Chapter 16 Nostradamus was a Pharmacist #2
He glanced at her, almost shyly. Sasha offered a tight smile, and then quickly reached for the pretzel bag.
She hadn’t blinked the entire time he spoke.
His words reverberated through her, landing in some faraway place, untouched and hidden.
An inconvenient ache throbbed between her thighs.
Were his words sexy, or was it the way he said them?
Or was her stomach fluttering because she pictured herself as the object of the fucking, feeding, and best-friending?
Everything he named was what she wanted, too.
With Seat F, she reminded herself. It’s what you want with Seat F. This man is not available. Don’t go backward. Life only moves in one direction, remember?
“You seem surprised,” he said quietly. “You’re not the only one tired of doing life alone.”
“No, no of course not.” She grabbed a handful of pretzels and settled back in her chair. “And I’m not just tired of being alone. I’m tired of being scared. I just want to trust again. I want to be normal.”
“It takes time. It’s a trite thing to say, but it’s true.”
“I just feel stupid. I wasn’t beaten or abused.” She held out her wrist, uncharacteristically uncovered. “The only injury I sustained, I did to myself! So many stalking survivors have had it worse. Why am I so traumatized?”
He relaxed back against her pillows. “What would make you feel safe?”
“Outside of screening everyone I interact with? Being intimidating, maybe. Knowing how to fight. Men don’t have to worry about things like this. What a luxury it must be, having physicality and strength on your side.”
Wes popped another pretzel in his mouth. “Right, you told me on the phone the other night. When you asked me to train you.”
Sasha’s stomach seized. A blazing flush spread over her cheeks and chest. God, the call. She prayed that her face didn’t give anything away.
“I took you seriously, you know. I even bought a set of new punch mitts.” He cleared his throat. “Okay, don’t take this the wrong way . . .”
“Oh no.”
“. . . but boxing might help in other ways, too. You know. Orgasmically.”
“Oh God.” She dropped her face in her hands. “Why is it so easy to talk about this shit on the phone, but not in person?”
“Don’t be embarrassed for saying what’s on your mind. Look, there’s real scientific data suggesting that regular cardio enhances your sex life.”
She grabbed the pretzel bag from him. “I don’t want to talk about this. I didn’t invite you here to discuss my orgasm challenges.”
He bit down on a smile.
“You’re loving this, aren’t you?” she said. “You think this is funny.”
“I don’t! I’m just trying to help. I was also thinking, maybe you’re focusing too much on sex sex. Maybe think about what turns you on outside of actual sex.”
“If you say ‘sex’ again, I’ll kill you.”
“I’m serious, Sasha. Think about it. What turns you on. Just tell me.”
“I don’t know!” She threw up her hands. “Ugh. Okay, let me think. The back of a man’s neck, between his shoulder blades?
Listening to someone nerd out on something.
I’m not just saying this, but I think barbecue ribs are sexy.
I’m dying to try yours. But don’t make fun of me, I eat ribs with a fork. ”
He stared at her, horrified. “That’s bone-chilling. Take it back.”
Giggling, she kept racking her brain. Sasha had to admit; this was sort of fun. “Oh, and I love when a man cracks open a soda can, or a beer can . . . anything like that.”
“A soda can? Oh, you’re a freak for real.”
“You know what else is sexy?” Grabbing the pretzels and Pellegrinos, she stood up and gestured for Wes to follow her. “Come with me, you have to see this.”
Sasha padded through the dining room to the brand-new island, in the middle of her open concept kitchen. Lightly, she ran her fingertips over the smooth oak surface. “I think this kitchen island is sexy. Is that weird?”
“No, it’s niche.” Wes smoothed his palm along the surface. “You don’t want anybody who doesn’t think this kitchen island is sexy. This wood is perfect. And the varnish looks like salted caramel, or something. Did . . . did you make this?”
She beamed, proudly. “You can tell?”
“I can. It’s very you.” He nodded appreciatively. “I’m no expert, but I did a ton of research on wood pieces when I decorated my apartment. This work is incredible, Sasha. I’ll teach you how to box, if you teach me how to build furniture.”
“Depends on how soon you solve my case,” she joked. “And speaking of . . .”
“Sorry, hold on.” Performatively locking eyes with Sasha, he slowly cracked open his can of Pellegrino. It made a loud, satisfying hissing sound. She burst out laughing.
“You couldn’t resist, huh?”
“Resist what?” He took a big, lusty gulp, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.
“I should never have told you.”
“You should always tell me.”
They were laughing, joking, but so much was hanging between them.
The kiss. The call. The electric charge in the air that they were both trying desperately to ignore.
They danced on the edge of it, where it was safe and uncomplicated.
Until, as history showed, she slipped up and took things too far.
As evidenced by that nonconsensual orgasmic call, and that (also nonconsensual) ill-timed kiss, something about Wes Dane made her engage in risky behavior.
“Hey.” She walked to his side of the island, so they were face-to-face, standing in front of each other. “I’m sorry about your dad’s ceremony. The kiss. I never should’ve done that.”
Wes let out a slight, barely audible exhale. Clearly, he’d been waiting for her to address it. “No need. Apology accepted. But can I ask why you did it?”
“I didn’t like the way your mom was talking about you.
I felt protective of you, defensive. Wes, you’re one of the best people I know.
Granted, I don’t know you that well. But ever since we met at your office, you’ve been nothing but a kind, empathetic, understanding friend.
And you are a catch. But I shouldn’t have interfered. ”
Wes’s brows furrowed inward. “You see how it made me look, though, right?”
“How did you look?”
“Everyone at that party asked me who you were. I insist we’re just friends. And then you kiss me out of nowhere? I looked like a liar, an unserious person. It was embarrassing.” He paused. “Generally, I don’t care what anyone thinks of me. But there, it mattered.”
A wave of nauseating regret pooled in her stomach. “No, I get it. I don’t know what came over me.”
“It was definitely a bold swing.”
“It was, and I wasn’t thinking.”
“When you don’t think,” he said pointedly, “all hell breaks loose.”
And then, there was a palpable energy switch in the air. It was as if a veil dropped, and everything they’d been holding back came flooding to the surface.
Sasha winced. “Listen, I feel terrible. I made a mistake, but my intentions were pure.”
“Pure. Interesting.” Buying time, he took another drink of Pellegrino, then set the can down. “Can I ask you something? How are you going to feel when I track him down?”
“Happy. Thrilled. Ecstatic. Why?”
He cocked his head slightly, studying her. “Yeah, you look ecstatic.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. I just urge you to be realistic about this case. Because you will meet him.”
Sasha let out a nervous chuckle. “Um . . . I know? It’s why I hired you. I want to meet him. What are you implying?”
“Are you serious about finding this guy? Or is this about escaping into a fun little adventure? Is the chase the thing?”
It wasn’t just the condescending words that took Sasha by surprise. It was Wes’s tone. He sounded fed up, almost angry. Why did he think she wasn’t taking the case seriously? And he had no right to question her motivations.
“Excuse me?” She took a step closer to him. “Are you insinuating that my decision to track down a nameless Italian who’s possibly my soulmate was a flippant decision?”
He let out a short chuckle. “Repeat that sentence, and you tell me.”
“Don’t laugh at me. I didn’t come to this decision lightly. I’m an adult, okay? I’m a serious person. I have a matching luggage set and life insurance!”
“You’re a serious person? Since when is a manicurist qualified to predict the future?”
Indignant, she grasped at straws trying to find a comeback. “Why would being a manicurist preclude her from being a mystic? Nostradamus was a pharmacist!”
Wes looked at her with utter bafflement. “How can you be such a realist and so whimsical at the same time? You’re the most confusing person, Sasha. It’s like splitting an atom, trying to reason with you.”
“I’m being whimsical on purpose, Wes. Because I’m not whimsical. I’m a thinker, a planner, a worrier. I’m forcing this, because, yes, I do want an adventure. Is that so wrong? Who knows if we’ll be here tomorrow. I wanted to take a chance. Is that so wrong?”
“I just want to make sure this is what you want.”
“I swear to God, if you condescend to me one more time in my own kitchen . . .” She paused, calmed her breathing. “Whether I’m sure or not is none of your business.”
“What if you’re putting yourself in danger again?”
Incensed now, she took another step toward him. He remained unmoving, his energy tight as a drum. “How dare you. You, of all people, know what I’ve been through. You’re gonna weaponize my trauma against me? Try to talk me out of it for fake concern about my safety?”
Wes flinched, his cool beginning to evaporate. “Fake concern? Fake? What would I get out of pretending to care?”
“But why do you care so much?” she yelled, losing it. “My reasons are none of your business. Your job is to find him. Period.”
“I’m speaking to you as a professional,” he seethed, each word taut with tension. “There are too many unknowns. You meeting him doesn’t feel safe, Sasha.”
Sasha paused, her eyes narrowing. “You know what? I was joking before. But I do think you’re jealous.”