by J. D. Dexter
“For example, my best friend does CrossFit. His left side is marginally weaker than his right side, which causes him to have to adjust some of his exercise routines. Well, come to find out, his left piriformis had adhesions.” I shake my head. “Sorry, was in knots. This time to such an extent that he had developed trigger points.” I rub my hands together. “Trigger points are my bread and butter.”
“Did I hear you correctly in that you cause pain? On purpose?” Reggie sounds scandalized.
“Yup. Most of my patients have a love/hate relationship with me.” I chuckle just a little.
“That was a scary laugh.” Reggie blinks at me.
“She can get that way, Reggie,” Hunter says. “I’m not brave enough yet to have her work on me.” He walks into the room and settles himself next to me on the couch.
“Wonderful, Reggie. Thank you for getting our guest a beverage,” Mrs. Rightencroft says as she enters the room.
“Yes, he did. And please call me Finley,” I invite her.
She looks at me in silence for a couple of heartbeats. Then her face clears like clouds after a storm. “I will, Finley, thank you. Please call me Abby.”
I breathe a silent sigh of relief. I’m so glad she’s not another Aunt Cynthia. I’m always nervous around uptight women. They make me feel like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.
“Reggie seemed quite captivated by you when Hunter and I came in. What were you discussing?” Abby asks.
“Abby-girl, she likes to cause her patients pain!” Reggie practically dances in his seat.
My heart melts a little bit at his pet name for the regal woman sitting next to him. These are quite the pair of opposites.
“Oh my. Is that true, Finley?” She, too, looks scandalized.
“Yes. Although it’s never more than my patients can handle. I aim for that ‘hurts so good’ feeling,” I try to explain. “It depends on each person. What works for Hunter might not work for Reggie. What works for Reggie might not work for you, Abby. It’s all relative.” I shrug my shoulders.
“From hearing Josh talk, you’d think that you were Satan’s minion come to torture him,” Hunter says.
“That’s because Josh likes to whine like a little girl about pain,” I reply.
“Who is this Josh person?” Reggie asks.
“He’s my best friend, has been since childhood,” I say.
“And Hunter, would you agree that this Josh is akin to a small girl when it comes to pain?” Reggie asks, his eyes aglow.
Hunter laughs. “Not from what I’ve seen. But I have heard him whine about getting worked on by Finley.”
“Fascinating. I’ve been having some trifling pain in my lower back for a number of years now. Would you be able to help me?” Reggie asks.
“I would certainly be willing to try. I’ll give you my contact information and you can decide if you want to brave the appointment. I’ll try to remember to leave a card with you, but I don’t have my phone with me to give me reminders.” I smile a little sheepishly.
“Wonderful!” Reggie claps his hands together.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Abby smile. She looks so happy watching Reggie’s excitement. He fairly bubbles over with enthusiasm.
“You know my passion, Reggie. What is yours?” I ask after he’s calmed down a little.
“I’m a historian, and teach at the local university,” he replies. “I love learning about the people of history. Quite a few scoundrels and strumpets. Those are my favorite.” He looks almost embarrassed.
“At Wichita State? That’s where I got my degrees.” I wink at him. “Those scoundrels and strumpets would be my favorites, too. What era of history are you passionate about?”
“Anything before 1900.” He opens his mouth to speak again. He glances at Abby before saying another word, she gives him an indulgent smile. “There’s one particular instance in history that is my absolute favorite. Not really a scoundrel, but definitely a trouble maker. I’ll tell you about him sometime. You’ll be shocked. Shocked, I tell you!”
He waves his hand. “What are your degrees in, if I may be so bold?” He’s leaning forward in his seat once again. He looks as earnest as a kid on Christmas morning.
“Sure. I got my BA in psychology. I also earned a Master’s of Science in Psychology, and a Master’s in Social Work. The latter of which from WSU.”
“But yet you work in muscular dysfunction?” Abby asks, her voice a little hesitant.
“Yes. A personal choice. I carry licensure to provide private mental health practice, and I’ll keep it just in case my clinic falls through, or I feel God leading me to add mental health therapy into muscular dysfunction.”
“I see.” Reggie nods his head. Giving me a beatific smile, he shakes his head immediately. “I’m kidding, I have no idea.”
“It’s okay.” I smile at him. “I worked almost exclusively with sexual assault survivors while getting both advanced degrees. That field takes, and did take, quite a bit out of me. Once I graduated with my second master’s degree, I couldn’t bring myself to immerse myself fully in that field for a life-long career.”
“I might go back to it, since survivors have a big piece of my heart. But in order to do that work well, you have to be willing to give it your all, day in and day out. I didn’t have that capacity anymore. I wanted my clients to have my best, and it wasn’t something I could deliver.”
“Now, if they have some body-centered issues, I work with them and their therapists, so they can continue to get holistic care. But my focus is on the body, instead of the psyche and mental aspects.” I take a sip of my soda to help cool the brush of heat creeping up my cheeks.
“I know it’s very late, but would either of you like something to eat?” Abby moves to get out of her seat.
Hunter looks at me, his eyebrows raised.
“I would love to, but we have something that can’t be put off any longer. Could we do a rain check?” I ask. I would love to eat with them sometime, but I’m a little worried about the letters that got Hunter all riled up about.
“Of course. Reggie and I would love for you both to come over for dinner sometime. I’m not sure when Kendra has her next break, but I know she would love to meet you as well.”
“That sounds wonderful,” I tell her.
06
“Fyndrexia.”
I tune out the voice currently ruining my view. Hunter’s body is on full glorious display. His golden skin kissable in the bright sunshine of the tropics. His white-blonde hair a streak of white fire against the backdrop of blue skies and turquoise waters.
“Fyndrexia. You must wake.”
Steadfastly ignoring the husky voice, I focus on the sun soaking into my bones turning me to a relaxed pile of bronzed goo. The tinge of salt in the air and the spray of cool water on my skin.
“It looks like you need some more sunscreen.” Hunter’s eyes gleam. “Doctor’s orders. Roll over, baby.”
“Fyndrexia, we have not much time! You must WAKE!” The voice booms through my dreams, collapsing them around me like so much smoke.
“What! And who the heck is talking to me?”
“You received my letters. My informants have told me this. You must begin learning how to use your powers. And quickly. The worlds depend on you.”
“Uh huh. That’s what the letters said. Why should I believe you? Are you even related to me?” Sarcasm also transmits well in dreams.
“Of course, I am your father!” He sounds affronted. “I have been watching you since your conception.”
Easy there, Darth Vader. Because that’s not creepy or anything. I wonder if he would be willing to take a DNA test. I could ask Uncle Mark.
“My name is not Darth Vader. What does ‘creepy’ mean? From your tone, I would assume it is not complimentary. I also have no idea what a ‘DNA test’ is, nor do you have any uncles or aunts. You were our only young, as were your mother and I.” His confusion both amuses me and ticks me off, because
of course he can read minds, too.
Rude.
How did I miss out on the mind-reading ability? Having Josh project his thoughts into my head doesn’t count. Heck, even Hunter can read my mind.
“Creepy means that you’re freaking me out…in a bad way. A DNA test is a way to see if you are actually my biological father. And considering Anixia killed my adopted parents, who I considered to be my real mom and dad, don’t ever call yourself my father again.” I’m not willing to entertain any other claims of family, not for a long time.
“That is why I have come to you in the Dreamscape. Anixia is unable to use this means of communication. Her power has grown so much over the last half millennium, that she has corrupted her original gifts,” he explains.
“Wait. Half a millennium? How old are you guys?”
“My race lives for thousands upon thousands of your Earth years. I am half done with my life cycle,” he says.
“What is your name? I won’t be calling you father, daddy, dad, or any other diminutive of the paternal figure.”
“My true name is unpronounceable in Earth languages.”
Right. Here we go again.
“Any name will do,” I tell him. “Benjamin, Jessica, Anthony, Sheila, Jorgen.”
“Jessica is pleasing to my ears,” he says.
I snicker. “Okay, Jessica. What can I do for you? Why are you interrupting some truly wonderful dreams about the man of my dreams?”
“Your…laughter…leads me to believe that something I said was funny.” He sounds suspicious.
“Why are you bothering me?”
I guess men not getting their ways results in pouting no matter their species identification.
“I’m not going to ask again, Jessica. I’ll wake myself up, and then you’ll be up that particular creek without a paddle.”
“Where is Particular Creek and why would I need a paddle?”
“For the love of all things holy, just tell me what you want!” I mentally yell at him.
“You are very confusing, daught—"
My growl cuts off the rest of his sentence. “Don’t ever call me that again. You can call me Finley. Never presume a relationship between us other than strangers,” I snarl at him.
“My apologies.” He at least sounds sincere, if a little sad. “I am Dreamscaping tell you that you must begin to learn and test your powers. You are called to a greater destiny than touching strangers.”
Suck it, douche-canoe, I’ve been making my own decisions for a very long time. Nor am I joining your army. I’ll get rid of Anixia on my own.
“Watch your tone of voice, Finley, even mentally. I might not be allowed the title of father, but I am vastly older and wiser than you. I did not understand any of what you said, but understand this: I will not be disrespected, not even by you.”
I feel a little guilty. My parents raised me better than this. I won’t have him or Anixia thinking I wasn’t raised well, that my mom and dad allowed such poor manners.
“I would not besmirch the memories of your parents. I am merely making my expectations known,” he says gently.
I wait a beat. “I apologize for my rudeness. My parents did raise me better than that.” I swallow. “But I’m still not joining your army or your plans for my destiny. I have no buy-in for your game.”
“What is a buy-in?”
“Skin in the game, scratch, nothing to lose or gain.” Crickets, on a mental plane of existence. Still I get crickets. “I have no investment in your plans, so I am disinclined to acquiesce to your request.”
Me and Captain Barbossa.
“Do you have a Captain within your midst?” I can almost see him rubbing his hands together in glee.
“No. It’s from a movie.”
“I see.” He sounds like he’s going to cry. “Nevertheless, you must acquiesce to my request. The lives of your friends and your ‘boys’ depend on it.”
My chest feels like an elephant is sitting on it.
“What do you mean? Are you threatening my boys?”
“Of course not. Anixia is. She is very close to foiling the prophecy. She must be destroyed, Finley. If she were to vanquish you and stop you from fulfilling your prophecy, the entire multi-verse would deteriorate. And she would make all of those closest to you pay in pain and unending suffering.”
My eyes snap open.
That bitch ain’t touching my family and friends.
***
“Hunter.” I shake the slumbering man next to me. He just grumbles.
“Hunter!”
“What?” he complains sleepily. “Come back to bed.” He wraps his arm over my hips, snugging me into the curve of his body.
Oh sweet Bessy and all the angels. Every thought drains out of my brain like water through a sieve.
I sink into his heat. My girl parts are well-rested, and more than happy and ready to get better acquainted with his boy parts. His dusky skin is just under my mouth. His kissable skin.
Leaning forward, I press my mouth to his chest. I string a trail of kisses to every inch of skin I can reach. A hint of his flavor is on my tongue, I open my mouth to get more. Using the barest touch of teeth, I nip his skin.
His arms convulsively close around me just as his low groan fills the air. One of his knees slides between both of mine. My own moan floats between our bodies. I can feel his hands wrapping in my hair right before the tug pulls my head back.
The tension on my scalp tightens things low in my body, making me squeeze my legs together.
“Hunter,” I whisper. My eyes lock on his sleep-hazed chocolate depths; I see heat begin to slide the sleep away.
“Baby.” His voice is so low I think I imagined it. His head dips to mine, cutting off any ability for more words. He sips from my lips like it’s a fine wine. Gently, slowly, he invades my mouth, his tongue curling against my own.
Keeping his grip tight in my hair, he releases my mouth to kiss and suckle my neck. My heart beats heavily in my chest, and goosebumps rise on my skin as his teeth torture me in turn.
Shifting closer to him, I wrap my legs around his waist as he flips us over. Liquid heat pools in my core as his hardness rests in my soft cleft. His low moan causes my legs to clench, pulling him harder against my body.
“Hunter.” I catch a waft of reason as it floats by.
“Hmm?” His answer is smothered against my collarbone.
The feel of his nibbling has me struggling to remember why I woke him up. The heat flaming through my body is telling me to ignore whatever it was. This is more important.
Letting the sensations take me under again, I sink into the feeling of his body against mine. The weight of him resting on my body, his hips between the softness of my thighs. All the places he’s hard and I’m soft are highlighted in bright Techni-Color detail. I couldn’t dream of a better guy.
Something nags at me again. Pulling me from the playground that is Hunter’s body, it annoys me enough to open my passion-heavy eyes. Seeing Hunter’s blonde hair against the blues of my bedroom walls slams my dream back into my brain. The tropical dream and Dreamscaping with my biological male donor.
Hunter’s hands have been busy, molding and shaping my body. He reaches a particular hot spot of mine and I almost go up in flames. His husky chuckle is not repentant in the least.
“Hun—" Another moan smothers his name as he does it again.
“Yes, baby? You like that, huh?” His velvety voice drags against my skin, heightening every physical sensation.
“Oh, angel socks.” I clamp my legs tighter, scratching my nails down his back as I arch into him.
“Angel socks?”
“Hey Finley-babe. You need more coffee!” Brian’s booming voice drenches Hunter and me in cold water.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” Hunter looks ready to do someone grievous bodily harm. “This is not funny. Stop laughing.”
Near the bottom of my vision, I can see my boobs shifting under my tank top with each chuckle tha
t leaves my mouth.
“Never mind. Keep laughing.” Hunter looks both dazed and hungry. The heat in his gaze sets my girls to quivering under the thin material even more, but for very different reasons.
“And toilet paper!” Brian’s announcement is accompanied by several heavy, door-shaking thumps.
The spell is broken. I can’t contain the chuckles, so I drop my hands from Hunter’s shoulders and hold my breasts down against my chest. His mouth dislodged, Hunter glares at my breasts like they’re the offenders.
Which just makes me laugh even harder. I’m struggling to get enough air in, I’m laughing so hard. Tears begin sliding down into my hairline and my stomach muscles begin cramping.
“Foiled again, Angel.” He rests his damp forehead against my own.
Reaching back, he unhooks my ankles from around his waist. Throwing off the blankets like they’re on fire, he jumps off the bed and quick-steps it to the bathroom.
The slamming door reignites my dying laughter.
***
“What was up with the slamming door?” Josh asks me once I make it out to the void that is my new living room.
“Hunter,” I say around a chuckle.
“You gotta go when you gotta go.” Brian, ever the sage.
“Indeed,” I say. Walking to the refrigerator, I open the doors. Unless I feel like drinking down some condiments, I need to do some serious grocery shopping. I have the slightest desire for some actual food. I guess Brian, while ill-timed, did have a point.
Brent comes in the front door, one arm full of drinks, the other full of pastry bags.
“Bless you!” I take the drink carrier from his hands as he sets the bags on the table. I’m just glad my table and chairs escaped the massacre. Otherwise, we’d be dining on breakfast—or rather brunch—on the floor.
“I’m not sure that’s the phrase I would use,” Hunter grumps as he joins us at the table, glaring daggers at Brian.
I stifle another chuckle, aware that he’s more than a little frustrated. And while I shouldn’t take enjoyment from his temper, it does make me laugh.
“What?” Brian looks confused. “What did I do?”
