by Whitley Cox
“She hasn’t texted Dr. Christopher Herron yet,” Mark said, knowing that his deception was going to land him in seriously hot water with the sexy little Tori.
All the men cocked their heads in curiosity, but it was Adam who spoke. “What do you mean?”
“She doesn’t know that it’s me. I said I had a friend whose child needed therapy. I was afraid she’d think I was coming on to her.”
Groans echoed around the card table. Mark knew what he’d done was stupid, but at the time he couldn’t think straight. He’d had a few drinks, and Tori’s smile, and those sparkling blue eyes, were drawing the blood from his brain and pooling it elsewhere. He hadn’t been attracted to anyone, dated, slept with, even flirted with a woman since Gabe’s mother had left and the divorce was finalized. But Tori’s sweet smile and determined spirit stirred something deep inside him. He needed to see her again, and even if it was in a professional manner, he was going to make it happen.
They were just coming off the Christmas holiday, and he’d taken three weeks off work to be with Gabe. Friday night his mother had come over once Gabe was in bed so Mark could duck out and have a drink with Emmett. That was his first time out without Gabe in almost a month.
“What are you going do when she figures out you lied to her? Which will happen the second she sees you answer the door?” Emmett asked. “You think she’ll work for a liar? She’s definitely going to think all you want is to get into her pants.”
Liam shrugged. “Maybe that’s exactly what he needs.”
Emmett glared at Liam. “What he needs is to find someone for Gabe … and the first interview should not be at a bar when you’re … ”
“When I’m what?” Mark rounded on his friend. His hackles were rising. He knew what he’d done was dumb, but he was desperate to see her again. And, to be fair, when she said what she did for work, he’d jumped on it. He needed somebody for Gabe, and maybe this was the fates finally working in his favor.
Emmett lifted one shoulder and took a swig of his beer, wiping the back of his wrist over his lips. “I was going to say drunk.”
“I wasn’t fucking drunk. I’d had a couple doubles in the span of an hour or so. You know it takes way more than that for me to even get a buzz.”
The other men were quiet around the table. Mark fought the urge to push himself away and head home. But this was part of poker night. Air grievances, talk shit out. Liam had once suggested setting up a sparring ring in his basement so they could kick the shit out of each other and let out some of their aggression, but nobody really wanted to get all sweaty and risk breaking their nose or getting a black eye. Most of them worked with the public.
“I’m just looking out for Gabe,” Emmett said, his voice dropping a few octaves. He could tell he’d hit a nerve with Mark.
“I appreciate that. But I am too. I won’t fuck this up. For me, Tori or Gabe.”
Several heads shook around the table, but of course, it was Emmett who spoke up. “I hope so, dude. For all your sakes. Otherwise, you’re out a grand, up shit creek without waders on with Gabe and a new therapist, and probably headed for a restraining order.”
Mark flipped up his new card.
Full house.
His mouth tipped up into a small grin. “I think things are finally starting to go my way, boys. I bet you she’ll text by tomorrow.”
“And I’ll represent you when it all goes south,” Liam added. He elbowed his brother. “I should start handing out punch cards. Five divorces and the sixth one is free.”
Scott glared at him. “Shut the fuck up.”
3
“If you don’t call me in an hour, I’m sending in the cavalry,” Isobel said. The loud and jarring sound of her juggling her phone, keys and nonfat latte as she headed to her car caused Tori to hold her own phone away from her ear.
“And who is the cavalry?”
“Me and Mercedes. And the cops, of course. Though my money is on Mercedes delivering a better can of whoop-ass than any Seattle cop.”
Tori chuckled. “If Friday hadn’t gone as well as it did, I’d be cursing you out for bailing and leaving me with Mercedes all night.”
Her sister groaned into the phone. “I said I was sorry. I ended up getting a last-minute job. And Mercedes said you had a great night.”
“It was better than I thought.”
“She means well. She’s just a big personality … a big mouth.”
“Uh, yeah.”
“But when you need her, she’s there. My first breakup, the guy who took my virginity, you remember him?”
“Wolf?”
“Fox.”
“Whatever. He was a dog.”
“True. But anyway, Mercedes was there. She brought ice cream and movies, magazines and pizza. She really is a great friend, as drunk and obnoxious as she can get.”
Tori glanced at the clock on the dash of her car. She’d been parked in front of Dr. Herron’s house for fifteen minutes. She arrived early and called her sister. She needed somebody to know she was here. In case she never came out.
“Anyway, sis, I gotta jet. Thanks to you, I have a very busy dog walking business. The puppers won’t walk themselves.”
Tori turned off her car. “Yeah, me too. I’m heading in.”
“Okay. Call me in an hour.”
“Will do.”
“Love you, Tor.”
“You too, Iz.”
Tori slammed her car door and faced the big, beautiful, white, suburban three-story house. Even though the driveway was clear, she chose to park on the street behind the cedar hedge that lined the front yard. How did Mark know Chris? Did they work together? Was Mark a doctor too? She’d asked him very little about himself, mostly because she didn’t want to appear interested … even though she kind of was.
Growling at herself and her inability to make up her mind about men and her life—and the fact that she overanalyzed, overthought and picked apart everything and everyone she met—she made her way up the driveway. It was wet from the rain. Because, well, it was Seattle and early January, so of course there was rain. Cold, wet, stick-to-your-bones-and-burrow-into-your-very-marrow rain. That was life on the west coast. It might not get negative double-digit cold, but when it did get cold, it sucked the big one.
Her hand came up and paused in front of the door. This was it. There was no turning back now. The job sounded great. And she needed a job. She needed a job desperately. She only hoped that Dr. Herron wasn’t a weirdo. She could handle his kid. No matter where little Gabe fit on the autism spectrum, Tori would probably fall in love with him and find every day a new, rewarding challenge. But if the dad was a weirdo, she wasn’t sure she could do it.
Taking a deep breath, she let her knuckles fall against the dark stained wood.
Twenty painful seconds.
They could have been hours for the amount of sweat on her palms and palpitations of her heart.
Twenty long agonizing seconds before the door swung open.
Wide, green eyes stared up at her.
“Uh … hello. You must be Gabe.”
The little boy with straw-colored hair and rosy cheeks simply blinked.
“Is your daddy home?”
More blinking, more staring. His eyes shifted so they were no longer looking at her, and he began to bounce on his toes.
“C-can I come in?”
He stepped out of the way, then began bouncing again.
Once inside the foyer, Tori crouched down so she was at eye level with Gabe. “Hi. I’m Tori. My favorite color is green, the same as your eyes. My favorite food is Tiger Tiger ice cream, and I think spiders are scary.”
A small smile curled his mouth. His eyes blinked again but remained unfocused on her face. Mark hadn’t said anything about Gabe, besides that he was on the spectrum. Was he verbal and just playing shy? Did he know any sign language?
She glanced around the big sixteen-foot-high foyer, hoping that Dr. Herron would show himself.
“So i
s your daddy around?”
Gabe reached for her hand, and with a strength she wouldn’t have expected from such a slender kid, he hauled her into the depths of the house.
“Okay, then.” She chuckled, following him as fast as she could, trying to peek into other rooms as she passed.
But they were too fast.
The whole house was a blur.
A big, beautiful, impeccably decorated, expensively decorated blur.
Gabe tugged her into a big room with an ocean theme painted on the wall and toys stacked in bins and scattered on a brightly colored foam puzzle-piece mat. He had a bunch of blocks organized in piles by color and what appeared to be the makings of a very impressive tower. Bringing her on to the mat, Gabe plopped down and, as if he hadn’t just invited a total stranger into his inner sanctum, ignored her and went back to work on his tower.
This was weird.
Most bizarre job interview she’d ever been on, for sure.
Then again, it was smart. If she and Gabe clicked, did that mean she was a shoo-in? She still wanted to meet this Dr. Herron. Find out what Gabe’s needs were, any allergies, triggers, preferences, etc.
Scanning the room, she searched for a nanny cam. Was she being watched?
Despite the ocean theme, there was a heck of a lot of red. All the toy bins were red, the child-size couch was red, the bean bag, the blankets.
“Is red your favorite color?” she asked.
Gabe looked up at her, almost as if seeing her for the first time.
“Is red your favorite color?”
His eyes crinkled in the corners, and he lifted up a red block, his smile growing wide.
“It is? Red is a great color. It’s my dad’s favorite color. He has a fancy sports car that’s red.” She looked around to see if she could find any Hot Wheels, but the closest she could find was a bright red wooden train caboose. But even if she had found a car, the little boy was no longer paying her any attention and was instead focusing intently on his tower. His very red tower. His fingers tapped each block as if counting them. Then suddenly he let out a wail, stood up and started hopping up and down, his head shaking and his arms flapping frantically. The wailing grew louder and his frustration more intense.
Tori stood up and moved back, watching Gabe. If this was a fit, she needed to let it pass. The same for a tantrum. The intervention of a stranger would most likely just cause his behavior to escalate and he could hurt himself or her. But the longer she watched him, the more she realized he was upset about something specific. It wasn’t a fit. And it wasn’t a tantrum. He was looking for something. His eyes darted around the floor and room. His head thrashed to and fro as his hands stimmed, or flapped, and he bounced on his toes. Yips and wails slipped from his lips, along with sporadic grunts and groans.
He knelt back down next to his tower and tapped his fingers on each of the blocks. Counting them again. Then he sprang back up and began bouncing on his toes and thrashing his head.
He was missing a block.
All the blocks in his tower were red.
He was missing a red block.
Kneeling down again, she began to search. Gabe’s hands flapped and he continued to bounce, an irritated growl-sounding hum rumbling through him.
“It’s okay, buddy,” she said softly, picking up toys and boxes in search of the missing block. “We’ll find it. I’m sure it’s around here somewhere. Couldn’t have gone far.” She lifted up an overturned empty toy bin, and there it was. She lifted her gaze to Gabe. “Hey, Gabe, look!”
But he was too busy, too frustrated, too caught up in his fear of the missing block to hear her. Poor kiddo.
She grabbed the block and, rather than stand up, she walked over to him on her knees so that they were on the same level. He was still bouncing on his toes and stimming his hands, but his eyes seemed to become a little more focused, and he watched her approach.
She held up the block in front of his face. “Look, buddy. Here it is.”
Gabe’s hands stopped. Followed by the bouncing. His gaze lasered in on the block, and his mouth stretched into a big smile. He grabbed the block and ran over to his tower.
Tori sat back on her heels and watched with satisfaction as he carefully placed the block on top, then, starting from the bottom just like before, began tapping each one—counting them.
Once he’d checked, then double-checked, that all the blocks were on the tower, Gabe spun around and raced toward her, flinging himself into her arms. His hug was tight, and he smelled like kids’ watermelon-scented bubble bath. Not sure if she should hug him back, she withheld her embrace for a moment. But the kid wasn’t letting go, and he smelled so good, felt so good in her arms, she relinquished her apprehension and hugged him back.
Kids’ hugs were the absolute best.
They were so genuine, so tight, so truly amazing, that you couldn’t help feeling good and full of hope and happiness after a good, long kid hug.
“Well, it seems as though you’ve won Gabe over,” came a deep, masculine, and somewhat familiar voice from behind her.
Gabe’s embrace paused, then he pulled away from her and ran toward the voice. Tori pivoted where she knelt only to find Mark from the bar standing in the doorway. He leaned sexily against the jamb, his hands casually stuffed into the pockets of his dark wash jeans and his dark hair a tousle of thick, luscious sexiness.
“Mark!” she exclaimed, pushing herself up to standing.
Grabbing Gabe’s hand, he entered the playroom. “I’m sorry for the deception.” He held out his other hand. “Dr. Mark Christopher Herron, and Gabe’s dad. A pleasure to meet you … again.”
Before Tori could say anything, Gabe shook his grasp from his father’s and instead reached for Tori’s hand. He pulled her back over to the foam mats and encouraged her to sit. She did, and he plunked himself right in her lap, busying himself with taking down his red block tower and reorganizing it into a different tower.
Mark followed them deeper into the playroom and sat down in the ketchup-red bean bag chair, watching her and Gabe intently.
Tori shook her head. This was all so overwhelming. Here she thought she was coming for a job interview with a Dr. Chris Herron, not Mr. Dirty Dreams from Friday night. And he wasn’t just interviewing her for a job; he was offering her the job of a lifetime. A job that would help her toward her goal of becoming a behavioral consultant, a job working with a child with special needs. It was exactly what she wanted. Exactly what she needed.
She picked a piece of lint off Gabe’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, but can you start from the beginning? I’m a little overwhelmed at the moment. Not to mention surprised.”
And thanks to the fact that his smile was what dirty dreams were made of, and his eyes a wickedly wild and grassy green, she was not only overwhelmed but also slightly aroused. Should she push the child out of her lap?
Baseball!
Football!
Her gross uncle John eating super saucy chicken wings without a shirt on.
Yep! That did it.
That thought killed the lust.
That thought killed everything.
Mark smiled that sinfully yummy smile of his. She bet those lips tasted like vanilla cupcakes. “I apologize for not being entirely honest on Friday when I mentioned the job. I thought if you didn’t know that it was me who needed the position filled, you’d be more likely to consider it and not think I was just coming on to you.”
Position filled.
Shit. Her mind was back in the gutter.
Uncle John eating chicken wings without a shirt on sitting in a kiddie pool filled with Jell-O and humming the tune of “Barbie Girl.”
Phew.
Okay, she was back in business.
“Gabe is a bit of a handful.” He leaned forward and ruffled his son’s hair when the little guy spun in Tori’s lap at the mention of his name. “A wonderful handful, but a handful nonetheless. He doesn’t do well with change and transition. He’s a creature of habi
t.”
Tori made a face. “Aren’t we all?”
Mark chuckled. “You’ll think you’re a disorganized mess compared to Gabe. You should see his room. Everything is spotless and in its rightful place. We’ve determined that he functions best when he knows what’s coming. Surprises are not his friend. He also doesn’t do well with new people constantly introduced into his routine.”
Tori’s eyes went wide. Then how was he currently sitting in her lap, humming contently, when they’d only just met less than twenty minutes ago?
“I know. I’m as shocked as you are that he’s taken to you so well and so quickly. This is a one-off. But it’s also why I’m offering you the job without having even checked your references. Nobody has ever won my son over this fast before. He’s never hugged a therapist, let alone climbed into their lap. I will check your references, but barring anything alarming, I’m still prepared to offer you the job.”
She swallowed. All she’d done was locate the kid’s missing red block, and suddenly she was his new best friend.
“Gabe goes to school five days a week. He’s in a regular class setting with neurotypical children and generally does very well. However, funding has been cut, and he no longer gets the one-on-one support he needs. The educational assistant has been allotted to the class and not the student. Gabe needs one-on-one support. He’s prone to tantrums, outbursts, and his social skills are not where they should be. He’ll walk right up to a person in a restaurant and steal a fry off their plate if he’s hungry, take a toy from a child at the park if he wants it. He needs the support of someone devoted solely to him.”
Tori nodded. “I get that. It’s a shame the funding was cut, though not surprising. I’ve heard that’s happening a lot.”
Mark’s head bobbed, and he exhaled through his nose. “It is. It’s frustrating. Add on top of it all that his last intervention therapist left with only three days’ notice, needless to say, we’ve been struggling.”
“Does he have a speech path? An occupational therapist?”