Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
My first session is with Tyler. I’m excited to get to know him better because other than the podcast, I haven’t spent much time with him. He hasn’t even come to one of my classes yet.
“Hi, Tyler, you ready?” I ask when I find him already in the room.
“I guess. Lucas says you’re pretty cool or whatever,” he answers.
The compliment, flippant as it may be, from Lucas is unexpected. Half the time, I think he’s the antagonist to my protagonist at the club and Chance’s adversary in action.
“Are you two friends?”
“Yeah, we’ve been bros for a bit. We play ball together sometimes. That’s how he got me down here to the club—the court out back.”
“Oh, it’s a pretty cool space. There’s the court, a turf area, some heavy weights, and one of those big tractor tires to flip. Do you work out a lot?”
It’s a baby step into conversation, giving him time to get comfortable talking with me about whatever’s brought him in for a counseling session, and it works. The time passes quickly because Tyler’s an open book, telling me about his classes and hopes for post-college as easily as telling me about his homelife, which wasn’t the happy family it appeared to be.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever find a girl,” he confesses. “My head’s all messed up with ‘be this, do this, that’s not allowed’ on one side and what I want on the other, ya know? Or what I think I want.”
“There’s no rush. Take your time to examine everything you think a romantic relationship should be—what your parents told you, society tells you, your heart tells you. Some of it, you’ll trash instantly. Some of it will take some deeper reflection. And some of it will feel right.” I place my hand over my heart. “Give yourself time.”
We wrap up, and Tyler thanks me for listening. “That’s what I’m here for,” I say with a smile. “I’m happy to talk again, and I’d love to see you in class.”
He leaves, I make a few quick notes in my files so that I can track Tyler’s sessions. I’m mid-type when a throat clears.
I look up to find Stephen. He’s my next appointment. “Hey, Stephen! Come on in. I’m just finishing this up.”
As he sits, I click save on my phone and set it on the table beside me. “How’re you doing?”
“Not so great,” he confesses sullenly.
“I’m sorry to hear that. What’s happening?”
“I thought I met someone great, but turns out, she’s a whore like the rest of them.”
Whoa. That is not like Stephen at all.
He’s usually smiling, helpful, and friendly, occasionally more of the quiet type, but he’s been making huge strides in his confidence. But right now? He sounds angry, sad, and resentful.
Keeping my face blank, I say, “Okay, can you tell me more about that?”
CHAPTER 27
CHANCE
Finishing up dinner, I check the clock. My timing’s perfect. Samantha should be here any minute. I can’t wait to hear about lunch with her Mom and Olivia. I hope it went well.
I put the sheet pan in the warming oven, giving the mix of turkey sausage, carrots, and brussels sprouts a shake. It’s a new recipe and it smells delicious. To me, at least. For Samantha, I balanced out the questionable brussels sprouts with sausage and carrots since I know she likes those.
Dinner is going to be great. And then after is going to be even better. It always is with Samantha because she keeps it so fresh and exciting, whether it’s a quickie, a long lovemaking, or a rough fuck. Toys or no toys, filthy language or quiet moans, it’s somehow different every time, and I can’t get enough of her sexy body, creative mind, and beautiful spirit.
Sitting on the couch, I pull out my phone to check the news while I wait for her.
Eight o’clock comes and goes, but I’m not worried. Her sessions probably ran long or she got caught up talking to Jim about something or other. He’s incredibly chatty for a guy who claims to not like people.
At eight thirty, I send her a text.
Hey! Dinner’s ready when you are.
At nine o’clock, I call her and it rings and rings, eventually going to voicemail.
“Hey, uh . . . just checking in. We said eight o’clock for dinner, right? Are you still with one of the guys? Call me.”
By nine thirty, I’ve decided that lunch with her Mom went awful and she’s home dealing with the fallout. Or that, for some reason, she’s ghosting me. Or that her phone died and she’ll be here any minute.
Or that she’s done with me.
That’s the thought that keeps coming back, over and over. I know she’s skittish. Maybe something happened today that made her realize how deep we’ve gotten and she’s running scared like I knew she would.