by Ava Harrison
“And what type is that?”
“The deep, dark, and brooding type.”
“Wait, do I really seem that way?” He grimaces.
“Kind of. You’re pretty serious all the time.”
He looks down at his hands on the table, then lifts his eyes to meet mine. His usual pale blues appear flat and lifeless. “I’m only that way with you.” His tone is low and he sounds apologetic.
I don’t speak for a moment, trying to absorb what he just said. “Oh.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
Uncomfortable, I shuffle in my seat. “How did you mean it?”
“You’re my patient. I have to act that way.”
“But why? We’re just two people drinking coffee and having a conversation.”
“No matter where we are, we’ll never be just friends having a cup of coffee.”
“I-I don’t understand.” My voice rises louder than I intended and he peers around the room before leaning into the table and answering me in a whisper.
“As your psychologist, there is a trust level we have to have. Our relationship is about you. If it starts to be about me, then lines have been crossed.”
My chest hurts. I hate this. “I don’t think it’s that black and white.”
“It has to be. This . . . Me eating with you . . . Even this is frowned upon.”
“Then, why are you here?”
He shakes his head and bites his lip. “I needed to see you. Make sure you were okay. I guess I can’t stay away.” A muscle in his jaw twitches and I know he wants to say more but doesn’t.
“I don’t want you to. I feel comfortable with you, and I don’t normally—” My voice shakes as my lips tremble.
“You shouldn’t feel comfortable with me. Being friends . . . We’re asking for trouble.”
“I don’t care, so why should you?”
He looks down and lets out a sigh. His gaze lifts again. “It’s not me who cares. It’s the APA.” My eyebrow lifts in confusion. “The American Psychological Association. They care,” he clarifies.
The thought rips me apart.
I want to continue to argue that it’s okay, but I know he won’t concede. I don’t want to lose this, so I release an exhale and put on a fake smile. “So, tell me about this film,” I say, essentially changing the conversation. If this is all I get, I refuse to waste it talking about why we can’t be friends.
Once we’re done and Dr. Montgomery pays the bill, we both get up to exit the restaurant. As we approach the door, he holds it open and allows me to exit first. When I pass through, he places his hand on the small of my back, and my body tenses as electric currents tingle from where he touches me. Reality starts to blend with this fantasy bubble of two friends having a late night bite together in the city.
“My place is this way.” I gesture in the direction of my apartment.
“I’m in the opposite direction, but I’ll walk you back.” He shifts his weight back and forth on the balls of his feet and I think he’s not ready to part ways, either. “You’re on Thirty-Third, right?”
“Yeah, the high-rise on the corner. But you don’t have to.”
“I want to.” He becomes quiet as his eyes roam over me. They’re beautiful. Were they always so clear? What the fuck is wrong with me? I need to get out of here. I need air and distance from this man who’s clouding my better judgment, because right now I don’t give a damn about the APA or whatever it’s called. All I want is to have him stare into my eyes and smile.
“When you get home, I want you to practice your breathing and visualization. I would also suggest running a bath.”
“Okay,” I squeak. The idea of him knowing I’ll be lying naked in a bath has my cheeks going warm.
“Okay, great. I think that should really help tonight, but if it doesn’t you can call me, and we can talk through it before we meet on Friday.”
Neither of us speaks the rest of the way to my apartment. When we get to my high rise, I turn to face him and accidently lose my footing. My body lurches forward. I’m about to collide with the cement when two strong arms catch me. He pulls me toward him and holds me in his arms.
Looking up, our eyes lock. I get lost in his mesmerizing blues, never wanting to leave the comfort of his strength, but then I see his cheeks pale and a curse pours from his lips. He presses his lids closed for a moment before reopening them and pulling away from me. I don’t know what to do or how to make the moment right, so I reach forward and my hand touches his.
Gently . . .
Softly . . .
I hear his inhale of oxygen as the pads of my fingers press against his skin.
“Thank you, Dr. Montgomery.”
He exhales.
“Please, call me Preston. After waffles, late night calls and saving you from falling. We can be on a first name basis.” He laughs to make light of the situation, but it makes my whole body warm.
“Goodnight, Preston.” His name rolls off my tongue like a dirty secret. Like forbidden fruit. Like something I want to say over and over again but shouldn’t.
“Goodnight, Eve.”
I dash into the office on Friday morning with a minute to spare, but it wouldn’t matter if I were late. Most of the staff works from home anyway. The beauty of marketing is you can do it from anywhere, which has been great for me since the funeral and the start of my panic attacks. But unfortunately, with the new project I’m working on, I need to meet with Michael every day, so working from home isn’t an option.
My eyes roam the room and I wonder if Sydney is here yet. She left the apartment early this morning and I didn’t see her. While I search for her, I notice Barry standing by the windows. When he sees me, his pupils grow and he moves in my direction. Not in the mood to deal with him, I look for an escape. With steady steps, I head to the break room and as if I conjured her, Sydney is by the Keurig.
“Hey, you,” I say as I step into the room and reach for a mug.
She peers over her shoulder and smiles at me. “What up? God, am I tired.” My stomach tightens. I wonder if she’s tired because I kept her up last night with my nightmares. Or worse yet, that I’ve been keeping her up for weeks with my nightmares.
“Where were you this morning?”
“Oh, I had to pick up a banner I ordered for a client.” The machine roars to life and she leans in closer to speak.
“This new presentation is kicking my ass. What’s going on with you? I never see you anymore. You’re always off running around, and when you’re home, you’re holed up in your room. You doing okay? Did you get any sleep last night?”
“I guess, kind of.” I smile through a yawn.
“How’s therapy going, by the way? Figure anything out yet?” Her eyebrow rises and I laugh.
“It’s not like that, Syd. I’m pretty sure it will take more than a handful of sessions and one phone call to fix me.”
“A phone call? You didn’t tell me that?” Oops. “Did something happen?” Her eyes go round as each word she says raises an octave.
“I kind of freaked out a few nights ago,” I mutter out, knowing full well she’ll want details and I’m too tired to give them right now.
“What do you mean?”
“I had an attack.” A crease appears between her brows at my admission.
“Why didn’t you come to me? I had no idea. I’m right down the hall.”
“I know. I just feel like such a burden lately. My problems—” She lifts a hand.
“Are my problems. We are more than just roommates, Eve. You’re my friend. You’re like a sister to me. You can tell me these things.”
“I know. I just—”
“Please, next time can you come to me? I want to be there for you.”
“Okay.” I nod.
“I really care about you, and I—”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I promise.” I give her a small smile. “I have so much work to do today. Lunch?”
“Sure.”
; “Sushi?”
“Sounds perfect.”
I head back to my desk. As I stare aimlessly at the papers in front of me, a restless feeling gnaws at me from the inside out. When will the pain go away?
Tap
Tap
Tap
The pen in my hand drums against the surface of my desk. For the last two and half months, the highlight of every week is our sessions together. Where is she? Why isn’t she here yet? Glancing across the room to the clock on the wall I take in the time . . . She’s officially fifteen minutes late. I’m going to call her.
My fingers scroll through the contacts until I reach her name and I press send. The phone goes straight to voicemail. Shit. I would be lying to myself if I didn’t admit I was nervous. After seeing her a few days ago, I know she’s been having a rough time, and the fact that she’s not here at her scheduled appointment isn’t like her. I want to make sure she’s okay, but other then calling what can I do? Nothing. So I’ll just have to wait. I’ll give her five more minutes.
The time I’ve allotted has come and gone and her phone is still sending me to voicemail, so I decide to head out for the night. Eve was my last patient for the day and since she’s not here I’m going home.
When I’m almost to my place, my stomach growls. Fuck. I have no food at home. What’s fast and won’t take too long? Pizza. I’ll just head over to Pizza 33 and grab a quick bite. I’ll be in and out in five minutes, then I can head home and go over my patient notes for the day.
Walking down Third Avenue, I get to the corner and wait for the light to change so I can cross. With a slight turn of my head, I see the sign for The Corner Bar. Looks pretty empty for a Friday happy hour. My eyes squint as I peer inside and then I stop dead in my tracks. There she is. Standing at the near empty bar as clear as day. Why is she here when she’s supposed to be in my office? I watch as a young bartender hands her a shot and she takes a swig. She leans over the bar suggestively and my blood starts to boil. I head toward the door.
A part of me wishes I were strong enough to keep walking, ignore what I see. But as the distance between the door and me gets closer, I know I’m only fooling myself. I need to go in. I have to. It’s as if a crazy beacon is going off alerting me that I have to, and for some reason I can’t will myself to not.
Instead of going home, I head straight to the bar under my building. I’m three tequila shots in when my eyes focus on the large window facing Third Avenue. I spot a man in a well-tailored suit. I can only see his profile, but he looks a lot like Dr. Montgomery. Lord, I must be drunk. No way is he here. I look back down at my empty glass and then back at the stranger, he’s nowhere to be found. Great, now I’m seeing shit, too. I let out a loud laugh.
“What’s got you laughing?” Austin leans on the bar, his shaggy blond hair lying over his forehead. He combs it back and it showcases a pair of deep, warm brown eyes. They twinkle with mischief. I know I fled his apartment a few weeks ago, but he’s cute and a much better idea than daydreaming about Preston. I lean forward seductively as I answer his question.
“Nothing.” The tequila is warming my body and I feel good.
“Eve.”
Turning around, I blink my eyes a few times. He’s here. What is he doing here? He seems larger than life towering over me.
Overwhelming me.
“It’s youuu . . . Preston.”
“How many have you had?”
“Just a few, but that can change.” I smirk. “What are you doing here?”
“You missed your appointment today.” Wow, he sounds pissed.
“Oh, shit. I totally forgot. Did you come here looking for me?” His eyes turn hooded.
“No. Although I was worried about you.” My breath catches in my throat. He was worried.
“Why?”
“I know how you’ve been struggling, and then you didn’t show up today after work . . .”
“So why are you here?”
“Well, I was walking past the bar to grab takeout from Pizza 33, and lo and behold, who did I see through the window. Throwing back shots none the less.” His words now have a little bite to them but as he stands there glaring down at me it’s impossible not to get lost in his blue eyes.
“I guess I had a lot on my mind,” I mutter and his eyes soften.
“It’s okay. I understand.” He raises his hand and runs it through his hair. He seems uncomfortable now, and I have liquid courage, so I step closer to him. Every cell of my body tingles with the proximity of my body to his.
“It’s not. But I promise never to do it again.” I place my hand on his arm.
His eyes narrow slightly as he takes a deep breath and lifts my hand off him. “Eve.” His voice is almost a whisper as his eyes lock on mine. For a moment I think his eyes mirror my want.
“Another,” I shout across the bar at Austin, but he doesn’t hear me.
“You should stop drinking. You’re drunk.”
“I’m not drunk.” How dare he think he can come here and tell me what to do? This isn’t his office and he’s not in charge of me. “And if you’re not planning on having a drink with me, please leave and let me have fun with Austin over there.” I turn my back to him and wave Austin back over.
“Eve.”
His voice holds warning, but I don’t heed it. I lift up on my tiptoes and stick my butt out. Trying to be sexy, I lean over the bar, and with my luck, I lose my footing and stumble backwards instead. Out of nowhere, Preston’s arms reach around and catch me. My eyes meet his and his gaze sears me. The way he looks at me is almost predatory.
“You’re going home.” He pulls a credit card out of his wallet and hands it to Austin. “Close out her tab, she’s leaving.” His jaw is clenched tight as he speaks, so I don’t argue. I just nod at Austin.
Once the bill is paid, Preston ushers me out of the bar and we turn the corner to the entrance of my apartment building. He doesn’t speak.
“This is me.” I point to the door right in front of us.
I don’t want him to leave.
“You’re drunk, I think—”
“I’m not sure I’m interested in what you’re thinking,” I step closer, my hands resting on his chest. “That is, unless you’re thinking of coming up with me.”
I meet his gaze. His eyes are dark against the black of the sky. His breathing quickens. His chest rises and falls with each inhale of air. He wants me. I can see it.
A couple walks past us, forcing our bodies closer together. If I reach up, I can run my hands his through his hair. I wonder what it feels like?
I wonder if it’s as soft as I imagine in my dreams.
Slowly, as I study his features, I step to my tiptoes, and my body pivots forward. We are so close, too close. I can almost taste him.
I want to drink him in.
I want him to devour me, consume me.
He takes a step in, closing the distance. There’s something thrilling in the way he looks at me, to the way his gaze sears me. It makes me tremble. It makes me almost faint. The cadence of my heart picks up and warmth spreads through my body.
Then it happens . . .
Lips touch.
Gasps and pants.
Breathing each other in.
With his mouth pressed against mine, I moan into his kiss.
A forbidden kiss.
A stolen kiss.
With a sharp jerk, he steps back, turning his body away from me. A deep line mars his perfect face right between his brows. Embarrassment settles in when I realize he pulled away.
I’m mortified.
“I have to go,” he mutters more to himself than to me. His dazzling blues now seem lifeless and hollow. “Call my office to schedule an appointment.” No! I want to shout back. Look at me. Talk to me. But I don’t.
Instead, without even a backward glance, I turn and walk into the building. He waits for me to enter, and then he leaves. Once he’s out of sight, I release a large exhale. I square my shoulders and walk right out the
door and back to the bar.
Austin is preparing a martini. When he lifts his head, our eyes lock and a wide grin spreads across his face.
“Back so soon? Fight with the boyfriend?” His eyebrow raises and he purses his lips as though he caught me in something.
I let out a bitter laugh. “He is not my boyfriend.”
“Didn’t look that way to me.” He cocks his head and I just shake mine.
“Trust me. He’s not.” I give him a dismissive wave of my hand, which elicits a chuckle from him.
“Well, then, he wants you.” Maybe so, but not enough. He lifts his shoulder in a half shrug. “I’m a guy. I know this shit.” My eyes roll at that. “So, what can I get you, darling?” His cute twang brings a smirk to my face.
“A shot.”
My eyes are heavy as I make my way to my apartment and into bed. The last shot of tequila is taking effect, but from across the room, I see the journal. Stumbling, I grasp it in my hand.
Journal Entry
He kissed me and then he walked away. He left me there, standing on the sidewalk in a cloud of confusion. How can I face him again? I can’t. But then again, he kissed me. As mortified as I was, I was also right. He wants this, too.
Once I’m done, I throw it across the floor. The sound echoes in my ears. Without taking off my clothes, I crawl into bed. The tequila coursing through my blood.
I’m lulled to sleep reliving the kiss over and over again.
It’s official, there’s a jackhammer in my skull. My whole body aches and I feel like shit.
Remorse runs through me as last night plays out in my head. I wish I could wake up this morning and not remember what happened, or rather, what I instigated. But unfortunately, the memories are there, and they’re screaming at me. My stomach turns when I think of his rejection.
How will I face him?
I bury my head in my pillow and pretend it never happened.
“Hey, sleepyhead.”
I let out a groan at the sound of Sydney’s voice.
“Hungover?”
“No.” I reach for my pillow and place it over my head to block out the sound.
