Everyone released conspicuous sighs of relief when the counselor returned to tell them they could leave. Stilettos shot out the door faster than anyone on four-inch heels had ever moved before, and Packers Cap wasn’t far behind her. Before Old Lady could stumble yet again into the chair with the cookies, Leah reached out to guide her around it. Then she pushed another chair out of the way so the lady could at least make it to the door without anymore obstacles. How she even functioned in her day-to-day life was beyond Leah.
Leah’s jacket, which had been hanging over the back of her chair, slid to the floor. She stooped to grab it but drew up short when someone else’s hand closed around the dark green material first. Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she looked up and locked gazes with Blue Eyes. He was even more stunning up close.
He was looking at her like she puzzled him, and her brain had apparently decided to abandon ship because she had no idea what to do or say in response. She didn’t dare open her mouth in case something stupid or insulting came out of it again. As he handed over her jacket, their fingers brushed. The brief contact sent shivers through her even though he was warm.
“Have a good night,” he said before giving her a small, thoughtful smile and turning away.
Chapter Three
Will jolted awake to the fading memory of nails biting into his shoulder blades, warm skin, and a piercing gaze.
“Wonderful,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He stretched his arms over his head and then glanced at the digital clock on his nightstand. He was late. “Even better.”
He rose from his bed and stumbled tiredly into the bathroom in his boxer briefs. From the doorway, his cat meowed at him to express her displeasure at having to wait to be fed.
“Sorry, Bonny, give me a moment,” he said. He squeezed toothpaste onto his toothbrush as he peered at his disheveled reflection.
Bonny was a stray who had shown up outside the flat one morning almost a year ago. She’d been thin and distrustful, and Will had decided immediately that he needed a pet. After a while, it became sort of comforting to know someone was waiting for him when he got home, even if it was a cat.
Once he finished in the bathroom, he threw on the first pair of jeans he could find and shrugged a clean t-shirt over his head before tending to Bonny. When she finished her breakfast, he allowed himself a few minutes to play with her. It had taken over a month to earn her trust, but his lap was now her favorite place to curl up in the mornings, and he hated disappointing her. Anyway, he was already late for his work study.
Of course, he also didn’t want to get fired so, with a final scratch to Bonny’s chin, he set her on the floor and returned to his bedroom. He stuffed all his textbooks and folders into his book bag, slung it over his shoulder, and slipped out of his flat.
He only lived a few minutes from campus, but he was still nearly an hour late. The details of his dream had already slipped away, leaving him only with the impression of hazel eyes. Hopefully, that would fade as well. The last thing he needed was to be having inappropriate dreams about a girl who he was not only supposed to be studying, but whose words had stayed with him all evening after the therapy session.
It wasn’t just her condescension for him that stuck out in his mind though; it was the look on her face when the others had mocked her. It had been defiant, as if she had to prove to them, or herself, that their words hadn’t bothered her. And maybe they really hadn’t, but he couldn’t help feeling angry on her behalf.
Holding coffee in one hand and his notes from last night in the other, Will sidled into the wee office hidden in the back of the psychology department as quietly and unobtrusively as he could.
James, his boss, looked up from a giant textbook and rolled his eyes. “Will, you are my sole research student in an office that measures the span of three scooters. Do you really think I’m not going to notice when you’re late?”
“Sorry,” Will said. He smiled his ‘I’m disorganized, but you love me’ smile and handed James his coffee before wedging himself behind his desk.
James made a slightly mollified sound and took a sip of the coffee before setting it on a stack of ungraded papers. His worn leather chair groaned beneath his considerable girth as he shifted his weight and ran a hand over his bald head.
“How did it go? Will it make a good case study?” James demanded, apparently refusing to let Will’s brain wake up enough to recall the notes he’d written. At the moment, he was still trying to shake off the last vestiges of the girl who’d slipped into his subconscious last night.
He made a show of yawning just to annoy his boss. Then he grinned behind his hand when James raised a knowing brow.
“You mean, will it confirm your theory?” Will asked.
“Well now,” James said, giving him a stern look that was clearly fake. “That would be unscientific, to simply look for evidence that supports my hypotheses.” The stern look faded to curiosity. “But does it?”
Not for the first time, Will was grateful his boss was so laid back. “Aye. I don’t see how sex addiction can be treated by a well-meaning hippie who makes you do guided meditation and talks about controlling animal urges.”
The counselor seemed like a decent sort, and his heart was in the right place. But good intentions weren’t enough to run a successful therapy group, especially if the addicts truly needed professional help.
James moved a pile of questionnaires to one side and said, “You’ll need to go a few more times, just in case the counselor has some ideas that aren’t completely useless.”
“That’s just perfect,” Will said, shuffling through his notes as his computer booted up. “You do realize you’re sending me off to be molested? As I was leaving last night, I had my bum pinched three times.”
“I’m sure that a grown man such as yourself can effectively protect his virtue,” James said.
“Remind me why you get the kleptos and I get the weird addictions?”
“Because you’re my research student,” James said in a ‘duh’ tone of voice. He buried his head in a textbook and muttered something along the lines of, “Can’t go … might get recognized … troubled youth.”
Will decided not to ask. He would probably be happier not knowing.
When he applied for this job, other psych students had warned him about James. They told him he was a slave driver, a loon, totally mad. James’ previous research student hadn’t just quit his position; he’d quit psychology altogether and was now reportedly in music therapy for his own mental health.
While Will didn’t think James was nearly as bad as he’d been told, there were definitely times he questioned whether his boss studied the human mind out of an intellectual interest or just plain morbid curiosity.
Maybe if he told James he was having dreams about one of the subjects, he would be reassigned.
Except a part of him kind of wanted to go back and see the group again. Specifically, he wanted to see her.
At first, when he called the group out on their hypocrisy—which he probably shouldn’t have considering he was meant to fit in, but the words had been out of his mouth before he could stop them—the suspicion in the way her head tilted had worried him that he’d been caught. But then she had responded by insulting him, and he realized she just wasn’t keen on having others defend her. Or maybe she wasn’t used to it. She had regarded the entire group with such contempt that it wasn’t hard to see why the others didn’t like her.
And yet she had still helped one of them to the door, which made him wonder just how much of her indifference was feigned.
Maybe he hadn’t been the only one there under false pretenses. He couldn’t believe that a girl who’d perfected the ability to look simultaneously gorgeous and contemptuous would attend a sex addiction treatment class if someone wasn’t holding a gun to her head.
In his freshman year, some friends had gotten caught drinking at a campus party. The University had given them the choice of either a hefty fine or weekl
y alcohol counseling. Maybe she was in a similar situation, although Will could only imagine what someone had to be caught doing to be sent to sex addiction therapy.
Best not to linger on that.
Throughout the whole meeting, she hadn’t cracked a smile once. But in spite of the ‘Ice Queen’ reputation the others in the group had given her, she’d shown plenty of emotion. She was just more cautious about it, as if she expected something terrible to happen if she let her guard down. Then, when she finally talked, her voice had surprised him by being unexpectedly low. Sultry. The opposite of cold and detached.
He didn’t even know her name, but everything about her intrigued him.
Despite this, he wasn’t sure if he even liked her. He shouldn’t like her. And he didn’t know why his brain had turned on him by making him feel like a pervert who did need therapy.
As he began typing up his notes, he recalled the introduction he’d given and the reaction it had gotten. He mentally cringed. He had practiced that speech three times, perfecting his best ‘I’m a man on the edge of spiritual collapse’ voice. It had been meant to dispel any fears about his sincere addiction, making him one of them. But instead, he had rattled through the whole thing with a helplessly daft grin on his face and confused the hell out of them. And all because he had been distracted by a pretty face.
He should have been focused on his job, not making eyes at one of his unsuspecting subjects.
“So how was sex therapy?” came a loud voice.
He minimized his notes just as Finn deposited himself on the edge of Will’s desk.
James only gave Will’s friend a brief nod of acknowledgment. James didn’t mind Finn coming around, even though he was an art major, because he usually helped file papers. James was all for free labor.
Finn had been Will’s dorm mate their freshman year. They had bonded over paintings—specifically, Finn had painted them and Will had analyzed him by judging what he saw in them. His general evaluation had been ‘adequately sane.’
“It's not—” Will stopped himself and shook his head. “Sex therapy means fixing whatever issues you’ve got through having sex, not learning how to resist it. If you have to, call it hypersexuality.”
Finn gave him a blank look. “You are ten times less cool than you were before you started talking.”
Will laughed. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”
“Cancelled. Prof is hungover.”
Will gave him a skeptical look.
“Well, the email only said he was sick, but I read between the lines,” Finn said, flashing a grin.
“And you actually got out of bed?”
Finn gestured at himself. His short, dark blonde hair stuck out at all angles and his T-shirt looked like it had never seen an iron. Or a washing machine. Was it some sort of unspoken rule that art students look perpetually unkempt?
“Look at me. This is the image of a man thwarted out of more sleep. I didn’t find out until I got here.”
Will nodded at the stack of files James had pulled from the wall shelves yesterday. “If you’re going to stick around, be useful and put those away.”
Finn hopped off his desk and set about organizing them. “So are you now equipped to restrain your manly urges?”
“The research isn’t about learning how to approach the addiction so much as it’s about whether those approaches are credible, particularly since it’s an unregulated treatment program.”
“Well then what did you learn?”
“I don’t think I should be discussing this with you.” Will’s remark was accompanied by a pointed look at his boss.
“Oh, come on, James loves me.” Finn glanced over at James. “Right?”
James gave a noncommittal flap of his hand.
Finn beamed. “There, see? Was there anyone interesting at least?”
At his question, the series of contradictions that was his mystery girl rushed through Will.
“You hesitated!” Finn crowed with, to Will, a boggling amount of triumph. “Who was it? Was she hot?”
He was not interested in a sex addict, no matter how gorgeous or intriguing she was. Unfortunately, when Finn set his mind to something, he was like a mosquito buzzing in your ear. So instead of replying, Will only smiled and pretended to ignore Finn’s prying questions.
Chapter Four
After Leah’s last class (poetry still made little sense to her, but she was pretty sure she could get by as a writer without understanding everything Cummings ever wrote), she drove the thirty minutes out of town to her family’s estate. The gates stood at the end of a long, overgrown path. A brick wall surrounded the grounds, although the elements had worn it down due to a lack of upkeep. Or more specifically, a lack of financial resources to pay for the upkeep.
Even in its current state, the mansion still held glimpses of its former grandeur. Her parents did what little they could—or were willing to do—to keep the lawn trimmed and the paint from chipping, but she wished they’d just sell the place and move somewhere more practical. Two thirds of the Carter Estate had been closed off and left to gather dust. The rest was left to the cleaning whims of her mother, who refused to pay for a housekeeper.
Leah let the car roll forward down the gravel path. Low hanging branches that hadn’t been trimmed since before she was born dragged against her windshield. It was a good thing her car was a green junker with plenty of old scratches to cover up the new ones.
As she approached the gates, she pressed the button on the remote she kept on her dashboard. The gates were huge and iron with rusted hinges and the sort of floral metalwork that would have been beautiful if maintained. As it was, they still held an aged beauty found only with old structures. They shrieked as they slowly swung open, and she drove forward onto the paved driveway.
Before she’d even reached the walkway for the three-story mansion, the front door burst open. Her brother waved excitedly, his grin the most welcoming thing she’d seen all day. Truthfully, he was always the brightest spot of her day, and not for the first time, she wished her parents would just let her take him. She’d raised him after all—he was practically hers.
Elijah had been an unintended, and unwanted, pregnancy. Her mom, surprisingly, had refused an abortion, instead planning to give the baby up for adoption. Leah wouldn’t even have known about the pregnancy or their plans for the baby if she hadn’t overheard her parents discussing it.
Since she had always wanted a sibling, she begged her mother to keep him. She had promised to do everything for him; she would be the baby’s full-time nanny. When Elijah was born, she’d kept her word, despite the fact that she had only been twelve at the time. Of course, her mom had to teach her the basics, like changing diapers and mixing formula, but from the moment Leah got home from school in the afternoons to the moment she left in the mornings, Elijah was her responsibility. She and her mom had switched roles—Leah became Elijah’s primary caretaker, and her mom helped out only when necessary.
A part of her had hoped that having Elijah would change things. Once her mom saw the baby, maybe something would click inside her, and she would turn into the loving, considerate person that books and TV said moms were supposed to be. But her mom had handled Elijah with the same sort of detached efficiency as the nurses at the hospital. Leah was just grateful she’d helped out at all.
As for her dad, she couldn’t remember him holding Elijah even once as a baby. But considering he’d always treated Leah more like a pet than a daughter, it wasn’t too surprising.
But they still wouldn’t let her take him.
“Think about how it’ll look to everyone,” her mom had argued.
“They’ll think we can’t take care of our own son,” her dad had added.
“Because you can’t!” she had shouted, furious with them.
Predictably, that hadn’t won her the argument.
She waved at Elijah as she parked her car. He stood leaning against the front door frame. For nine years old, he was getting
impossibly tall. He had the same hazel eyes and full mouth as Leah, but unlike her, he was all smiles and good cheer.
“How was school?” she asked, reaching out to ruffle his hair.
He slapped her hand away, grinning. “We’re learning about constellations. Can we visit the observatory?”
“Sure. Maybe next Sunday? I work this weekend.”
The front door opened onto a large foyer. They passed through the formal dining room, and she gave the chandelier a scrutinizing look. A film of dust coated the hanging crystals. She made a mental note to clean it before she left.
Leah banged around the large kitchen until she found a packet of dry pasta and a jar of tomato sauce. Then she rummaged through the fridge and was grateful to see her mom must have gone grocery shopping recently. Elijah took a seat at the opposite side of the island, smiling at her as she set the items on the counter. He liked to watch her cook.
Seeing the happy way he watched her move around the kitchen kind of hurt, but only in that dull ache sort of way. It hurt because it reminded her of how she used to watch her mom. Their mother was a brilliant cook. She could mix magic in a pot and made even the barest ingredients taste like gourmet cooking. She’d learned everything from her own parents, who had both been culinary masters. Leah couldn’t remember much about her grandmother because she’d died when Leah was four, but she did recall the way she always smelled of different spices.
Her mom, who had always been emotionally reserved, had changed after that. Then, when Leah’s grandfather died a few years later, her mom quit the chef job that their financial situation had forced her to take and she became as distant as Leah’s dad. It was years before she began cooking again, but even now, it was rare to find her in the kitchen. At least she still went grocery shopping so Leah could make Elijah dinner every day.
She grabbed a package of ground beef, an onion, some green peppers, mushrooms, and then closed the fridge and set those items on the counter as well. Then she filled a large pot to boil the pasta, pulled out a host of spices from the spice rack, and began chopping vegetables to spruce up the sauce.
Addicted to You Page 2
