Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Cool.”
“Which means if you want to just be friends and talk about mundane, surface-level stuff, I’m okay with that. But as a friend, I’ll push you when I feel like you need to be pushed. Never too much, though. I’m great at sensing what a person can handle and guiding them the right way.”
“I’m not really good at talking about stuff.”
“Oh no.” Tate gasps, feigning shock. “You’re the only person I’ve ever encountered who’s that way.”
I snort out a laugh. “You’re sarcastic. Dr. Wynn smelled like cheese.”
“I’m going to use that next time Jude’s mad at me. ‘You love me, mister, because I’m sarcastic and don’t smell like cheese.’”
“Are you even qualified to do this?” I ask, mostly joking.
He doesn’t get annoyed but instead brings a finger to his lips. “Shh, don’t tell anyone, but I’m totally winging it. Definitely don’t tell your dad.”
The conversation easily moves on to school. I tell him about my classes but sidestep the whole encounter with my number one enemy. Tate, sharp as a tack, narrows his eyes but doesn’t call me out. Yet. Something tells me it’ll only be a matter of time. Before long, the hour is up and I actually enjoyed myself.
“Let’s meet on Wednesday,” Tate says. “I’ll bring your butterscotch latte and attempt to get here on time, though I’m not making any promises. Sound good?”
I’m already nodding because it does sound good. The latte, the fireplace, the company. I wonder if it makes me pathetic that I feel like I just made a friend.
You’re paying him to be your friend, dipshit.
Ignoring that thought, I tip my head at him and slip out of his office. The smell of paint doesn’t bother me this time and when I step outside, I’m pleased to see that he does, in fact, drive an older model Jeep. It’s beat up with a dent or two but still a charming vehicle. At least Tate understands. Dr. Wynn drove a sleek, white Audi.
Maybe this new therapist is exactly what I need.
“I got her number,” I say to Dax, not meeting his stare.
He nearly chokes on his bite of pizza. “What? Seriously? You legit got Hot Girl’s number?”
“Gemma,” I remind him with a sigh. “Her name is Gemma.”
His green eyes sparkle with delight. “No fucking way. You do like her. This is awesome!”
I don’t like her, but I’m definitely not going to tell him that. He’s already a pain in the ass as it is.
“I saw a new therapist,” I blurt out instead.
Dax’s brows knit and he nods. “Okay. Already hate her?”
“Him. And he’s cool.”
“Cool? Like come grab pizza with us cool?”
“Maybe one day. He’s not much older than us.”
“About damn time. I can’t believe you kept going to that walking corpse, Dr. Waxface.”
“Dr. Wynn. And now that you say that, she kind of did look like a museum wax figure.”
We both snort with laughter. My chest feels lighter after a helluva morning. I did need some best friend time despite my desperation to finish my project. Dax may annoy the shit out of me, but he’s mine.
“Oh, some guys from class were going to meet up this Friday at the pool hall. I know you’re on a deadline with Cedarwood, but I thought maybe you’d want to come along. Maybe bring Gemma.” He waggles his brows at me. “Or not. It’ll be fun.”
When I’m focused on Dax, I notice things about him like the hope gleaming in his eyes. I still wonder why he sticks around to be my friend when I’m a bit of an asshole most of the time. I do like hanging out with him. It’s just sometimes I get sucked into the void that is my mind. My only escape is my projects.
Maybe that’s not completely true.
Right now, I feel calm and am enjoying myself, and we’re not talking about Cedarwood.
“Yeah,” I agree as I pick up another slice of pizza. “I’ll go. I’m driving, though. Your car stresses me out.”
He cracks up laughing. “That’s just because it’s fast. Your car hasn’t ever seen over fifty miles per hour, old man. Well, except when you’re trying to run over girls in parking lots.”
I smirk. “I can’t even figure out your door handle half the time. It’s basically a damn spaceship.”
We continue to joke around and eat pizza. Calm washes over me. When we finally finish, we abandon our table to try to see who’s the better pinball player.
It’s me, of course.
By the time we leave and part ways, the terrible feeling in my gut from seeing a certain someone this morning has nearly subsided.
Hopefully, I can ride this feeling until I’m forced to see her again on Wednesday.
Until then, I refuse to be tormented by her.
Gemma
I didn’t drop the class.
After sleeping on it a couple of nights, anger settled deep in my gut. I’m not going to let some jerk who doesn’t even know how to drive scare me away.