Which went completely against everything she had told me in the introductory meeting. And what I read in her questionnaire.
Very interesting.
“Because,” I said, my hand moving to stroke down her arm, “I am going to give you a massage.”
“Oh,” she said, her gaze moving from me and toward the bed.
“Do you think you would like that?” I asked and felt her shrug. “Okay. Let's find out then,” I said, moving away from her so she had room to turn her back to me.
There was the briefest of pauses before she turned. Not wanting to give her any time to get anxious, my hands went right to her shoulders, all twisted into knots. Within seconds, Ava was gone. Off somewhere else. Lost in her own head. It was in the stiffness in her body and the way she didn't react whatsoever to my hands on her. “Where are you? You're not with me.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled. Knee-jerk, like it tripped off her tongue constantly.
“Don't be sorry. Tell me what you were thinking about.”
“My roommate.”
“Why?”
“He's a massage therapist.”
He. Her roommate was a he. I felt a rush of something weird. Foreign. It was a swirling, uncomfortable sensation in my chest and stomach.
Jesus Christ.
Jealousy.
What the hell was wrong with me?
“Ah. I see. Have you ever let him give you a massage?”
“What do you think?” she asked on a half-laugh, half-snort.
I felt myself chuckle, working my hands up into her sore muscles. “Why don't you tell me about him?”
“Why?”
“Because you are having communication issues. I figure your roommate is a safe enough topic to get started.” And also, I just wanted to know more about the man she let share her life. Because that was what she did. Whether she realized it or not, she shared her life with him. I was curious to see why he was different. I wanted to know why he was allowed in when all other men were kept at a distance.
“He's an asshole,” she said easily, laughing.
Interesting. “Why is he an asshole?”
“He teases me all the time,” she told me, a bit of bitterness rising into her voice.
“What does he tease you about?”
“The way I dress.” There was nothing wrong with the way she dressed. Understated. Casual, but put together. She pulled it off. It didn't exactly scream “take me”, but it suited her. “How I am uptight and a little OCD about things being clean. About my needing to get laid.”
She was right. He was an asshole.
“He sounds like a good guy,” I drawled and she giggled.
“He's actually not a bad guy all in all. It's just like... living with a teenage boy. He's a slob and has wild parties all the time.” It was right then that I had their relationship pegged. The jealousy vanished (as absurd as it was that it existed at all in the first place). Ava and her roommate had an adult brother/sister type of bond. He drove her nuts by being a dick, but she loved him regardless. He, I was sure just by knowing her for the matter of a few hours, loved her as well. He just was too immature to show it. “Oh, and then there's the ear-piercing screams...” she went on.
“Screams?” I asked, my hands pausing by her hips.
“Yes,” she said, sounding shy. “From... women.”
“Ah,” I said, smiling because she couldn't see me. “Does that make you uncomfortable?”
“Only when I have to wake up in the morning and explain to said women that Jake is gone, he won't call, and they'll never see him again,” she said in a way that suggested it was something she had to do frequently.
“Do you think that has had any effect on how you view sex?”
“Not really. Except knowing with absolute certainty that I don't want to do it with him.”
That was what I wanted to hear.
And she had come out of her shell to share a little.
So I could move on.
“Does this feel good?” I asked as her head moved to the side so my hands could work her shoulders.
“Yes,” she said, her tone a little airy.
Fuck if the sound didn't send a stab of desire through my system.
“Good,” I said, brushing her soft hair to one side of her neck so my lips could press down into her skin again. “Why don't you turn back around?” I asked, nipping into her earlobe.
“Okay,” she agreed, her tone even more breathy.
She turned and almost instantaneously, her eyes lost focus. Her body went rigid. She was remembering something from her past. Something that made her look both anxious and incredibly sad at the same time.
“Come back to me,” I said, watching as her gaze moved up to mine and the blurriness subsided. “What were you just thinking about?”
Her eyes dropped from mine, watching the collar of my shirt like it just became the most fascinating thing in the world.
“The last time someone kissed me.”
My hand went up to her face, stroking her cheek, wanting to wipe away the look of mortification there. “Tell me about it.” The panic rose up quick and strong. “You have to put the work in, Ava,” I reminded her.
Her teeth bit into the inside of her cheek for a second as her eyes dropped. But she started talking. “Jake was having a party. There was a guy who... took interest in me...”
“Just one?” I asked, smiling, not able to help myself.
Her brows drew together slightly. “Yes. Just one. And he just... didn't seem deterred by my lack of enthusiasm. Then, hours later, he finally leaned in and...”
“And what happened?” I pried, knowing she was just going to let it hang there if I didn't force her to say more.
“I handled it for a few seconds then freaked and ran.”
“Hmm,” I said, my other hand going to her face, cradling it. “What did he say?”
“I never saw him again.”
Jesus Christ.
He just... let her freak out and run and didn't even try to figure out what happened? I knew my fellow men were clueless, but fuck... who would pass up on a chance to get with her? Even if it required a little work?
“A face like this, babe, he should have been bringing you flowers and jewelry and chocolate until you got comfortable with him and let him try again.” I paused, watching the flush take over her features. “Do you have any idea what men would do to possess beauty like this? And here I am, holding it.” Now if only she wasn't my client... “Tell me you want me to kiss you.” She needed to say it. I needed to feel her. Taste her. “Ava, tell me.”
I watched as she slowly licked her lips. “I want you to kiss me,” she said on a whisper.
“Thank god,” I groaned, leaning in, grabbing her face, and pressed my lips to hers. It was firm, but gentle, not wanting to scare her with the intensity of my desire. A current moved through her body on a soft moan and her lips started responding, begging for more. My head tilted, my arm going around her back, deepening the kiss.
I got maybe a minute in before her lips went lax against mine. Her body was stiff. She was completely checked out. She didn't so much as open her eyes when I stopped kissing her and moved away.
“Ava,” I said and her eyes shot open, looking shocked. “On a scale of one to ten, how bad is the anxiety?”
“Six or seven,” she said, her hand moving up to close over her throat, like she was trying to break down the barrier that wouldn't let her breathe right.
“Okay,” I said, moving away to sit back on the couch. “Come here.”
“What?” she asked, taking slow, deep breaths.
“It hasn't exactly escaped my notice that I have been touching you and you have yet to put a finger on me. Come here,” I said, holding an arm out. “Put your head on my chest.” Her eyes, already big, got bigger. Her hand closed over her throat hard. “At least try, Ava,” I coaxed.
Then she nodded a little and m
oved over toward me. Her body pressed against mine hesitantly and there was a long moment where I was sure she was going to back away before she finally scooted in and rested her head against my chest. I let her have a moment to adjust, to get comfortable, before my arm went around her. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“What's the level?” I asked though from her steady breathing and her soft body, I knew she was nowhere near a six or a seven anymore.
“Four?” she half-asked, half-declared.
“Be proud of the little victories, Ava,” I said, taking my other arm and pulling her hand into mine, interlocking our fingers.
When she didn't fight it, didn't struggle, in fact, settled in more, I started stroking my hand up and down her back slowly, enjoying the feel of her relaxing. It wasn't long, maybe ten minutes passed at most before I felt her body completely sigh into me, a small murmuring sound coming out of her lips as she fell asleep.
She fell asleep.
On me.
She trusted me. Already. Therapeutically, that was great. But also, it was just nice in general. It was painfully obvious that she didn't trust anyone. But she trusted me. And all it took was two hours of knowing me.
She woke up a bit freaked a while later, pushing off of me, trying to shrug back into her shields. Then, voice shaky and weak, she asked what the next session was.
The next session was something I had tried really hard to not focus on while she was with me. That was because the next session involved the both of us taking our clothes off. I was hard enough just having her near me, kissing me, laying on my chest. I didn't need to think about her doing those things while naked- those fantastic fucking legs wrapped around me... her breasts pressing against my chest... her nipples...
Okay. Enough.
I explained, soothing over her fears, reminding her to be in the moment, not worried about the future. Then I walked her to her car.
I unlocked the door to her little hatchback, watching her shuffle her feet, awkwardly thanking me for walking her.
And I couldn't, or didn't want, to fight it anymore.
“We're outside the office,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “I'm not supposed to do this...” I was talking more to myself than her, but when I saw her brows draw slightly together, I knew it was useless. “Fuck it,” I growled and my lips crashed onto hers.
It was hard. Demanding. It was full of all the repressed desire I had been trying to keep a rein on. First, because it wasn't professional. Second, because I didn't want to scare her.
But apparently that was not a concern. With my lips insistent on hers, her body came alive. It sparked like electricity. And all I wanted to do was...
“Fuck,” I growled, pushing away from her, running a hand across my brow. Fuck fuck fuck. “Sorry,” I said, taking a deep breath as I reached out toward her, stroking my thumb across her chin and lips where she had the slightest trace of beard burn marring her flawless skin. “That wasn't exactly professional of me, huh?” I asked, shaking my head at myself.
“It's okay,” she said, swallowing hard, her face still flushed with desire.
“You touched me,” I told her.
“What?”
“You touched me. When I kissed you. Without being told or asked to. You just did it.” Her eyes went surprised, but there was a little light of pride there too and I felt myself smiling at her. “Baby steps, but that's really good, Ava.” I reached behind her, grabbing the door handle and pulling it open. I needed her to go. I needed to get my head together. “I'll see you Thursday,” I told her, watching her lower into her car. I pushed the door closed, murmuring to myself, “I'm looking forward to it.”
Because, fuck, I was.
And that was a problem.
After the Session
I went home frustrated. No surprise there. Sexually. Emotionally. Professionally. Pretty little Ava Davis was creating all kinds of problems. Problems that I should have been walking away from.
I slammed the door to my apartment a bit too hard, pulling at my tie until it loosened enough for me to feel like I could breathe, moving over toward the couch in the living room and lying down, hand over my head.
Things were finally in place. My psychology practice was steady and stable. My loans were paid back. I had a nice place to live. I had good friends. Life was going the way I worked and studied my ass off to make it go. All those all nighters in college. All the empty coffee cups. All the parties I missed. All the years scrounging up every spare penny I could to pay the student loans. It was all to bring me to where I was. Personally and professionally.
Apparently all it took to throw things into chaos was a blonde haired, brown eyed wallflower with the sweetest little honey voice and a heady cocktail of insecurities and anxieties.
I sighed, shaking my head at myself, letting the last few sleepless nights catch up to me as I drifted off.
**
“Mom?” I called, walking in from school, my little six year old thumbs tucked into the straps of my backpack at my shoulders.
The other kids didn't get to walk home alone. Not yet. Their parents said they were too young. It was too far. Bad things could happen to them. I felt really grown up to be the only one who was allowed to walk themselves home. It didn't even occur to me that it was weird that my mom didn't come to pick-up and get me even though she was home.
Besides, we didn't have a backyard so the walk home was the only time I got to be outside all day except for recess at school. I liked it.
The house was smoky. I knew from the assembly at school that smoking was bad for you. I tried to tell Mom that when I came home, but she waved her hand at me and told me that they calmed her down when she didn't feel good. So I didn't think they could be all that bad if they made her feel better.
But the smoke always made me cough a little and I shrugged out of my backpack and propped the front door open so the smoke would clear.
“Mom?” I called again, walking in through the apartment, my dirty clothes tossed into a piled in a corner, ashtrays overflowing on the coffee table.
In the kitchen, one of her special bottles was laying on the dining room table. One of the special bottles which were full of the drinks that smelled bad enough to make my eyes water. Mom liked those too. Like her cigarettes, they made her calm too.
The bottle was almost empty and I figured she must have gone down the street to get more from the store.
So I did my homework. Then I looked around for something to eat.
The fridge was empty. But that was normal. Maybe if she picked up more of her special bottles, she would pick up some food for dinner too.
I went to bed still hoping for that, belly growling and churning angrily.
But that was normal too.
School would feed me breakfast and lunch the next day. Then my belly would feel better.
I heard the slam sometime later, waking me out of a dead sleep and making me shoot up in bed, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Ow,” Mom's voice groaned and I flew out of bed, moving out into the living room to find her half-sprawled across the living room floor, rubbing at her ankle. “Oh, hey Chasey baby,” she said, smiling up at me, her eyes glassy.
“Hi Mom,” I said, sitting down next to her, noticing there was a tear up the side of her dress. “You okay?”
That was all it took.
A simple question.
A normal question to ask someone who had just tripped.
But a question like that, for my mother, well... it meant more.
I knew this because she burst into tears. Not the quiet type. The loud, sobbing, hysterical type. She laid down fully, her forehead to the floor, her entire body wrecking with her cries as she pounded her fist against the floor. The cries turned into a sort of screeching that had me bringing my hands up to my ears to try to block them out, rocking and humming to myself.
That was how the cops found us a while later.
Me rocking and humming. Mom crying and screaming.
Then the cops took me into the kitchen and talked to me.
Then other people showed up.
They told my mom that she couldn't take care of me anymore. At least until she was feeling better.
Then they took me away.
And suddenly it wasn't just my mom who was crying and screaming.
It was me too.
**
“Fuck,” I growled, sitting up on the couch, holding my head in my hands. It was nothing new. The nightmares that weren't nightmares, they were memories. They weren't new. I couldn't sleep without at least one of them coming back. And, believe me, there were plenty to choose from.
It had been a long time since it was that one, though. The first one. The one that started them all. The one that cut the deepest.
Months. It had been months since it was that one.
I stood up, grabbing my keys, and charging out of my apartment. I didn't want to be alone with my ghosts. Not when they were breathing down my neck, forcing me to acknowledge them.
It was the stress.
I knew that.
Stress brought them back worse.
And I was stressed about the whole Ava situation.
So I walked out of my building and across the street, bent on getting a drink or two, maybe some dinner, before heading back home to pass out.
That was, until I opened the door, and froze.
Because there she was. Ava, sitting at the bar with a martini and an appetizer plate. She seemed uncomfortable and alone. In my bar. The bar across from my apartment building.
Fuck me.
And, again, there really wasn't a choice. I knew I was supposed to walk away. Leave. To do anything but what I ended up doing. I went to her. I sat down with her. I talked to her. I figured out why she was there.
Then the asshole came up.
The roommate.
The one who dragged her to the bar in the first place then abandoned her.
Dr. Chase Hudson (The Surrogate Book 2) Page 3
