Chapter Fourteen
Shay. Mariah. Becca.
I pass up three opportunities to have meaningless sex. My excuses are lame at best.
Too tired. Past my bedtime. A friend is meeting me.
All lies.
If I say I’m thinking about a dark-haired short stack in a hot dress with no underwear, it will be the last time Shay, Mariah, or Becca offers to scratch my itch.
After a third beer, I glance at my watch. Then, I slide my phone out of my pocket to order a ride. Thirty minutes later, the chatty driver wishes me a good night as I step out of his vehicle and head to the entrance. It takes only a quick scan to find the good doctor in a booth by herself.
Earbuds in. Head leaned back. Eyes closed.
There’s a plate of half-eaten pancakes on the table beside her phone. I slide into the opposite side of the booth, and my leg brushes hers. She jumps, eyes springing open. Then she taps her phone screen, and her audiobook cover illuminates before she presses pause and removes her earbuds.
“Your mom is at my house. Why are you here? Why are you lonely?” I ask, using her fork to stab a chunk of the pancake and shove it into my mouth.
There it is. That wonder in her eyes. A triumphant grin steals across her lips. “You remembered.”
I shrug. “Lonely is IHOP.”
“Troubled?” she quizzes.
I finish chewing and swallow. “The ocean.”
“Because?”
“Because you read some book right before we met that theorized a connection between water and peace or something like that.”
“Blue Mind Theory.”
“Sure,” I mumble, adding more syrup to the last pancake.
“Skeptical?”
“The NICU.”
“Because?” She folds her hands on the table.
“Because that’s where true miracles happen.”
Her smile swells. “Despairing?”
“I don’t remember that one.”
“You do.”
“I don’t. Do you need my Realtor to help you find some good houses tomorrow?” I focus on eating the rest of her pancakes instead of looking at her because I know she wants me to finish answering her question about despairing.
“Did you get laid?” she asks.
“Yes. It was good. Thanks for asking.” I set the fork on the empty plate and wipe my mouth. Then I make the mistake of looking her in the eye as I take a drink of her water.
She knows I’m lying, but instead of calling me out, she averts her gaze. “I’m thinking about buying some land to build a house. Think you can not evict me until it’s done?”
I draw a long breath and hold it in my cheeks, then I blow it out slowly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why?”
“Because Maren, Fitz, and Jamie know too much about what happened eleven years ago. And they think it’s a bad idea for us to live together.”
“Oh, Maren, Fitz, and Jamie think it’s a bad idea? But you don’t? And it’s your house, but they are the decision-makers? Or did you lose control when you returned from visiting your parents, and they jumped on your side, and now you can’t undo what you’ve done without choking on your pride?”
“You’re a terrible therapist. Did you know that?”
“That’s because I’m a psychiatrist.”
I roll my eyes. “What’s the difference?”
“I perform psychiatric evaluations and make medical diagnoses. I offer pharmaceutical interventions, and as you know, I use virtual reality for behavior modification. Therapists rely heavily on talk therapy. A therapist isn’t going to deal with a forty-five-year-old man who wants to kill himself since his wife found out he was raping his nine-year-old stepdaughter because the convincing voice in his head told him to do it.
That’s just one example of things I’ve dealt with in my training. ”
I bristle, slowly shaking my head. “Have you ever thought that you’re too young to emotionally handle men raping their stepdaughters? Is your emotional IQ as advanced as your other IQ?”
“No. My emotional quotient is lower than my Wechsler test, Stanford-Binet, Woodcock-Johnson, RPM . . .” She smirks. “I’ve been tested a lot.”
I nod several times. “What if it’s all bullshit?
What if this life of yours is great until it isn’t?
What if you feel eighty when you’re forty because your mind has been spinning at such a fast pace?
Is being a genius a genuine gift?” I’m sure she thinks I’m an idiot.
And I am. My thoughts aren’t based on anything more than unoriginal musings.
Scratching the back of my head, I mumble, “Never mind. I don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“Yes,” Everleigh whispers.
I pause, taking a moment to see if I heard her correctly.
She stares at the empty plate while picking at her fingernails, a rare glimpse of her that’s not the controlled doctor with gently folded hands and a well-practiced neutral expression.
“Burnout is real. Balance is important.” She smiles, holding up her phone. “So I listen to fantasy novels because they’re an escape. And I attempt to have sex with random men. And when I get lonely, I come to IHOP for a short stack.”
“Name one random man you’ve slept with, because I don’t believe you ever have. And I don’t think you were going to earlier at the bar.”
“I slept with a random firefighter. It was years ago.”
Our gazes lock, but I look away first and slide out of the booth. “Don’t you have a date on Fortnite at eleven?”
“I do.” She stands, slipping her AirPods into her purse along with her phone. Then she straightens her dress. “And I need a pair of underwear.”
“Agree to disagree,” I say.
She wrinkles her nose at me before I lead the way to the door.
“Can I get a ride home?” I ask, holding it open for her.
“What do I get in return?” She flips her hair over her shoulder while I watch her sexy legs and ass in that short dress.
“How about you tell your friends that after a little self-reflection, you’ve decided I’m pretty awesome, and you want me to stay in your shed while my house is being built?
” She opens her door and disappears into her car.
I slide into the passenger seat. “I’m a terrible liar. They’ll never believe that.”
“You’re right. You are terrible.” She starts her car and turns up the music. It’s reminiscent of a classical song, but like Beethoven played by a heavy metal band.
When we get home, it’s just after ten thirty.
“Think your mom is still awake?” I unbuckle.
“No. Why? Are you wanting to make her an offer for the painting?”
I open my door. “Tempting, but no.” I meet Everleigh on the driver’s side just as she shuts her door and locks it. “I shouldn’t have stopped you from having sex with the football player. I was out of line, and I apologize.”
She slides her purse strap onto her shoulder. “You didn’t stop me. You expressed your jealousy, and after careful consideration, I chose to abstain so you wouldn’t lose sleep over another man being with me.”
“Whoa. What? No.” I laugh. “I told you I was looking out for you, not me.”
“Since when did you make it your job to look out for me?”
“I never said it was my job. More of a . . .” I glance around because she’s practiced in staring at people for long periods of time, and it’s creepy. “It was a courtesy since we’re roommates. Nothing I wouldn’t have done for Maren or Jamie when they lived here.”
“So it doesn’t bother you to imagine me getting railed in the bathroom by a football player?”
“Jesus.” I shake my head. “Is this how you talk to your patients?”
“You’re not my patient. You can’t—”
“Yeah. Yeah. I know. I can’t afford you.” I turn and head toward the back door. “For the record, I don’t imagine you having sex, so I’m obviously not bothered by anything you do. Good night.”
“I’ll be inside soon. Don’t forget I’m playing Fortnite at eleven.”
“It’s my PlayStation, and I’m playing tonight, so too bad.”
“You’re not even supposed to be here.” She jogs after me. “And I told you I was playing.”
“Well, I’m here, and now I’m fucking playing.” I reach for the doorknob just as she grabs my arm.
“Let’s be honest. It’s past your bedtime, old man.”
I slowly turn. “What the fuck did you just call me? Old man?”
“You’re forty. Right?” She folds her hands in front of her.
“If I were, it would hardly be considered old.”
“You like the word fuck. There are other great words you could use. Some of the kids I work with have wonderful alternatives like: freaking, frack, fudge, flip, drat, barnacles.”
I squint at her.
She shrugs. “I should get you a thesaurus. It’s never too late to expand your vocabulary.”
“Do that. I’ve always wanted a dinosaur.” I turn and open the door.
Everleigh giggles, and I grin with my back to her, but quickly compose myself before she kicks off her heels and steps in front of me, face splitting from her smile.
“I’m getting you a synonym dinosaur. And I like the word fuck too.
But it loses its luster and impact when you use it too much.
I let my young patients use it once per session.
But I tell them to use it wisely. Use it like a hundred exclamation points. ”
“Stop shrinking me.”
“Stop saying that. It sounds like you’re getting smaller.”
I rub my temples. “Then stop making me feel so small.”
“Oh!” Her eyes widen as she shakes her head a half dozen times.
“William, I may not have looked at your penis well enough to evaluate your foreskin or lack thereof, but I know you’re not a small man.
Granted, aging can make it appear smaller.
Things like abdominal weight can hide the base, therefore making it appear shrunken.
I don’t think you have that problem yet.
Also, less collagen production can cause a decrease in elasticity, leading to a softer and smaller appearance.
And obviously, medical conditions like ED result in flaccidity when you need it to stand up and answer its call to duty. ”
Fuck. And I mean fuck!
“Have you had sex since I stuck my big dick inside of you eleven years ago?”
Everleigh gives it her best shot. And her attempt not to react almost works, but then she swallows hard. “Why are you asking?”
“Because your mom told Maren you haven’t been with another man since me.”
She curls her lips between her teeth for a few seconds before offering a slow nod. “You’ll never know.”
“What do you mean I’ll never know?”
With a dismissive eye roll, she pivots and gets a glass of water.
“Just freaking tell me.” I turn.
She gulps half the glass and then sets it on the counter. “See. Freaking fits nicely there. But I’m not telling you because it’s none of your business. And I like that you don’t know the answer. Your reaction to not knowing is quite telling.”
“Oh yeah?” I cross my arms over my chest. “What’s it telling you?”
She checks her watch. “It’s ten forty-five. I have to put on my pajamas and brush my teeth.”
“I’m not letting you use my PlayStation tonight.”
She frowns. “I’ll let you play with me.”
I’m forty years old. More mature. More controlled. My mind can make the responsible choice to stay out of the gutter.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” she says.
I swallow the “fuck you” on the tip of my tongue, even though it would fit perfectly at this point in our conversation. She wants me to be a dirty old man, but I’m too mature to give her that level of satisfaction no matter how hard she tries to shrink me.
“I think it’s gross that you just brush your teeth and don’t floss.” I grab a beer from the fridge and plant my ass on my sofa to play my PlayStation.
But all I will think about for the rest of the night is . . . has she had sex with anyone since me?