Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
A disgruntled Leo stomped to the only door open in the hallway. The others remained shut. His claim the tower wanted them to stay together? Yeah, she didn’t believe that for one second.
“Put me down,” she demanded.
“What’s the magic word?” he riposted.
“Seriously?” She huffed and then added, “Please.”
Leo settled Ruth on her feet, and she immediately turned around and headed for the stairs.
“Where are you going?”
She kept walking as she said, “To find the person who runs this place and demand a room, because we are most certainly not bunking together.”
“Good luck with that. Tower has spoken.”
She whirled and shook her finger at him. “Enough with the pretending this tower is somehow alive. It’s not.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“No, it’s not,” her firm reply. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I’m not interested.”
“Game? Just telling you how it is. Tower wants us rooming together. Period. Trust me, I’m not happy about it either.”
She rolled her eyes. “Stop with the act. I see what you’re doing. It’s not uncommon for patients to form an attachment or to think they are attracted to their therapist. However, I am not a substitute for your loss.”
His jaw dropped. “You think I’m lying about this to bang you?”
“Maybe not to have sex, but to keep me close, yes.”
He laughed. Loudly. “Oh, Buttercup. While you are hot, I can assure you I have no plans to lay a hand on you. Or any woman. Not interested. If I’m feeling horny, I’ll jack off in the shower. It’s less complicated that way.” With that said, he went inside his apartment and slammed the door shut.
Let him sulk about his plot failing. A brisk pace brought Ruth back to the stairs. As she went to put a foot on the first step, she jolted because they abruptly disappeared. Like literally vanished. A smooth floor appeared in its place.
She shut her eyes and opened them.
Still no stairs. What on earth?
She tapped the flagstone with her foot. Solid. While she’d like to accuse Leo of activating some kind of mechanism that hid the stairs, she should have heard and seen it happen. Entire staircases didn’t abruptly evaporate as if they never existed.
There had to be another way off this floor. Ruth whirled to look down the hall and did another double take. Only a single door remained. The one Leo had slammed, which now gaped open once more. The other entrances had disappeared.
Spooky. Had Leo told the truth about Tower? Was it somehow alive? The very idea brought a chill.
Ruth muttered, “Whoever is doing this, you should know it’s not funny. I don’t want to stay with that insufferable drunk.” Not something a therapist should say out loud, but she was freaked out, with reason. The floor under her feet, without seeming to move, zoomed her back to his open door.
Might be time to start believing in magic, but not love. If this tower was trying to matchmake, it would be out of luck. Leo might be handsome and ooze a virility that made her crave things she normally didn’t, but she would never act upon it. He was a patient. An alcoholic. A grieving widower and mourning father with a lot of emotional baggage. Add in his supposed hero-of-the-world schtick and she had more than enough reason to stay away. Far away. Only, she had no choice but to spend time with him.
Holding in a sigh of annoyance, she marched into the lion’s lair. It proved nicer and more spacious than expected. Much like an open-concept apartment, the space lacked interior walls, meaning the living area abutted the bedroom—the bed in the far corner absolutely massive. A pair of recliners with drink holders built into the armrests sat in front of a huge television. A punching bag hung from the ceiling on a sturdy chain. A massive wooden wardrobe abutted a door that she imagined led to this bathroom, the only place not out in the open.
“I see you changed your mind,” Leo stated, standing in front of a bar lined with bottles.
“No, but your tower made it clear I had no choice.”
He snorted. “Now do you believe me? Told you Tower had a mind of its own.”
“And a sick sense of humor,” she grumbled. “Just so you know, I’m not happy about this. It’s wildly inappropriate.”
“You’re not the only one peeved.”
“You’d better not be thinking of having a drink because your tower is forcing us to be roommates.”
He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Surprisingly enough, I don’t want one.”
“Ha, says the man standing in front of the bar.”
“Out of habit. For the past few years, that’s been my routine. Do my job. Come home. Drink until I pass out. Nurse my hangover and repeat.”
“Time for you to find a new way to unwind. Exercise can be helpful.”
“I just climbed nine flights of stairs.”
“And didn’t break a sweat or start breathing hard,” she pointed out. “To release dopamine naturally, you need to exert yourself. Hit that bag. Get a stationary bike. Lift some weights.”
“I already do all those things. We have a gym on the fifth.”
“Then take up a hobby.”
“You going to tell me to garden?” he mocked.
“It should be something that interests you.”
“What’s your hobby?”
“Cooking. I find the art of making good food relaxing, and the leftovers are a comfort when I’ve had a trying day.” She saw no kitchen in his apartment, meaning she wouldn’t have that as a crutch to lean on while staying with Leo.
“I like to eat.”
“You have to eat,” she pointed out. “A hobby should be something fun. Like painting.”
“The only thing I paint is walls, floors, and ceilings with the blood of my enemies.” He crossed his arms. Was he trying to intimidate her? His way perhaps of handling her intrusion on his space?
“Lawn bowling?” she suggested.
“Pussy sport,” he scoffed.
“While I don’t usually recommend it, because of their addictive nature, perhaps you might find ease playing video games.”
“That’s Scorpio’s thing. Never did like them much.”
“Reading.”
“Too many words.”
She huffed. “Surely there’s something you enjoy.”
“I’m enjoying annoying you.” His lips curved.
“I’m not,” she growled. She didn’t understand her reaction. She’d dealt with difficult patients before, yet something about Leo set her off. Blame everything that happened thus far. Too much change, too quick.
“Sorry, Buttercup. I shouldn’t be taking my grumpiness out on you.”
“Don’t call me Buttercup! My name is Ruth.”
“Ruth is the old lady who used to make breakfast at the coffee shop down the street when I lived in the city.”
“It’s my name.”
“Buttercup suits you better.”
“How is that?”
“Because each time I use it, your eyes spark and your cheeks turn pink.” His lips pinched. “I gotta go.”
The abruptness let her know he’d not meant to say that. “Go where?”
He pulled the journal from his pocket. “Gonna get this scanned.”
“What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?”
He had the most devilish grin as he quipped, “Have a drink for me.”
As he left, she eyed the bar and almost did pour herself a glass. She could have used something to calm her frazzled nerves, and she did see some wine there. However, imbibing would be tugging the tail of an alcoholic lion. It wouldn’t be nice or fair. If only she had her kitchen.
She turned from the bar and blinked because, against the wall opposite the bed, where she’d have sworn sat a desk, there was now a double-wall oven, fridge, counter with sink, and an island with a mixer sitting on top.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered as she approached. She hesitated to touch, wondering if it were a mirage. Solid quartz counter. Name-brand mixer. In the cupboards, she found mixing cups and measuring spoons, plus all kinds of dry ingredients to create a culinary masterpiece. In the fridge, eggs, milk, butter, plus packages of meat, potatoes, all kinds of veggies and fruit.
She pursed her lips. Was the stuff even real? Did it matter? “Thanks,” she muttered before rolling up her sleeves. She washed her hands and went to work, making bread dough, finding relaxation in the kneading of it. While it rose, she put together a beef stew, the fragrant smell from the pot soothing her further.
By the time Leo returned, she’d concocted a feast and even managed a smile when he walked in and exclaimed, “What smells so fucking good?”