by Amber Burns
I’m shaking my head at the logic.
Some of the spoilt brats that attended St. B&J needed more than two counsellors; they needed a whole team of mental health specialists.
Maybe they could add a ward somewhere between all the campus’ expansions.
My lips lift up at the absurd thought as I raise my hand.
I knock out of decency. Fame hadn’t inflated my ego. Besides, I am trying to go incognito. Not too hard when there’s little staff and students around at the time, lowering my odds for recognition and whatever that would follow after that.
Very few people know I’m in OC, and I’d like for it to stay that way.
No one answers, leaving me to check it out. The waiting room is dead still. The receptionist that would have answered is away from her desk, likely for the rest of the day, and as I peek into the sliver of a window of the first of the two inner rooms, I realize that the other counsellor – excuse me, Counsellor N-Z, is out for the day too.
It’s a no-brainer. Lola Lopez would be assigned to Counsellor A-M as per her last name. Sure enough I hear soft voices coming from the other side of the closed door and glimpse the back of my target’s long black hair.
My first knock gets an answer.
The door swings open and, call Sports Illustrated, the sexiest woman is standing in front of me.
I’m picking up my jaw to answer her question. My goddaughter helps me out.
“Uncle Ry!”
Stumbling clear of the teen barrelling into me, the redhead pulls her spectacles from her face and blinks at us.
I’m gawking over the top of Lola’s head; meanwhile my body reacting to the hug and giving the kid like for like, my mind is elsewhere. Specifically a good foot away behind Lola’s smiling face and tentacle-like grip.
“I can’t believe you’re really here! I didn’t believe Dad at all,” she’s gushing out the words, packing everything in on a breath and then hugging me some more. It takes time to pry her off. I wouldn’t have cared as much, only we had audience.
Sexy audience…who looked pissed?
Our gazes lock, her frown plain.
“I’m sorry, but who are you?” she’s got a deeper voice than I thought. Even with the consistency of smooth extra-old cognac. Maybe that’s her perfume. I resist the instinct to close my eyes and soak up the spice of whatever label she’s wearing.
“Ryker McBride,” my tongue unsticks from the roof of my mouth and I hold out a hand. There’s just enough time between her picking me up on my offer and a cross of curiosity and annoyance in her narrowing eyes that has me wondering who the hell this woman is – and why is she crossing my path now?
“Don’t be fooled, I’m too young to be her uncle,” when that doesn’t crack a smile, I add, perhaps a little more awkwardly, “I’m Lola’s godfather. Her father asked that I fill in as her chauffeur today.”
“Well, we’re not done yet.” She’s blunt and forward, her tone brooking no argument. “It’s a quarter till. But feel free to wait in the waiting room, Mr. McBride?”
I’m speechless, and Lola is rigid.
Taken aback, I watch Lopez’s daughter react to the redhead’s brush-off of me. She’s glaring at this beautiful woman I’m realizing is her counsellor considering only the two of them were in the room in the first place.
My gaze drops to Miss Redhead’s name tag.
Doctor Astra Olsen. Pretty name, but ‘pretty’ doesn’t define this woman.
Curvy as sin, both her large breasts and wide hips are exaggerated by the tightening of her blouse and the high-waist black skirt and simple, silver chain accentuating her natural waistline.
A gold heart-shaped pendant is sitting in the V of her freed top buttons, the promising shadowy valley of her breasts leading my mind to what she looked without her shirt.
Her hair, more ginger than brunette, is flowing over her shoulders, the ends curling to about the level of her tits. Smokey, hazel eyes grow larger as my gaze wanders back, a hint of the remaining freckles she’d had to have in abundance as a child dotting her nose and pale, coloring cheeks.
Oh, Dr. Olsen, did you notice I was checking you out?
My smile is lazy, slow, like a flickering warning before the lights go out on a storm’s account. My cock responds quicker, jerking at the sight of Astra’s parted mouth. Well, I’ll be damned. I think I have a crush on Lola’s counsellor.
Either she doesn’t share my sentiments of this wondrous first impression or Astra is purposefully shuttering me out and thus a fucking good cock tease if I’ve ever cared for one.
“I’m sorry, but we’ll only be another,” she drops her attention to regard her wrist watch. Even her wrist, pale and plump with the cutest dimple in the side, is pure rapture for me. “Thirteen minutes now.” There’s a sigh in her tone.
Lola jumps on it. “I’m leaving with my uncle right now! I’m not staying here.”
She rushes to grab her back pack, a cute little plaid affair that doubles more as a purse than a school bag. Where does she put her books in there? And why am I not surprised?
“Lolinda,” Astra starts, cut off when my charming goddaughter raises her hand.
“Lo-la. Lola! My name is Lola, not Lolinda. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
The red tingling her cheeks darken. Had I not been disturbed by the scene, I would have admired her blush and the teeth working her fuller bottom lip. Dr. Olsen pops the lip free.
“Lola. I’m sorry. However I really do advise your staying and finishing your session. You’re not scheduled again for almost another week as we have Monday off, remember?”
“Duh,” Lola snaps. “That’s the point, doc. See you.” She waggled her fingertips and skipped to my side, particularly singing, “I’m ready.”
“No you aren’t. It looks like you forgot something very important.” I meet Astra’s side profile. She’s turned away after Lola’s appalling idea of a goodbye. I recognize the slight quake in her shoulders, follow her folded arms and imagine the fists that she’s hiding against her sides.
Man, don’t I sympathize. St. B&J brought out the worst in me all those years ago, even when it was a case of biting the hand that feeds you.
“I didn’t forget anything. I only brought my bag here,” Lola’s saying. She stops at my scowl. I nudge my head at Astra.
Lola blinks those dark eyes pronounced by a ring of black mascara and long lashes that just have to be fakes, and her too-pink mouth pooches out her next words, “I don’t get it.”
“It seems like you forgot your manners and they’re a requirement if you plan to bum a ride with me, kiddo.”
“But Uncle Ry,” Lola bristles. She’s near to stamping those lethal heels of hers. I control the eye roll, wondering what the hell her parents had to be thinking to let her walk out in those deathtraps given the weather.
I stand my ground, pulling from the one drama class I took at St. B&J when I cross my arms and tap my boot impatiently.
“O-Okay,” Lola’s fighting spirit crumples fast, and turning back to Astra she stammers through the shortest apology. She looks to me and waits for my nod of approval.
“Here.” I hold the keys out to her. “Your dad told me you passed his own version of a driving test. Means I can trust you with this. Go ahead to the car, I’ll catch up.”
Lola swivels slowly, glancing back at Astra on passing. I note the farewell glare and shake my head when we’re alone.
“Sorry about that. I don’t remember when the cute kid blew enough candles to become that teen brat.”
Astra moves to her desk, freeing her hands and gathering the papers on her end. I meet her on the other side, thighs brushing the cherry oak furniture. “I apologize on her behalf. I didn’t know Lola was seeing a counsellor though.”
She pushes papers into a folder and then starts on the second folder. “I can’t share background of my students with you, Mr. McBride. Unless you have explicit proof that Lolinda’s guardians have signed you off for suc
h matters.”
“Of course,” I’m all drawl.
Spreading my hands on her desk, I lean closer, hearing her sharp intake of breath. I grin. Little Miss Unaffected is slipping. “Still I would like to apologize for Lola, nevertheless. That was uncalled for. Mind, I’ll be having a word with her.”
She’s stubbornly sticking to keeping her head down. I’ll have her looking at me soon enough…
“I’m only glad she has such a responsible, capable woman in her life. I know how much role models can quietly assert their impression...”
My stab at a different angle leads her to look at me, finally, but the scalding heat in her gaze suggests I overstepped some invisible boundary.
“Excuse me, Mr. McBride, I have some work to catch up on before I call it a day and you have the task of seeing your goddaughter home. It was a pleasure meeting you.” She tacks on the end after a substantial pause in which she turns to shuffling folders into the metal drawers behind.
I watch the back of her head for several heartbeats and getting the message loud and clear, stalk towards the door. Pausing at the threshold, I toss a parting glance over my shoulder. “The pleasure really is all mine, Dr. Olsen.”
Any sign she heard me comes from the raising of her shoulders, a clear defensive method.
But she couldn’t possibly be afraid of me?
I leave before I say something stupid. I have zero desire to scare her away, just as I have no desire to leave Astra Olsen without charming her into giving me a chance to wow her.
As I mull over why I care about Astra, I start from her appearance and cross that out pretty quickly. I’ve always been attracted to curvier woman and L.A. has its fair share of everything-for-everyone; that and I got up-close and personal with some fleshier strippers as part of my last birthday’s surprise siesta.
Then what was it?
I couldn’t think with Lola talking my ear off in the car. I give up trying to pinpoint my finger-snap obsession with her counsellor and concentrate on driving through the thickening snow.
“Maybe it’ll snow so much there won’t be school tomorrow.” Lola slams her door and follows me up to her front porch. I hold out my hands for her keys, noting the pink teddy bear keychain.
“Cute.”
“Thanks,” Lola spins into the foyer, leaving me wondering where the brat disappeared to, and then indulging the third hug she’s giving me suddenly. “I’m so happy you’re here though.”
I smooth a hand over the top of her silky crown, smiling for her sake.
What I can’t do is fake telling her the same. Although I’m happy to see her, teen brat side or not, I’m far from feeling remotely that or anything more than a clenching fiery reaction for the man coming down the wide staircase, front and center.
“Daddy,” Lola springs into her father’s waiting arms, her lips touching the older man’s weathered cheeks, wrinkling her nose when he does the same and his greying whiskers get in the way. “Okay, stop. You’re embarrassing me!”
She turns to me, hands joined in front of that altered skirt of hers, a flush meandering over her olive complexion. Between the shortened uniform skirt, the colorful accessories over the lapel of her school blazer and the heels, I’m wondering how Lola gets away with it.
And then this display of father and daughter reminds me.
“Uncle Ry picked me up, Dad,” she beams, embarrassment coming and going like a teasing spring breeze. “Isn’t he awesome? Too bad it was after school.”
“Yeah,” my smile threatening to crack, “too bad.” I catch her father’s stare and nod my silent acknowledgement. If it hadn’t been for his message, I would have showered and changed from the journey.
“Your mother wanted to have a word with you, Lola dear. I barely could contain her from picking you up from school early.”
“Why didn’t you let her? I would have only missed a boring Art History lecture, a joke of a lab in Bio, and a pop quiz in history,” Lola sniffs. “Better yet, why didn’t you let Mom pull me out of counselling?”
“Why, what happened?”
Like a flame to oil, Custodio Lopez rears up at the hint of the sour mood wafting from his daughter’s expression. Lola launches into a tirade as soon as she’s given an inch – the same inch I refused her in the car, distracting her with tunes from the local pop radio station.
“She what?” Custodio’s nostrils open wider for his hard, fast breaths. His brown skin has turned red, the age spots pronounced over his dark flush. Before he can shout crazy things like ‘off with her head’ and ‘I’ll see to it that she’s chased out of this town’, I step in to save Astra.
“That’s a gross exaggeration,” I earn both father and daughter’s dour looks. “What Lola left out is how I barged in and interrupted her session with Dr. Olsen. Naturally, I was in the wrong.”
“Is this true, Lolinda?”
Lola ducks and faces her father’s scolding with only minimal interjection and apology. She shoots me a look that’s more embarrassed than angry, before sailing away, her heels clicking up the stairs and presumably towards wherever her mother is in the gigantic Lopez dwelling.
“Ryker, my son,” Custodio claps me on the back, grasping my hand in an even, tight grip. “Come with me to the den. We have much to catch up on.”
Fathoming what he means is useless, especially as I’d be discovering the cryptic words soon enough.
As I follow, I take the time to study him.
The epitome of my existence in Orange Compass, and like everything else that hadn’t changed, Custodio Lopez is every bit the man he used to be, and right down to his bespoke suit, slicked hair – albeit greyer and thinner – and his polished loafers.
“Sit,” he beckoned to the armrest across his, already pouring a glass of Armagnac in a second tumbler. I let the glass breathe, and he waits until I’ve taken a sip to speak. “When did you arrive?”
“Including the drive? Maybe three or four hours.”
“You needn’t have gone straight to the school. You could have come here and freshened up. Lola would have amused herself.” I smile at his placating gesture, hearing the uncertainty wavering in his comment. Fatherhood and advice-giving had never been, would never be Custodio’s strengths.
“Anyways, I would have liked to talk to you first. Nevertheless, you’re here now.”
I sip the brandy, the dried fruity notes bursting over my tongue, strengthening me for whatever Custodio had to say. I’m not naïve enough to believe the man wasted his time to open his schedule and his home to me, not unless he had something important to share.
Important to him, that is.
“You see, I have an old friend, Alexandros Castillo. A former business partner and a school mate who’s starting his own venture in natural resources trade. He’s got ancestral land that accesses a rich vein source… Well, never mind.”
“I mentioned you and Alexandros was very interested. He told me of his daughter and we got to thinking how good it could be if you two met.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing and I can’t control the laugh. It bubbles out.
“You’re kidding, right?” I rub the tingling heat from my eyes, waiting for the old man’s ribbing. It doesn’t come. Not that I knew him to have a funny bone: Deep down – way, way down, I figured everything he said was true.
Right down to the crap about me marrying a woman I’d never met for the sake of his business.
Tossing back his Armagnac I set the glass down and rest my elbows on my knees, gaze locking on the embers glowing in the hearth. I can feel the heat singe my face, but another sort of fire is clamouring up my throat.
“How could you possibly believe, for a second, that I would agree?”
“Is that a no?”
I snap my gaze at him. “No.” Custodio relaxes for the breath that it takes me to say, “It’s a hell no.”
“Ryker, be sensible.”
I shoot out of my seat, using the excuse of the stoking the fire with
one of the logs propped in the grate to exercise the pulsing wrath prepping me to ring his skinny, fleshy neck. “I’m being insensible? I’m sorry; you’re the one who’s trying to arrange a marriage like its fucking normal.”
“Language,” Custodio frowns, whiskers quivering with his own anger. Like he had a right to be pissed off – he’s damn lucky I don’t use the poker for more creative purposes.
A good thump should knock sense into the bastard.
