Chapter 20 #2
I took a breath and let the words escape like a deflating balloon.
“Fine. Yesterday, I went to harass Opal about the whole book-writing thing, and instead she basically just yelled at me and told me I’m neurodivergent.
Which shouldn’t have been news to me. She was kind of mean about it, because she’s a retired psychotherapist, and I guess there’s no politeness requirement when you’re retired.
But also it gave me like… I don’t know. A sense of hope.
Because if there’s a reason why I’ve had such a hard time being normal, maybe I can actually do something about it and fix some of the bigger problems. And from last night’s rabbit hole and today’s emergency session with a non-Opal therapist, it’s kind of sounding like this might be the reason for just about every single thing I’ve struggled with.
But also, I’ve failed so many times before, I don’t want to get my hopes up. ”
I picked up my cauldron of wine and forced myself to take a sip so I would shut the hell up.
“ADHD?” Gage guessed.
I nearly fell off my stool. “How did you know?”
“Harry was diagnosed in junior high. The whole family took a crash course in it so we could help with his accommodations.”
“Side note: I love your family. Main note: I didn’t even know adults could have it. I thought it was just something that little boys who couldn’t sit still were diagnosed with.”
Gage patted my hand. “Sorry, sweetheart. That’s not how executive dysfunction works.”
“That’s what Opal’s psychiatrist friend—who was much kinder than Opal—said today.” I patted my bag. “I’ve got a reading list, my psychotropic report card, and a new prescription in here. And I’m scared shitless.”
“Scared about what?” he asked. When I didn’t answer immediately, Gage turned me to face him, tucking my knees between his legs and resting his hands on my thighs.
I liked the contact a lot.
“What if the therapy, the resources, the meds don’t work? What if it all just stays bad? What if I’m just…broken?” I asked.
“Only one way to find out. Do the work.”
I rolled my eyes. “Ugh. I know, but aren’t I allowed a few hours of existential panic?”
Gage looked at his watch. “I’ll give you until eight a.m. tomorrow.”
I gave him a wobbly smile, then looked away. “What if I’m not actually stupid or lazy?”
His hands squeezed my legs. “You were never either of those things. Talk to Harry. He’s kind of an expert.”
I bit my lip. “Maybe I will.” Or maybe I would just wake up tomorrow and nothing would change, and I’d stay the mess I’d always been.
“Look, Zoey. This is a lot for anyone to take in. Anybody in your shoes would feel like their head was spinning. And I’m sure this is in your extensive reading materials, but one of the things I remember Harry dealing with is this god-awful shame spiral.
He’d see his friends pick things up in school and move on while he was getting further and further behind.
He could have easily been labeled a problem kid, which would have stuck with him for a long time had it not been for my sister and her husband being so proactive.
You didn’t have that. You didn’t have an early diagnosis, which means you’ve got a few more decades of shit to unravel.
But you’re gonna be okay. Better than okay. ”
A shame spiral. The words resonated with something deep inside me. “Thanks, Gage. I should probably go.”
“You barely touched your vat of wine,” he pointed out.
I looked down at the glass and found yet another small relief. I didn’t actually want the alcohol. I wanted the quiet it brought my brain. “I think I’m good.” I made a move to push my barstool back and escape, but Gage’s warm, callused hands tightened on my legs, holding me in place.
“Don’t go.”
“I should…”
“Look, Zoey. I don’t know what it is about you, but I feel better when you’re around. I watch the door for you. I sit next to you every chance I get.”
Every cell in my body was vibrating with something. But I couldn’t tell if it was excitement or fear. “What are you saying, Gage?”
“Nothing that changes anything. We don’t fit. We don’t make sense. We want different things. But maybe we want the same thing tonight.”
I wet my lips. “What do you want tonight?”
“I want to forget. Just for the night. I want to get out of my head and feel good for a few hours. No plans, no expectations.”
“I wouldn’t mind forgetting for a little while,” I admitted. Then I looked at his drink. “Exactly how much have you had to drink? Because as tempting as it is, I’m not the kind of girl to take advantage of Bad Decision Drunk Gage.”
He held up his glass. “I’ve had exactly half a glass of bourbon.”
I was going to regret this. I’d never been more sure of anything in my life. But damn did I want this. “Good enough for me. Fun fact. Did you know impulsivity is a hallmark of ADHD?”
“Did you eat tonight?” he asked.
“That’s a weird foreplay question.”
“I have wine and frozen pizza at my place.”
“You also have farm animals.”
“They’re outside, and Nana is having a sleepover at my parents’.”
“This is a mistake. We both know it,” I said, trying to convince myself. But I wanted to be close to someone. Him. I wanted to feel Gage’s hands on me. I wanted to put my head on his shoulder. I wanted him to make me feel good, just for a little while.
“Big time,” he agreed. He released my legs and pulled away.
I wanted to reach for him, but he was standing up and pulling out his wallet.
He threw a few bills down on the bar. “You coming?”
I looked up to find him watching me. “You’re sure?”
“Yes. You, Zoey Moody. Will you come home with me and let me touch you until we both forget everything else?”
I lost the power of speech. My breakup with words was immediate. My jaw was somewhere between my waist and my knees. I managed a floppy-necked nod and slid off the stool.
Gage’s hand settled on my lower back as he guided me out of the bar.
I didn’t even miss the thump of music outside because my heart was doing an impressive drum riff in my chest.
“Are you sure you—”
My last-ditch attempt to be a decent, selfless, not-dying-of-horniness human who wasn’t taking advantage of Gage’s state of mind was unceremoniously cut off when he tugged me off the sidewalk around the side of the building. He positioned me against the wall and moved in close.
Every neglected erogenous zone on my body screamed with giddy delight.
He took possession of my body with a casual confidence, one hand on my hip, the other threading through my hair at the nape of my neck.
I tipped my head back to look up at him.
“I’m sure. But I’m more concerned with you right now. Are you sure?”
I nodded a little too wildly, nearly hitting him in the chin with my forehead. “Yes,” I whispered. “Totally sure. I just wasn’t expecting…this.”
“How about we ease into it? See how that goes?” Gage offered.
At least that was what I thought he said. It was hard to tell over the thrum of blood in my ears. I nodded again, more carefully this time. “Sounds cool.”
Sounds cool? What was I? A 1990s teenage extra on My So-Called Life?
A smile played on his lips. Lips that were dangerously close to my face. “I was watching the door for you tonight,” he said.
My knees buckled. I panicked and fisted both hands in his sweater. “Oh hell.” I couldn’t afford to lose any more sexy points. I had just decided to take the offensive and kiss the hell out of him to hopefully make him forget how incredibly uncool I was when he moved first.
Gage Bishop didn’t kiss like a gentleman.
He didn’t use his tongue like a nice guy.
And there was nothing respectful about the way his hands roamed my body.
Thoughts pinballed around in my brain, getting lost in raw physical sensations. He was hot and hard against me, pinning me against cool brick. His mouth tamed mine with an aggressive kiss that had me reconsidering whether I required oxygen to survive.
His belt buckle and another piece of impressive hardware were pressed against my stomach.
I poured myself into the kiss, savoring the flavors and scents of him.
A whimper worked its way up my throat, and Gage swallowed it with a growl.
His hand flexed over my breast, setting off flares of desire in my downtown.
“Christ,” he muttered against my mouth, and then he was picking me up and wrapping my legs around his waist.
His worthy-of-a-romance-novel hard-on speared between my legs.
“I can’t believe I thought you’d be polite in bed,” I whispered when his teeth streaked down the sensitive skin of my neck.
“You know what they say about making assumptions,” he said before nipping at the exposed curve of my breast.
“Something about asses. Speaking of, I’d really like to see yours.”
He pulled back slightly and ran his thumb over my swollen lower lip. “Still sure?”
“You don’t have to be so cocky about it.”
“Let’s get out of here. I’m driving,” Gage said.
“I can’t believe you’re making me ride in the back seat,” I complained five minutes later.
His gaze met mine in the rearview mirror. “Baby, it’s for your own safety. I’m not confident I could operate heavy machinery with you sitting next to me looking like you want my mouth on you again.”
I pouted. “I want a hell of a lot more than just your mouth.”
“Which you can explain in explicit detail as soon as we make it home safely.”
If it had been anyone else but Gage, I would have taken my underwear off and thrown it into the front seat. But it was Gage, and he was responsible. I wanted to respect that. Also I wasn’t wearing underwear.
“You’re thinking,” he accused. “Second thoughts?”
“I was thinking about the fact that I’m not wearing underwear.”
Gage punched the gas hard enough to make me laugh as I was thrown back against the seat.