“Shut up,” I hiss at her, sounding like a petulant child snarking at my big sister, which only makes her smile grow bigger.
“I will end you,” I promise when she makes a point of looking over her shoulder. I grab her hand to stop her from staring at Ryan and thank all that is good that this place is crowded, and the chatter at other tables is loud enough he couldn’t have heard us.
“Anyway,” I say, drawing her attention back to me, “how often do we get a lunch date with just the two of us? Tell me about your date.”
“Subtle, Maya, really subtle change of subject.”
“Come on, I babysit, I get the details.” Maddie was still awake when Pippa got home on Sunday, and there was no chance for her to tell me anything before I needed to get back to the dogs.
“Honestly, it was pretty woeful.” She sighs. “He was fine. Complete gentleman.”
“How awful. Who would ever want that?” I deadpan, and we both dissolve into giggles like we’re teenagers, not grown women. Given our nine-year age difference and the fact we were never close growing up, I love how much closer we are now. We never laughed about boys together when we were younger, though Pippa was there for me in the ways it mattered, when everything went to shit when I was fourteen. And we have had a weekly lunch date since her husband died. It was my way of forcing her to leave the house when all she wanted was to curl up. Now that she’s doing better, we have continued it, and somewhere along the way, we became the closest of friends.
“But seriously, what was so bad about it?” I ask.
“Nothing.” Pippa shrugs. “And everything. There was just no excitement, no spark. You know me; I’ll talk to anyone. But, my God, he was justsoboring. No substance. The man is forty-five years old, and it’s like he’s never lived. Never lost anything important.”
“I’m sorry, Pippa.”
“It’s fine. At least I got out there again,” she says pointedly, and I roll my eyes to heaven. She has been pushing me to date for years, even though she knows the reason why I never have. I can’t tell herabout the masked man. She would lose her mind if I told her he won’t share his name with me. And I don’t even know if what I’m doing with the masked man is dating. He’s made so many promises and declarations, but it’s hard to believe them when we can’t even go for a walk together.
I don’t know anymore.
Pippa and I give our orders as my head moves in spirals. I want to talk to Ryan. Part of me wishes he were here with someone so I could listen in to his conversation, but the other part of me feels physically sick at the thought of him on a date. I want to know who he is when he’s not sitting in my chair and telling me about his internal processes. I want to know how he transformed from the man who told me he didn’t believe in therapy to making so many changes in such a short time.
And more than anything, I want him toknowme. I want him to look up and see me. Not just the therapist part. The real me.
The parts I’ve hidden from everyone.
What is wrong with me?
“Are you okay?” Pippa asks, cocking her head and scanning my face.
“Yeah, I’m just going to go to the bathroom,” I say, pushing to a stand. Ryan’s not at his table anymore, but his book is still there, and I can’t help taking a quick look on my way past. Then I regret it immediately when I recognize the cover and realize he was casually reading dragon smut in a restaurant. I both love that for him and hate it for me. This is doing nothing to stem my ever-growing obsession.
I drag myself away, not wanting to be seen lingering by Pippa or Ryan. I turn the corner toward the bathroom, only to crash into a solid wall of muscle. Large hands come to my arms, steadying me, and I know without looking who they belong to.
“Whoa, are you okay there?”
“Sorry, yes,” I say without looking at him.
“You sure?” he asks, placing a finger under my chin and tilting my face upward. His brown eyes bore into me, and this close to him, I can’t ignore that he smellsexactlylike the masked man. The scent circles me, and I feel my thong growing damp. It’s practically a Pavlovian response at this point.
Smell that damn cologne and soak my panties.
The voice inside me practically purrs, pushing me forward in a way that’s nearly impossible to ignore. I can’t respond with words. All of my energy is wrapped up in shoving it back down.
Breathe in for four seconds.
Hold for four seconds.
Out for four seconds.
Hold for four seconds.
It’s not working. His scent invades me. His touch lingers on my jaw, my skin buzzing at the connection.It’s him, comes the voice.
No! This isn’t happening.
