and there that he wanted to defend and protect. He ended up damn good at his job, and once the money started flowing in, he’d finally been able to provide a good life for his mother and sisters.
At the time, my suggestion for him was to do some pro-bono work for those who couldn’t afford him. That led him to the Strip. That led him to Boss. And later, when I was floundering in my big empty house, and Greg had learned that the Outreach needed a new therapist, he’d encouraged me to pack up and come home.
“Tough day at work?”
He sighed over the line. “I’m not calling to talk about me, and you know it. Do you want to have dinner tonight?”
“Yes!” I explained a little too enthusiastically.
“Really?”
I understood his surprise. He asked me the same question every week, but normally I told him I was too busy. That I had too much paperwork to catch up on since I didn’t have patients the rest of the day. We both knew that I actually locked up for the night and went home where I changed into my pajamas and spent the whole evening mourning my loss.
“Yeah, I think I could use a friend right now.”
“Okay, yeah, sure. Where do you want to meet? I can leave right now.”
I smiled. I was damn lucky to have a friend like Greg. Even though I’d left for college and swore I was never coming back, he’d remained my closest friend. He’d never let time or distance separate us. Honestly, he was the only friend I’d stayed in touch with. When I’d left Winston Harbor, I’d planned for it to be forever.
“Do you want to meet at the diner on Ninth Street?”
“You mean the one we used to go to as kids?” he asked, obviously surprised again.
“Yeah. Is that okay?”
“That’s great. It’s been years since I went in there. It’ll be like old times.”
Greg was no fool. That diner was where we’d always gone when things were hard, when times were tough, and we just needed to vent. And maybe this time I could talk about Martin. Or maybe I would actually admit to feeling a zing from another man. Who knew what would actually end up spilling out, but the booths and that diner had heard many of our secrets, and maybe, in that place, I’d be able to spill some more.
It had been a few days since the silver and sexy sighting, and I couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. On the one hand, I never wanted to see him again. If the zing hadn’t been bad enough, the throbbing dick I’d woken up with the next morning had been downright alarming.
Usually, I had to watch a ton of porn to get worked up enough to get off. I wasn’t even going to dwell on the fact that Daddy porn was usually what did it. Martin and I had been as vanilla as vanilla got, so all I could figure was that it took something completely different than what we had for my mind to move from our lovemaking into a place where I could experience release.
The other part of me, the part that wanted to live again—which I hadn’t even realized existed—was curious to see if I would react as strongly to the man if I saw him again. Maybe it had been nothing more than my emotional state at the time. It wasn’t like I had an abundance of people touching me every day.
Sure, I hugged my patients when they wanted me to. Hell, I randomly hugged strangers in the halls or cafeteria of the Outreach if they looked like they needed comfort and consented to it. But that was always me initiating it. Even Greg and Boss, the only two people I had any kind of close relationship with, didn’t instigate physical contact with me. They were so careful of invading my personal space.
Was that it? Was my body craving a physical contact that had nothing to do with me offering something to someone else because they needed it, but instead contact—a touch, a squeeze of the hips, an embrace, because I needed it?
I made my way toward the kitchen looking for Boss. When I’d asked around, that was the last place he’d been spotted, and I always enjoyed having an excuse to enter Bart’s domain. The big man could be terrifying, but I’d quickly learned that his bark was way worse than his bite. It was especially fun in the kitchen if his boy, Chance, was around. He really was the epitome of a Brat, which I got a kick out of. From the outside, they shouldn’t have worked, but the reality was, for two broken people who’d found each other, they were relationship goals.
I’d had the pleasure of doing couple’s counseling for them a few times. That in itself showed me their commitment and dedication to each other. Since I had the privilege of being the coordinator for all of the groups, as well as providing therapy for one-on-one or couples, I was well aware of the group meetings the two men attended. I had mad respect for both of them, but I enjoyed Chance’s shenanigans, and I loved seeing the adoration in Bart’s eyes as he watched him.
“Cass!” Bart boomed as I entered his territory.
“Hey, Bart. Have you seen Boss?”
“Sure have.” He pointed his spatula toward the side door. “He’s keeping an eye on my boy while the new guy helps them unload the truck.”
I tilted my head in confusion. “Why does Boss have to keep an eye on them?”
Bart chuckled. “Not on them, but on Chance. The new guy is the big boss for Cold Case and Homicide, but since I run the kitchen and Chance is mine, Boss was a little worried that he’d try to make his captain do all of the grunt work instead of helping.”
I bit back a laugh. That sounded exactly like something Chance would do, and if that was his boss, it was better Bart stayed out of it. No sense mixing business with pleasure, but if anyone was bratty enough to make the attempt, it would be Bart’s boy. He lived to earn consequences from his Daddy.
