Chapter 20
Someone knocked on my open door just as I reached for my lunch bag. I jerked my head up, expecting to see Kit, but found Caitlyn there instead. Her once-crisp linen suit looked like she’d wrestled a tiger, and her normally tan skin had a sickly pallor that her makeup couldn’t hide.
“Cait, what’s wrong?”
“This is the worst day of my professional career,” she said before slumping into a chair. “The Monday-est Monday to ever Monday.”
Caitlyn had approached me when I arrived at work this morning and asked me to attend a meeting with a resident’s family after lunch.
Their mother had assaulted one of our security guards over the weekend, and he’d required several stitches in his face.
Since it was the resident’s third and most violent incident, Caitlyn had no choice but to present two tough options to the resident’s family.
They could take their loved one’s worsening dementia more seriously and place them in the memory care unit or find a different facility.
But going off Caitlyn’s present condition, her day had only gotten worse since we talked.
“What’s happened?”
Caitlyn’s eyes widened. “You mean you haven’t heard?”
“Obviously not.”
My phone vibrated with an incoming text.
I checked it quickly and saw it was from Atticus.
“Excuse me for one second,” I told Caitlyn.
Atticus just wanted me to know he was heading to the cafeteria early to grab our fried chicken while it was fresh out of the fryer.
My mouth watered as I replied that I’d meet him at the pond with the side dishes we prepared together before bed.
We’d been dating and basically living together for two weeks, and I’d never been happier in my life.
But Caitlyn obviously needed my help or at least my attention while she vented, so I set my phone down.
“Give me the tea or whatever it is people say now.”
“I wish this was just idle office gossip,” Caitlyn said, “but this could be a major scandal.”
“Involving RAVEN?”
“Well, maybe one of you,” she teased.
There was only one of us who could bring shame upon our good name, and I had to fight the urge to call Archer and demand answers before I even knew what he might’ve gotten caught up in this time. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“So, I’ll just tell you.” Caitlyn held up her index finger and pulled her phone from her pocket. “Better yet, I’ll show you.” She tapped and swiped for a few seconds before turning the phone around for me to see the breaking news headline from an hour ago.
“Columbus, Georgia, massage therapist charged with prostitution and solicitation during undercover sting,” I read aloud. Beneath the heading was a picture of Bobby, looking pouty and rebellious. “Holy fuck!”
“That’s what I said.” Caitlyn nodded and rocked the phone back and forth. “Want to read more?”
Shaking my head, I instructed her to give me the recap.
“It seems Bobby did freelance work as a private massage therapist and offered extra services for the right amount of money. It’s only a matter of time before the media connects him to Silver Maple.” She covered her face with both hands. “We can’t afford a scandal like this.”
I wanted to say something that would ease her strain, but encouraging words failed me. “I guess the best thing to do is inform the board so they can get ahead of it.”
Caitlyn worried her bottom lip between her teeth, then nodded. “Yeah. I don’t have any other choice. I just hope none of the board members are his…customers. Can you imagine if he kept a scandalous client list like a Hollywood madam?”
I remembered the time he’d freed Atticus and me from the art supply closet.
Bobby had been cagey about why he was still on campus, claiming he had to give extra attention to certain clients.
Caitlyn’s fears might not be that far-fetched, but I wouldn’t throw gasoline on the fire.
“I’m sure the board has an excellent attorney or someone with public relations experience to guide them. ”
Caitlyn looked slightly less gray as she got to her feet. “True. Thanks for letting me vent.”
“No problem.” I stood up and picked up my lunch bag.
“Meeting Kit?”
“Unless you need anything else,” I replied.
“No, no. Go ahead.” She paused on her way to the door and smiled at me. “You guys are so cute together. Couple goals for the rest of us less fortunate souls.”
Heat bloomed in my chest and spread up my neck. “Thanks.”
“And I’m making things weird. Bye!”
Caitlyn ducked out before I could respond, and I just shook my head. Couple goals. I liked that she called us that and couldn’t wait to tell Atticus.
I found Atticus at the pond, phone in hand and a shocked expression on his face. Pretty sure I knew what he was reading.
I bent to kiss his cheek before sitting next to him on the bench. “I’m never letting Archer live this down.”
Atticus turned his stunned expression on me and narrowed his hazel eyes in accusation. “You knew?”
Raising my hands in surrender, I said, “Just found out from Caitlyn. She also referred to us as couple goals.”
“Aww, how sweet. I love that for us.” Atticus looked back down at his phone with disbelief still etched on his gorgeous features. “I can’t believe it.”
But when he set his phone down, Atticus remembered it was fried chicken day, and Bobby’s plight was all but forgotten.
He reached into the bag and pulled out a drumstick, sinking his teeth into it with a soft whimper of delight.
The smug grin said he knew the effect those noises had on me, and he loved every minute of it.
I reached into the cafeteria bag and pulled out a piece for myself, biting through the crispy skin and into the juicy meat.
Christ, it was a near-orgasmic experience.
Hazel eyes widened as they watched me chew, and I realized I’d probably made slutty noises too.
“I never thought of eating as foreplay until I met you,” Atticus said. “Now everything is a form of stimulation.”
Leaning forward, I kissed him hard before he could take another bite of chicken. “It’s because you’ve turned me into a horny bastard.”
Atticus snorted and shook his head. “You’re not sick of me? We live, commute, and work together.”
“We also shower, eat, and share lots and lots of orgasms together,” I added. “I love every minute of it, but it sounds like maybe you’re sick of me.”
“No way.” Atticus sounded firm, worried even. “I just don’t want to overstay my welcome.”
“Impossible.”
“You say that now,” Atticus said, “but I think we’re still living in a honeymoon bubble.
You’re bound to want your space, and I need you to know that’s okay.
Like I should probably want independence too.
I went from living at home to moving in with Chad, then I moved back home before practically moving in with you.
Shouldn’t I want to try living on my own? ”
I cocked an eyebrow at him. “You’re talking to a man who couldn’t sleep unless he shared a home with his four best friends. I’m the last person to judge anyone for not wanting to live alone.”
Atticus scowled at my glib remark. “Hey now. Our situations aren’t the same. Look at the hell you guys survived.”
“Living with Chad doesn’t sound like a cakewalk.”
Sighing, Atticus said, “It wasn’t, but it’s not nearly the same trauma you experienced. I moved home because I was jobless with a fuck ton of college debt and had nowhere else to go. And you know what? I’m grateful for my parents, but shouldn’t I want to make it on my own?”
“But don’t let pride make your comeback unnecessarily harder,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“The money you would pay on rent could go toward your college debt. It makes more sense to save money by living with your parents or spending most of your nights with a guy who thinks you’re the most amazing person.” I pointed to my chest. “It’s me. I’m the guy who thinks that.”
Atticus smiled and shook his head. “I don’t know why you feel that way, but I’m so glad you do.”
“You will understand someday. I promise you.”
And I saw in his gaze that he believed me, which was a temporary victory I’d happily claim.
I kissed Atticus deeply, not caring we were on campus.
He melted into me and lost himself in our embrace, whacking my chest with his drumstick.
That yanked me back to reality with a laugh.
We both took a bite of chicken and worked to unpack the sides while we chewed.
We kept our conversation light, chatting about our mornings and upcoming afternoon plans.
Atticus had organized a weekly series where local artists would visit Silver Maple and teach their various art mediums to the residents.
The first class kicked off later that afternoon and featured watercolor painting.
“Need me to model?” I offered. “That worked out pretty well for us last time.”
“Yeah, but now I don’t need to take such drastic measures to get you to take off your clothes.”
“Hard to believe that was two weeks ago,” I said. “I can’t remember what my apartment was like before sharing it with you.”
“Bet it had a lot less clutter and chaos.”
“You’re neither messy nor chaotic,” I told him. “I wish I could snatch those negative thoughts right out of your head.”
“Maybe you could try to fuck them out.”
I huffed a laugh. “I’ll give it my best shot.” But we both knew it wouldn’t be that easy. “Have you ever worked with a therapist?”
Atticus shook his head. “What about you?”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “I’ve worked with a few different therapists on cognitive-behavioral therapies. I benefitted from the sessions, but the therapists didn’t approve of my trauma bonding with the guys.”
“Why?”