Chapter Two #3
Still, Donovan strode toward the coffee shop around the corner.
Tyson cocked his head at me, as if asking is this okay?
I gave a quick nod. Sure. Why not? Unconventional and all that.
As I entered the store, the scent of roasted coffee assailed me. I liked this chain well enough, although I wasn’t a huge coffee drinker.
This morning’s breakfast was a distant memory. I was one of those people with a high metabolism who had to eat a lot. My mother had assured me it’d slow down when I hit middle age and I wouldn’t be able to keep up the same pace of food consumption.
I’d waited for that time. It hadn’t arrived. Of course, I hadn’t hit middle age either. Or at least I hoped I hadn’t. I lived with the optimism I had another fifty years to go. Three of my four grandparents had lived well into their nineties. I intended to do the same.
“Doc?” Donovan met my gaze.
“What?” Doc? I gazed into his assessing stare. “Sorry, what?”
“You’ve got a PhD, right?”
I nodded.
“Well, yeah, so Doc. I asked what you wanted. You look peckish.”
“I am. Peckish. And no one calls me Doc.”
“Well, then I’ll be the first. You look like a vegetarian. Or vegan? They make a mean fake chicken sandwich.”
As I well knew—their beyond-meat chicken was actually quite good. “Uh, yes, that’d be great.” I considered. “What does a vegetarian look like?”
He laughed. “Like you. Like a professor with a sweater vest and glasses.” He winked. “Call it an instinct. Years of reading people. Oh, and being around a lot of actors who eschew meat.”
Which hadn’t really answered my question.
“And do you want tea with caffeine or without?”
“Peppermint would be perfect.” I wasn’t even going to ask how he knew I didn’t drink much coffee.
“You having stomach troubles? It’s been a pretty stressful day.”
Good God, apparently the man didn’t have a filter. I straightened. “I just like the taste. My stomach is rock solid. Although thank you for your concern.”
Tyson snickered.
Donovan pivoted to him. “Ham sandwich? Coffee? Black?”
“Because that’s what all cops eat?” Tyson shook his head, almost as if in disbelief. “Milk with two sugars.”
“Ah, a double-double. We could’ve gone there. There’s one just down the street—”
“This place is lovely.” Tyson scratched his scalp. “But I have to pay for myself.”
“Oh, I do as well.” I’d never considered that I wouldn’t be paying.
Yet before either of us could react, Donovan had all the orders placed and had tapped his card.
I made a mental calculation and realized I’d have to hand over the only bill in my wallet—a twenty. It’d cover the meal twice over, but at least I would be paying my own way.
Donovan glared as both Tyson and I reached for our wallets. “You can get it the next time.” The words came out as a bit of a growl.
My body reacted to the snarl—but not in the way I expected. Instead of being intimidated—or incensed—I was turned on. Something lit inside me, and I felt…excited. Which was out of character for me and I’d have to examine. Later.
I glanced at Tyson.
He also, like I, was sliding his wallet into his back jeans pocket. He licked his lips. And didn’t argue with Donovan’s assertion we’d be doing this again. And by my math, if we each got a turn, that meant two more…somethings.
To what end? Surely, we could wrap up this three-way with just one sit-down.
I could justify unconventional therapy to my bosses if Donovan and I stuck to therapeutic discussions—even if he insisted on public spaces.
I didn’t like it—at all—but I’d also learned some people just didn’t want to sit in a room with a counselor.
They felt safer in public. And some would talk about their deepest and darkest secrets and not bat an eyelash.
That bothered me, but I’d learned to work with it.
To some, coffee houses were an oddly sacred space.
I’d also counseled people in churches, a synagogue, a mosque, and a Sikh temple. I went where people hurt—and adapted quickly. One of the reasons Alessandra gave me some of the tougher assignments.
We collected our food and snagged a table at the back. Next to the washroom but out of hearing from the other patrons. Taylor Swift played over the speaker, and I congratulated myself for recognizing the song. Then before I could blink, her song ended and one by Snow Patrol began.
Tyson jiggled his leg as he unwrapped his ham sandwich. The movement of his leg shook the table slightly.
I noted Donovan’s water. “No coffee? You suggested a coffee shop?”
He shrugged. “I do coffee now and then. I prefer my spinach protein shakes in the morning and mostly hydrate with water for the rest of the day.”
Who was I to argue? I removed the tea bag from my peppermint tea before unwrapping my sandwich.
Donovan’d chosen a whole wheat bagel with cream cheese as well as…a cookie?
I cocked an eyebrow.
He grinned unrepentantly. “I’ll buy you one if you finish your lunch. For a scrawny guy, I suspect you can eat a lot.”
“I have a high metabolism. And how can you possibly know that? And I’m not scrawny—”
“Yeah, Doc, you are.” Tyson eyed me. “But some people like that.”
Some people? Is he…
“Yeah.” Donovan eyed me as well. “Some people really do.”
I schooled my face and tried to hide my reaction. My shock. Truthfully, I hadn’t given any thought to the sexuality of the two men at this round table.
Okay, well, much.
My job was to help Donovan recover from his trauma. If I helped the investigation, that wasn’t a bad thing, but my focus was Donovan. And our professional, therapeutic relationship.
Or so you tell yourself.
No. I have a job to do.
As always, silencing my inner voice proved a challenge. Because I wanted nothing more than to drop the counselor persona and get to know these two men on a deeper level. A more private level. A more intimate level.
Knowing that would absolutely be the unethical thing to do, I bit into my sandwich and tried to silence my inner thoughts.
Good luck with that…