“You should do a deep-breathing exercise. Picture yourself being a strong woman at dinner. Make a list of all the ways you’re awesome.”
She’s mocking me.
“I hate you,” I lie.
“Then it really sucks for you that I’m your person.”
“It doesn’t suck.” I twist my mascara shut, toss it on the counter, and stare at myself in the mirror. “Because I love you … even if you’re a smartass.”
“Let me pick Muppet up in the morning. I can take him to work to play with the other dogs.”
I’m not surprised she dodges all talk of emotions, but me voicing them was enough of a push so I let her change the subject. “Really? That would be great. I hate that he’s alone all day. I’ll grab him on my way home.”
“I’d say you could repay me by taking me out for Mexican, but thanks to your expensive pup purchase, I think you only have the budget for Taco Bell.”
“And only if they have a dollar menu.”
“Seriously, though. Are you gonna be okay? Between loans and starting the practice ... I can give you some money.”
That surprises me. We never talk finances, but only because we have none to talk about. Before I can think twice, I ask, “How do you have extra money to lend?”
She laughs, but it comes out forced and fake. “I’m a hermit who hates shopping.”
I drop the subject and sigh. Brand will be back any minute. “I’ll be fine. You know, eventually.”
I hope, anyway.
“Let me know if that changes. I don’t want you to stress when I can help.” Reaching her limit of seriousness, Briar jokes, “Just don’t drop ten K on a parakeet.”
The door to my apartment slams. I look back to myself in the mirror and curse the consequences I’m about to endure. “I have to go. Wish me luck.”
“It’s dinner. You don’t need luck. But if you happen to lose your panties on the way home, then good for you.”
I flip off the bathroom light. “See you in the morning. Love you and I know you love me back.”
“Later.”
I pull in a big breath because never, ever, ever, ever, did I think I’d be going somewhere with none other than Brand Vitale.
One dinner. That’s it. I can do this.
“Aria!” he bellows.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
8
Tailgate
Brand
I drag my middle finger around the rim of my water glass and stare as she finishes her last bite of cheesecake.
For someone who didn’t want to go on the date she paid a pretty penny for, the woman sure took advantage of dinner.
Besides her thanking me when I opened a door for her, ordering her dinner, and asking me to pass the bread, Aria hasn’t uttered a word.
Not one fucking word. And we drove all the way to Seattle.
She wipes each corner of her plump, blush lips—lips I’ve studied more intently than I did her background.
Chewing. Pursing. Licking.
When she paid enough attention to find me watching her, she’d pulled that bottom lip between her teeth before focusing back on her medium-rare filet. Props to her, she even ordered the ten ounce.
And a loaded potato, burgundy mushrooms, oysters on the half-shell, and a Caesar salad.
Seems she’s set on getting her fifteen grand worth out of our date after all.
Interesting.
I like a woman who doesn’t starve herself.
She clears her throat. “That was good.”
I hike a brow. “Good?”
“Very good.” She checks the time on her phone again for the millionth time since we left her apartment.
“I’m sure my godparents will be pleased to hear it.”
“Godparents?”
“Vinny and Marie. They own the place.” I throw my hand out to the crowded restaurant they opened before I was born. “It’s a Seattle hot spot and difficult to get a table.”
“I’ve never been here. I appreciate you following through on your end of the bargain. Can we go now?”
“No.”
She crosses her arms under her tits. It’s not lost on me from studying her all night, she’s in good shape. Graduate school, a doctoral program, and working sixty hours a week hasn’t made her soft. The woman does not spend her extra time at the mall or getting her nails done. I find that refreshing since every woman in my life—down to my own mother and sisters—do just that.
“What do you mean, no?”
“You’re a therapist.”
Her blue eyes narrow. “Psychologist.”
I nod once. “What made you want to become a psychologist?”
Instead of asking how I know what I know, she proves she’s got a set of lady balls. “I’m fascinated by what drives people. More specifically, what inhibits them. I want to help people help themselves and do it without the use of medications, if at all possible.”
I throw my napkin on the table and lean back in my chair. “Interesting.”
“Is it?”
“You’re interesting,” I specify.
“I work, sleep, work some more, and swim and run when I can squeeze it in. And I’m now a dog owner. I’m the least interesting person I know.”
“Why Redmond?”
“It’s the best of city and nature combined.”
“A lot of places offer that,” I point out. “Which makes me wonder further, why Redmond?”
She lifts her wine glass to her mouth and I watch the last drop disappear between her lips, thinking of other things I’d enjoy her lapping up. She’s had two glasses, and since every employee in this restaurant knows who I am, like always, the pours were heavy-handed and free, just as the meal will be. My godparents don’t fuck around when it comes to taking care of family.
Her damn tongue sneaks out to lick her lips again as she slides her glass to the middle of the table. “Redmond Mental Health Center made me the best offer. It included partial student loan forgiveness when I reach my five-year commitment. It won’t come close to paying it all off, but I need all the help I can get. I’m ready to go.”
“I’m not.”
“I want to go home, Brand. If I need to call an Uber, I will.”
“For someone who talks for a living, you sure are short on words,” I note.
“My job is to get other people to talk,” she points out.
“Yet, you haven’t tried to get me to talk at all.”
“You’re not my patient.”
I shrug. “Maybe I should make an appointment. I’d like to know what you think about my deep-seated issues.”
Calm, collected, and poised, she studies me. Not even the two heavy glasses of cab seem to have loosened her. “You’re irritable, pushy, and closed tighter than a tomb. I have no doubt you have issues, but I do not take on friends or acquaintances as patients. Should you need a reference, I’ll be glad to help.”
“I want you.”
Her nostrils barely flare and her full, firm tits rise a centimeter with her intake of air. Other than that, stoic.
And sexy as fuck.