Wiping the back of her hand across her mouth, she winks. “It’s never too soon for really good sex.”
“Who said anything about it being really good?”
“Al snapped a picture of you and the pizza man.” She bats her eyelashes. “A man that looks that good can’t be bad in bed. There’s a universal law against it.”
I almost choke on the pizza. “There’s not.”
Wagging a finger at me, she laughs. “Prove me wrong. Sleep with him.”
We both turn when the bell rings over the shop’s door.
Leanna rubs her palms together shaking off a few crumbs. “I’ll take care of whoever that is. You finish your breakfast and think about what I said.”
I’ll think about it. The truth is that I haven’t stopped thinking about Liam and his extra-large condoms since I left his apartment last night.
Chapter 14
Liam
It’s seven p.m. on Monday, and I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve checked my phone today.
What the hell is it about Athena that has me wound up this tight?
I started my day off right with a decaffeinated coffee and a good morning text to the owner of Wild Lilac.
That was twelve hours ago. I looked at my damn phone every chance I could, but my text is still unanswered.
If I weren’t sitting across from a man who lost his mother three weeks ago, I’d be typing out another message to the woman I was hoping I’d see before the end of the day.
It doesn’t look like that’s going to happen.
“Is your mom alive, Wolf?”
I try to keep my own experiences out of my sessions, but sometimes it’s necessary to share. I nod my head. “Yes.”
“That makes me hate you.”
It’s the first sign of a smile I’ve seen on his face. Rhys Quillan is nineteen. He’s still living in a world where his parents fill in the gaps in his life. He’s a first-year student at NYU but he lives at home in a four-storey, brownstone that overlooks Central Park with a staff of five people and a father who hasn’t said a word since his wife died.
Deidre Quillan was everything to her husband and son.
Cancer didn’t give a shit.
“I understand,” I offer. “You hate your circumstance.”
Nodding, he glanc
es at the door. “People around me tell me that it will get easier, but I don’t see it. How? How the fuck does it get easier?”
“Time.” I point a finger at him. “I know you think that’s bullshit, Rhys, but it helps. It doesn’t erase the pain, but you’ll process this. If day-by-day feels like too much, look at it as hour-by-hour or minute-by-minute.”
“I’m dragging my dad down here next week.” He tugs on the arm of the black sweatshirt he’s wearing. “You’ll talk to him, too, right?”
Seeing as how his mom took the unusual step of coming to see me when she was first diagnosed with stage four brain cancer six months ago, I’ll do whatever I can.
Deidre wanted her boys ( as she called them ) to be taken care of. She pre-paid for more than a year’s worth of sessions for Rhys and his dad.
Rhys took the advice she left him in her goodbye note.