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“I can’t afford therapy.”
“Well, good news for you, I can.”
“Grady—”
“No, Little girl. We’re getting her out of your head for good.”
“And what about you? Will you talk to someone about your shit?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Surprise filled her. “Really?”
“Yeah. You. Or if I can’t talk about it, I’ll hold onto you, eat your pussy, feed you my cock, and fuck you until I forget.”
“Not sure that is proper therapy,” she muttered.
“It’s the sort of therapy I want.”
She opened her mouth.
“But it’s not for you,” he said quickly.
She frowned. “How did you know what I was thinking?”
“I’m as smart as I am handsome, remember?”
“Hmm, too smart for my good, I think.”
He ran his hand over her hair. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know. It just . . . it felt like a rejection.”
He closed his eyes, looking pained. “Fuck, Twinkletoes. I really hate that I made you feel that way.”
“It’s okay.”
Suddenly, his eyes opened, piercing her with his gaze. “It’s not okay and you shouldn’t say it is.”
“But you’re not in charge of how I react to things. You didn’t mean it as a rejection, but I took it as one. I kind of think that’s on me. And my fear of rejection.”
“I think that most people likely have a fear of rejection. And I also think that it is very much on me if I made you feel that way. And now it’s up to me to remedy that.”
“Pretty sure you have.”
“No, Little girl. The way I remedy that is to tell you a bit about why I am the way I am.”
“Oh. Should we finish cooking breakfast first?”
He shook his head. “No, this is the sort of stuff that you get out quick.”
“In case you chicken out.” She nodded. “I do that a lot.”
“Are you calling me a chicken?”
“What? Noooo. Me? I’d never call you a chicken.”
He gave her a small grin. He was teasing.
