by Roni Loren
“Right. Sounds fun.”
She gave him a what-can-you-do shrug. “I’ve dealt with worse. I’ll manage.”
Lane levered himself off the island and turned to her. “You just have to ask, you know.”
She sipped her coffee, though it now tasted burnt in her mouth. “Ask what?”
“If you want me to go with you, I will.”
She set down her cup and blinked. “What?”
He glanced at the door Nina had left through and then looked back to her. “You told your sister you had a fiancé. So bring him. If nothing else, it will irritate your ex.”
She stared at him like he’d spoken a different language. “Are you nuts? That would be a disaster. I have to go for three days and stay at the house. No escape. They’d see right through us.”
He crossed his arms and smirked. “You think this is my first rodeo, doc? You know how many times I’ve had to play the new boyfriend for a divorcée? I’ve never done full-fledged fiancé, but believe me, they wouldn’t see through us. We’re sleeping together. I work at the same hospital as you do, so that part makes sense. We have chemistry. The only thing we’d have to get the hang of is acting like we’re in love.”
“That’s a big goddamned jump, Lane.”
He put a hand over his heart as if deeply wounded. “Are you kidding? I am super lovable.”
She snorted, his mock puppy dog look breaking through some of her angst over this whole screwed-up situation. “You’re insane.”
“Probably,” he agreed. “But teasing aside, I don’t think it’s good for you to go into that kind of situation alone.”
“I go into every situation alone. I’ll be fine.” Maybe if she said the words out loud, it would make them true.
He frowned, concern plain on his face. “Family shit is different. They can tear you up with just a few words. Do real damage. Believe me, I’ve been there.”
She tilted her head, wanting to ask what he meant, but he didn’t give her the chance.
“This sounds like it’s going to be a soul-crushing gauntlet. You need at least one person on your side, and it doesn’t sound like you’re going to have any in your family. If you want to go and be able to focus on your mom, I can give you the space to do that.” He reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders, expression serious. “Because I can guarantee you, I’m not going to let your ex mess with you. I can be a nice guy. I like to think I am a nice guy. But I also can be an intimidating motherfucker when the situation calls for it. I’m still a street kid at heart and don’t let anyone mess with my friends.”
The fierce look in his eye and his words had unexpected emotion gathering in her. “Last night I told you we couldn’t be friends. I insulted you. Why would you even give a damn if he hurts me?”
Lane’s stern expression softened and his mouth curved. “The same reason why you give a damn if I fail out of school. I know it may shock you, but this thing right here—where we talk to each other about what’s going on in our lives and the issues we’re dealing with—is what people call forming a friendship.” He said the last few words as if he were speaking to a toddler. “Whether you want to be seen in public with me or not doesn’t change the fact that this is happening. You’re beginning to like me, McCray.”
She straightened, resistance rising in her like a scrappy army.
He lifted his hands from her shoulders and held his palms up. “Don’t freak out and don’t blame yourself. It was inevitable. I am inherently likable. You really had no shot.”
She groaned and tipped her face toward the ceiling. “I seriously hate you.”
He chuckled. Gleefully. Then he leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose. “You say the sweetest things, dearest. So when’s our wedding date?”
Her attention snapped back to him. “What?”
He shrugged. “You jumped my case last night because I wanted to do everything on my own for school. You told me to get over myself and accept help. I’m turning your advice back on you. Bring me to the wedding weekend and let me play interference. Accept. Help.”
She crossed her arms and considered him. This had disaster written all over it. She’d seen movies with the fake boyfriend. They never went well. But this wouldn’t be funny hijinks fit for romantic comedy. Her family could be a nightmare, and her ex wasn’t the type to stay in the background. He’d dig into Lane, ask a thousand questions, try to make him look inferior in some way. And all of them would cut into Elle. They could wield passive-aggressive comments like ninjas with throwing stars. She didn’t want anyone to see her in that situation. Her family and ex were the only people who made her feel weak, who reminded her of that desperate, insecure person she used to be when she was with Henry.
But she couldn’t help but be tempted by the lifeline Lane was dangling in front of her. He’d already seen her in weak moments—at the party, last night when she’d lashed out at him, today with her sister. Her secrets were already exposed. He already knew she was screwed up. What did she have to lose? If he went, Lane could be a distraction and run interference. Her family was always better behaved in front of strangers. Maybe his presence could tamp down some of the drama that was sure to ensue if she went alone. They would be the smiling, everything’s-all-right McCrays for him.
The urge to handle everything on her own was a deeply ingrained instinct, but she forced herself to loosen her hold on those reins. She let out a slow breath. “Okay. If you’re willing to sign up for this domestic nightmare, I will let you come with me and help—on one condition.”
Lane’s smile dropped into a grim line. “I go to the Learning Services Center.”
She nodded. “Yes. If I have to swallow a spoonful of pride, you do, too. You get tested—today. If it’s something I can help with, you let me. If it’s not, you find someone who can. You get this paper written and no dropping classes. Doctor’s orders.”
He sighed. “You know they might just tell me I’m dumb and they can’t help me. I’ve had more than one teacher tell me I should just find a workable blue-collar skill.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re not dumb.”
“How can you be so sure?”
She stepped into his space and put her hands to his chest. “Because despite what you think you know about me, I have only one absolutely undeniable fetish when it comes to guys.”
He lifted his brows.
“I only get turned on by smart ones. My vagina is very discerning and can spot a hot IQ from a mile away. And you, Lane Cannon, have revved my engine from the very first time I met you—which, of course, has always pissed me off.”
He grinned at that and slipped his hands inside her robe to grip her waist. “So if your vagina is so discerning, how about I skip this testing and she can just whisper to my dick what my issue with this paper is?”
“Have we just personified our private parts?”
“We totally have.”
She lowered her forehead to his shoulder and laughed. “What is my life? I need more coffee.”
He laughed and peeled back the lapels of her robe. “No, we need our parts to have this very serious discussion. Mine just woke up early for the meeting.” He gathered her fully against him, the state of his growing erection hard to miss even through his jeans. “He’s very interested in today’s agenda.”
Her skin warmed at the feel of him and she looked up, letting her hands loop around his neck. “Is that right?”
Lane smiled. “Yes. Agenda item number one: Make Elle come before breakfast.” He pushed her robe off, leaving her in just a T-shirt and panties. “Agenda item number two: Come on Elle after breakfast.” He traced a finger down her sternum. “Agenda item number three: Lick her clean for dessert.”
She shivered at the promise and the filthy-sexy images. “I’m liking this agenda.”
He dragged her T-shirt up and off, his gaze eating her up, and then cradled her breast in his hot palm, his thumb teasing her. “Good. Because I have a feeling this meeting’s going to
get messy.”
“Yeah?” His words moved through her, echoing in another place, far from her sex-addled thoughts.
Get messy.
The words sent a shimmer of anxiety through her.
Because the truth was, they were already there. This was getting messy. But she shoved the thought away, not wanting to evaluate it too closely.
Lane lowered his head and took her nipple into his mouth while his hand tracked downward, finding her wet and wanting. Always wanting when it came to him. A sharp pulse of desire fanned outward from his touch, and all those dangerous thoughts blissfully slid away into the background.
This was just sex.
Her brain needed to shut up and enjoy it.
She’d figure out the rest later.
Because in this moment, all was right in her world.
Chapter 14
“It qualifies as a disability.”
Lane shifted in the hard plastic chair of the Learning Services Center, his skin going clammy as he listened to the bespectacled counselor go over his test results. “A disability.”
The counselor, Mitchell, gave him a brief, emotionless smile. “Yes, Mr. Cannon. That’s good news.”
Lane couldn’t contain his derisive snort. “Oh, having dyslexia is good news. That’s great to hear. I didn’t realize I’d won some contest.”
Mitchell adjusted his glasses and gave Lane a patient look. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. Of course, it’s a challenge. But it’s one you’ve faced your entire life, I’m sure. Now that it’s been identified and qualifies as a disability, you can get some accommodations—technology aids, tutoring if needed, extra time on assignments and tests. It opens up options that can help you be successful here at the university.”
The words made Lane feel like he’d ingested bad cafeteria food, leaving his stomach turning and a bad taste lingering in his mouth. Despite agreeing to do this, the idea of getting special treatment to get through school still pushed all his fuck no buttons. The whole point of getting his degree was to prove to himself that he could. He wanted to walk across that stage, get his diploma, and know that he’d done it the same way everyone else had. On his own. That the janitor’s son, the kid who got kicked out of his house at sixteen, the former escort, could be a college graduate.
“I don’t want special treatment.”
Mitchell folded his hands atop Lane’s test results. “I understand, Mr. Cannon. I do. But this isn’t special treatment. It’s accommodation for the way your brain is wired. There’s a difference. You have what it takes to be successful here if you learn to work with your dyslexia.” He pushed the file folder toward Lane. “When you get a chance, you should go through your results in more detail. The evaluation found far more strengths than deficits.”
Lane took the folder but barely heard the words. He had no interest in a bunch of test results, just the bottom line. “So I get more time to turn in my paper?”
“Yes,” he said, reaching over to wake his computer screen. “And I’m going to give you a computer program that takes dictation. That way you can speak your paper instead of typing. But there’s a bit of a learning curve with it. I have a student worker who can train you on it. Then, once we get this paper out of the way, we can set up some sessions with one of our specialists. She can show you some methods and tricks that will help with your writing and reading comprehension. Your auditory comprehension is very strong, and you don’t seem to have trouble organizing ideas if you speak them aloud, so that gives us a lot to work with.”
A student worker. A specialist. Lane’s mouth filled with a whole bunch of nope, nope, nope, but he bit his tongue and took a breath before speaking. “I don’t need a student worker. I’ll just take the program and figure it out. Until I get the hang of it, I have a friend who is going to help me with the paper. She said she could take dictation for me.”
The guy glanced at him with a lifted brow. “You sure? This won’t cost you anything.”
Except his pride. “I’m sure.”
“Okie dokie.” Mitchell typed something into the computer. “Well, our specialist is booked up until the end of the month, but I’ll get you on her schedule after that. I’ll email you the time and date.”
Lane wasn’t up for that either but it would buy him some time with his paper, and he could always decline the appointment later. “Thanks.”
Mitchell wrapped things up and gave Lane the computer program with a few more instructions, but Lane just nodded and did what he had to do to end the appointment as quickly as possible. He was so ready to get out of there, he was surprised his shoes didn’t leave scorch marks on the carpet as he escaped.
He climbed into his car, thankful for the solitude and quiet, but it didn’t last long. His mind got loud fast, the words disability and accommodations rolling around in his head and rattling old ghosts as he drove back to The Grove.
Ghosts from his fancy prep school: Did you hear Lane try to read in class? What is he? Retarded?
Ghosts from his family: Son, don’t get ideas in your head from those rich kids. You get your diploma and then find a trade. You’ll do just fine.
Ghosts from his escort days: Oh, sweetheart, we don’t need to talk. I’m not paying you for stimulating conversation.
Lane pulled into the parking lot of The Grove, not missing the irony that he was heading into a mental health hospital while hearing voices in his head. Maybe he should be checking in instead of offering help. Get it together, Cannon.
The unseasonably warm afternoon enveloped him and sunlight hit Lane’s face on his way into the building. He rubbed his fingers over his brow, trying to chase away the dark memories. Logically, he knew that a learning disability wasn’t something to be embarrassed about. It wasn’t something he’d caused. If he had a client share that information about herself, he would tell her as much. But shame still burned hot in his chest, the demons from his past vicious and relentless. He took a deep breath through his nose, shoving down his own internal drama as best he could, and pasted on a pleasant look as he stepped inside the building. Here, his problems couldn’t exist. When he was working, he needed to be fully focused on the clients.
A few of the staff waved or nodded at him as he made his way through the hallways. Psychiatrists, social workers, doctors, nurses. People were friendly here. But now more than ever, he felt like he was cast in some movie role instead of actually belonging there. I’m not a real therapist, I just play one on TV. Because when it came down to it, he was only allowed at an elite facility like The Grove because he wasn’t scared to sleep with strangers—a job that was undesirable to most—and because he was appealing enough not to be a turn off to a wealthy clientele that placed a high value on looks. He was here because he could make women feel comfortable, get them talking, and get them off if they were having trouble with that. A hired dick with a fancier title. Maybe Elle had been right about him from the start.
Elle.
She was somewhere in this building. They’d agreed not to interact at work unless it involved a patient, but she’d told him to let him know how his test results came back and suddenly, he had the urge to see her. He checked his watch. He had an appointment in twenty minutes. He probably had time to swing by her office to see if she was busy. He could always make up an excuse that he needed to discuss a client case if anyone was nearby.
He took a left, hopped into an elevator, and once he’d reached the right floor, headed toward the addiction wing, or the R and R wing, as most of the staff called it. Because it contained the rehab facility, that section of the hospital was a secured unit, so he had to use his keycard to get in. Oriana was walking out right as he was walking in.
She gave him a bright smile when she saw him, her brown skin glowing with her trademark friendliness. “Hey, it’s my cupcake savior.”
“Reporting for duty.” He gave her a mock salute. “Any other baked goods need rescuing? I skipped lunch so I’m willing to take one for the team.”
; “Sadly, not today. There are some bran muffins in the break room but I don’t recommend them unless you need a colon cleanse.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, I think I’ll pass on that.”
“Good move.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “But thanks again for helping me out. You saved my butt. McCray has been in a better mood and she never figured out that I screwed up. Whatever you said to her worked.”
“A better mood, huh?” he said, trying to sound only mildly interested and not one-hundred percent smugly satisfied that his hookups with Elle had helped her mood.
She peered back over her shoulder to verify they were alone. “Yeah, to be honest, it’s freaking me out a little. I love working with her because she’s hella brilliant and a great teacher, but I’m not sure how to handle her being…somewhat pleasant. It’s like the earth’s off its axis or something. I keep expecting an explosion. Or to find out she’s been taken over by a body snatcher or something.”
He had to bite back his grin on that. Well, he had been snatching her body on a regular basis, but he couldn’t tell Oriana that. “I’m glad things have improved. Is she around? I had a case I needed a consult on.”
Oriana pulled her phone out of her jacket’s inner pocket and checked the time. “Yeah. She’s wrapping up a training in the education room, but should be done in a little while. You can probably catch her before she goes on rounds. And the session’s open to employees if you want to slip in the back.”
“What’s the training on?”
She dropped her phone back into her pocket. “Working with patients who have a dual diagnosis of bipolar disorder and substance use disorder. That’s her specialty.”
“Is it?” he asked. He should probably know that about her, but she never brought up work and he never asked.