Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
“Now, why did you have to go and do that?”
I grip her thighs and pull her to me. She leans back, resting her palms against the desk, and peeks up at me with a defiant look on her face. I want to be inside her so bad I’m in physical pain. Her office isn’t the right place. My first time with Lila will mean something because she means everything to me. What we’re doing is more than sex. Our relationship is built on an actual connection.
Lila expects me to keep teasing her. I think she secretly likes it when I do. Instead of kissing her again, I do the right thing and help her down from the desk. I owe her more answers. We made promises to each other, and opening up to her is the one I plan to keep.
After we settle into our usual places, Lila drops her notepad on her lap and cradles a pen between her fingers. A silence passes between us. Something sparks in her eyes, something I can’t quite place. She tells me that she’s proud of my progress every day. Honestly, she’s the only reason I’m still here. If my GM had assigned me another doctor, our sessions would have been over a long time ago.
“I want to pick up where we left off,” Lila says, locking eyes with me. “We were talking about your parents.” She glances down at her pad. “You said you avoid relationships because you don’t want to fall in love.”
“I didn’t say that,” I challenge.
“Let me rephrase,” she says in her doctor tone. “Your dad fell apart when your mom died because she was the love of his life.”
“Okay, I did say that.”
“And you said that you don’t want to experience that kind of love because you’re afraid of going through the same pain as your dad.”
“I don’t want to lose a part of myself,” I admit. “Not like my dad did.”
“Do you think that’s how he feels?”
I nod, sure of the answer. “The dad I grew up with is not the same one who left us to deal with everything.”
“What was your dad like before your mom got sick?”
“He taught us how to play hockey. We did everything together. When he wasn’t with his team, he was home with us. He took us to the movies, arcades, carnivals, sporting events, you know, normal dad things.”
“Duke,” she says, leaning forward, her eyes fixed on me. “I want you to understand something. Not everyone falls apart when they lose love. Some people pick themselves back up and continue living the way their spouse would want them to. You don’t have to live your life in fear of losing something. In fact, you shouldn’t live your life that way, because it’s not a life at all.”
“I’ve been waiting for the right person,” I counter. “And she’s sitting across from me.”
Lila blushes, unable to hold my gaze. “Duke, you don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do. I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”
She wipes the corner of her eye. “Are you afraid to lose me?”
“Every damn day.”
She clears her throat. “And you still want to fight for me?”
“I’ll never stop.”
Max takes a spoonful of macaroni and cheese from the bowl on the table and starts arranging the letters. She moves the noodles around with her fork and sighs. Then, she takes another spoonful, sliding them across the plate until she spells each of our names.
“Max, Mommy, and Duke,” she says, pointing at the plate with her fork. She moves the noodles around until they look like a pile of cheese. “You can start this time,” she says to me.
I shove some noodles into my mouth and look to Lila for further instructions.
“You have to think of a word,” Lila says, “then give clues, and we take turns trying to guess the word by spelling it out on our plates.”
I laugh. “Really?”
She nods. “Yeah, and if you don’t come up with a word and some clues pretty soon, we’ll be eating freezing cold food.”
“This is my favorite dinner game,” Max tells me.
“What’s it called?”
“Mac and Clues.”
I laugh once, and then stop when I see Max scowling at me. “Okay, I’ll start then. What’s round and black and glides across the ice?”
Max frowns. “Duke! That’s too easy!”
“Hey, you never said I had to make the clues hard.”
Max blows out a breath of air, her eyes narrowed. “You can do better. Try again.”
“What was the answer?” I challenge.
“A puck,” she groans. “A first grader could’ve figured that one out.”
“Fine,” I say. “New, harder clues. Ummm…” I think for a second and decide on a riddle. If she wants a harder clue, she’ll get it. “It belongs to you,” I say, and Max leans closer, “but other people use it more than you do. What is it?”