Chapter 47
forty-seven
So now, here I am, standing in front of the infamous purple cottage, hoping Madame Solis will pick up where she left off after I pulled away, breaking the connection.
Shoving my hands into the pockets of my hoodie, I try to ignore the way my heart is attempting to claw its way up my throat, failing miserably.
Will she be able to “see” me having sex with Logan in his office and what happened after he brought me home? Or, how about Brex’s dick down my throat in Portland, and what happened in the woods after our near-death experience?
Heat floods my cheeks, and I have to physically shake my head to clear the images from my brain.
What if she sees how I want them both and have absolutely no idea how to choose between a man who makes me burn and a man who makes me laugh?
Taking a deep breath, I climb the porch steps and knock before I can chicken out.
The door swings open almost immediately.
Jeez, it’s almost as if she’s been waiting for me.
“Ah.” Madame Solis’ smile is warm. Genuine. Not the cryptic, knowing smirk I expected from the last time we met. “I was wondering when you’d come back.”
Her salt-and-pepper hair is piled loosely on top of her head today, a few strands escaping to frame her face. She’s wearing a flowing burgundy skirt that brushes the floor and a simple black top, multiple silver bracelets clinking softly as she steps aside to let me in.
“Come in.”
When I step over the threshold, I immediately notice that the air smells different.
Unlike the cinnamon and sweet orange from before, smoky sage curls lazily from a smudge stick resting in a ceramic bowl on the entryway table, and the earthy sweetness of sandalwood burns from a holder on one of the bookshelves.
The room is dimmer too. The bay windows are draped with sheer violet curtains that filter the afternoon light into something soft and dreamy.
“It feels different from last time,” I murmur, glancing around.
“Some readings require a certain atmosphere.” She gestures toward the table. A single candle flickers in the center, next to a single teacup and saucer waiting beside a steaming pot. “Please.”
Lowering myself into the chair, I press my knees together to keep them from knocking under the table.
“In order for me to get the most out of this reading, I need you to drink this,” she says, pushing the cup toward me.
I wrap my fingers around the warm porcelain and bring it to my lips.
The first sip hits my tongue, and I’m surprised.
It’s stronger. Bitter, with an undercurrent of something herbal I can’t quite name.
Maybe rosemary? Whatever it is, it’s nothing like the sweet, honeyed chamomile she had us drink before.
Madame Solis watches me with those dark, knowing eyes as I take another sip, then another, until the cup is empty aside from the leaves at the bottom.
“Now.” Her voice is firm but soft. “Turn the cup upside down onto the saucer and rotate it three times counterclockwise.”
I do as she says, fingers trembling slightly as I turn the cup over and spin it.
“What is that going to do?” I ask, watching as she lifts the cup, peering into its depths, expression focused and intense.
“Help me see,” she explains simply, tilting the cup toward the candlelight. “The leaves form patterns at the bottom of the cup—symbols, if you will—revealing information the tea has drawn from your energy.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, turning the cup slowly between her fingers, brow furrowed. A low humming sound vibrates in her throat, making the tiny hairs on my arms stand on end.
My stomach knots tighter with every second that passes.
Finally, she sets the cup aside with a soft exhale and reaches across the table, palms up.
“Could you not be so cryptic this time?” I say, placing my hands in hers before I lose my nerve. “Just be straight with me. Please.”
Her fingers close around mine, warm and steady, and something in her expression softens. The mask slips just enough for me to see the woman underneath—compassionate, patient, and maybe a little tired.
“Very well,” she says, thumbs sweeping over my knuckles.
I hold my breath.
“This part of the message is even stronger than before,” she says gently. “Your sister drowning was not your fault. You were a child. Your father should have been watching you.”
My vision blurs, a hot, sharp stinging behind my eyes that I quickly blink away.
“She does not blame you,” she continues, squeezing my hands. “She has never blamed you. What you feel is grief. And until you accept it, you will keep running from yourself, from any real chance at happiness, unable to connect on a deeper level with the men who want you.”
A tear slips free and rolls down my cheek.
“Now,” she says, shifting her grip so her thumbs press into the centers of my palms, “about those two men.”
My pulse kicks. “What about them?”
She studies me for a long moment, and I swear her dark eyes can see straight through me as her thumbs press deeper into my palms. “The dark one—he is fire. All-consuming and protective. He burns for you, but echoes of his past are still keeping his deeper emotions at bay.”
“The light one—he is of the earth. Grounded and warm. He sees you clearly and wants all of you with no hesitation.”
“But you know, deep down, that you don’t have to choose,” she says, giving me a pointed look as my heart trips. “The universe doesn’t always follow the rules we’ve been taught. Sometimes love takes forms we never expected.”
I know they both want me. Each of them has had me in some form or another. Logan just opened himself up. Not to mention none of us have discussed what being together would look like. Not yet.
And something tells me that conversation isn’t too far off.
Madame Solis releases my hands. “I see a beautiful future ahead of you. Yes, there will be some fierce storms along the way, maybe even a hurricane or two. But both will always be there to help guide you through the rain.
“But I must warn you: You need to let the people who love you in. All the way. Otherwise you will never fully heal.”
I leave the psychic’s home and climb up into my truck in a daze.
Cracking the window so the cool air fans my face, I take a deep, cleansing breath. I’ve got a pole dancing class to teach, so I need to get focused. Clear my head.
Don’t want to fall on my face in front of the class because I’m fantasizing about two hot men. Men I can’t stop thinking about. Men who have somehow managed to burrow their way into every part of me.
Engine rumbling to life, I make my way through the neighborhood to Summit Studio.
Streets blur past, my mind all tangled up because of what Madame Solis predicted.
A kid on a bicycle cuts across the intersection, and I brake on instinct. Soon the neighborhood gives way to the main road that leads to downtown Lakeside. Daylight cuts across my dashboard, bouncing off cars and storefronts as I drive past.
Taking a deep breath, I turn onto Main Street, pull into the parking lot across the street, and head inside.
“Rey!” Sasha waves me over to the front desk where she’s just finished signing in a client. “About time you showed up. I’ve been dying to talk to you!”
Mind still reeling a little, I force a smile. “Hey, Sash.”
Her keen eyes narrow as they scan my face. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
My laugh sounds more like a strangled hiccup. “Just... crazy morning. You know how it is.”
Sasha hands the clipboard to the front desk assistant. “Mind the desk for a bit, would you, Kim?”
Then, without another word, she grabs my elbow and steers me toward her office.
“Spill,” she demands the moment we step inside. “I’ve been out of my mind waiting to hear about what happened after you left the gala and Logan chased after you.”
“It’s complicated.”
Being around Sasha helps to clear the cobwebs. Helps me not to feel so unsure. She has this feisty energy about her that always cheers me up.
“Complicated is my middle name, girl.” She leans against her desk, raising an eyebrow as she crosses her arms. “So?”
A vision of Logan squeezing my throat while he fucked me into the desk, looking at me as if I’m the only woman in the world, plays out in my head, making my core clench.
“Logan finally came around,” I admit, unable to keep the smile from my face. “And it was…” I cock my head. “What’s the right word? Oh, yeah. Mind-blowing.”
As Sasha grins, her gaze flicks past me to the open door. Expression morphing from surprise to downright mischievous, she snickers. “Speaking of...”
I turn, biting back a groan when I see Logan and Brex standing at the front desk talking to Kim.
Shit.
The next couple of hours are going to be torture. The gym is right across from the room where I’ll be teaching. Not only will I have a sightline to them, but they’ll be able to see everything I’m doing as well.
Flashes of me crawling across the stage toward Brex while Logan brooded at their table across the room fill my head. My body responds instantly, heat pooling low in my belly.
“Hey,” Sasha lifts her hand, tapping at the corner of her mouth. “You’re drooling.”
“I am not,” I whisper-hiss, lying through my teeth, pussy pulsing as I take them in.
Logan is wearing a tight black T-shirt and basketball shorts. Brex’s T-shirt is white; grey joggers hugging his thick thighs and sexy ass.
Fuck. A. Duck.