Chapter 4 – Lacey
Chapter Four
Lacey
Saying goodbye to Grim hurts as much as it does following every visit. The only thing that gives me comfort is that he’s a lot mentally clearer on his way out than he was on his way in.
I take another ten-minute shower and dress in a new pair of pajamas. I only have one set left after this, but that works out perfectly with the hours I’m scheduled.
Doing laundry every night after work is annoying. It’s probably time I break down and buy a few more sets. They’re a tax write-off, anyway, since I need them for work purposes.
My current obsession is jersey cotton matching sets, and this one is especially cute. It’s Christmas themed, with little Santa’s sleigh designs mixed in with The North Pole signs and reindeer in Santa hats. It even has matching socks and a headband with antlers.
I shove the thing onto my head, hoping it helps tame my flyaways.
I didn’t fully wash my hair this time. I’m supposed to, so I might end up regretting my decision, but it’s a real pain in the ass.
Not to mention the havoc it wreaks on my hair and scalp.
It also might have something to do with not being mentally ready to be completely rid of Grim’s scent.
Heading down the hallway to the office, I frown when I spot the light above my door. It indicates I’ve already got another appointment waiting. I could head to the front desk, just to get the client info, but that would mean I’d have to walk out into the waiting room.
Damn, I’m supposed to do session notes for each appointment.
I haven’t done Dan and Mark’s or Grim’s.
That makes it sound more official than it really is.
Basically, the receptionist will shove an appointment note form at me. I’m responsible for filling in their name, the date, and time of the appointment. Half the time, I don’t even know their legal name, but I figure the front desk handles all of that when they add it to the patient’s file.
I’ll scribble in their temperament upon entering the session and document if there was any improvement upon ending the appointment. Then I write a few sentences about how we snuggled and check the box if I’m willing to see that particular client again.
Some clinics accept insurance, but we don’t. I’m sure if we did, everything would be a lot more official.
I glance between the door to my room and the front desk. I never enjoy leaving clients waiting. I’ll handle my notes after this appointment.
I’m dead on my feet as I trudge up the stairs to my apartment. My night wasn’t even particularly hectic, but I had four appointments this evening with five total clients.
I’ve done research, and I think pheromone therapy is a little like massage therapy in that there’s an energy exchange between the massage therapist and the client. The same thing happens to me when I spend time with an alpha that’s having a particularly bad day.
My last client seemed frustrated, and for whatever reason, his energy left me in a funk. I showered after his session and dressed in warm clothes for the hike home, but it did nothing to help me shake off the weird vibes.
I’ll probably plop down on my sofa, watch some TV, and order dinner. There’s no way I’m cooking at eleven o’clock at night. It’s just not happening.
I shove my key into the top lock before moving to the handle. Once they’re both unlocked, I twist the knob and push the door open.
“Mmm, can I come in?” a playful voice asks from directly behind me.
I jolt and shriek, even though the voice is familiar. “Jesus! Callum, you scared the hell out of me.”
“Sorry, Lace.” He chuckles, wrapping his left hand around my middle as I stumble inside my apartment.
He almost never calls me by my full name, which I don’t mind a bit.
“I brought Chinese.” He shakes the bag in his right hand, and my nostrils flare, breathing in the combination of the delicious fried food and Cal’s smoky campfire scent.
He always smells delicious, but the greasy food makes my stomach growl.
Cal releases me once he’s sure I won’t face-plant, and I spin around.
“You’re like a freaking ninja. I didn’t even hear your door open.”
“You barely missed the delivery guy, and I don’t want to eat alone.” He laughs, shaking the bag. “If I feed you, will you forgive me?”
My lips push together, and I nod. “You unpack the food. I’ll meet you at the coffee table. I need to turn the heat on and get out of my coat.”
Callum moved in directly across the hall a few months ago. He’s gone a lot. I’m not sure if he travels for work or if he just has a very active social life, but he’s almost never home, at least compared to me.
I’m a bit of a homebody, though.
We ran into each other in the hallway one night when he was collecting his delivery, and I was coming in after work.
It’s not necessarily a ritual, but we have eaten together a few times since. And he knows how much I love bourbon chicken with fried rice. It’s like the holy grail of Chinese delivery, since only one place around here has it. I’m used to having to go to the mall to get my fix.
I groan, drop my fork in the plastic take-out container, and put it down on the coffee table. Snagging my soda, I take a long sip before screwing on the lid and putting the bottle down.
“I’m stuffed.” I fall back against the couch cushion and dart a look at Cal. He’s on the other end of the sofa, shoveling a massive bite of lo mein into his mouth.
It’s beyond me how the man can look attractive while doing the most random things, but here we are.
He has two sexy little hoops that frame his bottom lip.
Maybe those are called snake-bite piercings?
It’s hard to tell since I’ve only seen someone wear studs in that kind of piercing, but they fit Callum’s face to perfection.
They’re black stainless steel, and they match the hoop in his nose, which coincidentally matches the plethora of dark tattoos that line his neck.
He catches me watching and winks. “Are you sure I can’t interest you in a bite?” He holds out the white box of noodles.
“I’m literally dying. I think I ate three pounds of food.” I stretch back, running a hand over my stomach. “Why didn’t I stop when I was full?”
He laughs, and his wavy blond hair falls over his forehead. It’s shaved close on the sides and around the back, but the hair on the top of his head is so long, I bet he could braid it if he wanted to. “Because it tasted good?”
“Obviously,” I agree, grabbing the remote and flicking to Netflix.
Staring at him is a bad idea.
Luckily, I’m too full to do something ridiculous like chuck myself at him, but last time we hung out…
It got close.
He brought this strawberry shortcake covered in whipped cream for dessert. Then proceeded to feed it to me by hand. The entire experience felt sexual, and I was sure he was into me too, but once the slice was gone, he sat on the other end of the couch and simply watched the rest of the movie.
I kept waiting for him to kiss me or make a move of some kind, but he was totally respectful and left as soon as it was over. It was confusing, to say the least, and I’m a little surprised he even popped back by. I spent the next several days convincing myself that I made something out of nothing.
Now he’s here again, and it’s safe to say I have no idea what’s going on.
“What are we watching tonight?” He drops his food on the coffee table and reaches down, loosening the ties on his boots. His blue-green eyes meet mine as he kicks out of his shoes.
I try to focus on the question, but Callum is stupidly hot. Like the kind of gorgeous you only see on actors or musicians or maybe models.
A few days’ worth of stubble, just a few shades darker than the hair on the top of his head, frames his strong jaw a little too well as he grins.
And the man smiles like he knows how melty it makes my insides.
That’s unfair.
“Not that I hate Christmas movies, but how do you feel about horror?” He shoves himself off the couch and gathers the trash, dropping it into the plastic bag that it came in.
Once everything is tidied, he heads to the trash can in the kitchen.
“Need anything while I’m up? Do you have beer?
” He pulls open the refrigerator as I blink in confusion.
What is happening?