by A J Sherwood
After another grueling half hour, we finally escaped her office. I didn’t relax until we’d made it safely back to Jon’s Humvee. He didn’t immediately start the engine, just flopped back in the seat and breathed. “Wow. I did not like her.”
“I didn’t either, but what did you read in her aura that put you so on guard?” And we had to come up with a way for him to communicate some of that with me. Just so I would know what I was dealing with.
“She’s…opinionated. If you couldn’t tell. And she’s strongly uncomfortable with any orientation other than straight, although, to her credit, she was trying to ignore that with us. The main thing that bothered me was that her ambition, judgement, compassion, and communication lines were out of balance with each other. Ambition and judgement took priority, communication coming in a distant third, and compassion barely registering. I never like it when I see that. It usually means the person is argumentative and controlling.”
I reviewed the interview we’d just survived in my head. “She was certainly that. Well, at least we got through it without her demanding more sessions.”
“Thanks to you. You seemed to know exactly what to say to her.” He regarded me curiously, as he sometimes did.
There was still a lot I hadn’t told him. Some of it I wasn’t really comfortable talking about, and with his eyes, he saw enough of my history to know what landmines not to step on. Some of it, we just hadn’t had time to really talk about. I still hadn’t told him the full story of the acid attack and didn’t really feel like getting into it now, but I could answer the more immediate question. “I had mandated therapy in the rehab center.”
“Ahhh. So you’ve gone through something similar. Makes sense, now that I think about it.” He finally started the engine, buckling himself in at the same time.
I did likewise, glad that he hadn’t pushed. But then, Jon never did. The fact that he could read me made him so incredibly easy to be around. Even with his insight, he was kind enough not to push to satisfy his curiosity. He’d told me once that I was the perfect boyfriend, but I’d never agreed with him. He was the perfect one, not me.
Leaning sideways, I kissed him softly on the cheek before pulling back, smiling at his grin in return. “How about we call for takeout and go back to your place?”
Grin widening, he pressed in to kiss me softly, lingering before whispering against my mouth, “Remember the last time we ordered takeout?”
I did. Poor guy was a little traumatized to find me at the door, sporting a robe that didn’t really fit and an obvious hard-on. “We can manage to behave for the thirty minutes it takes to get food to the door.”
Jon snorted disbelievingly. With good reason, really, as our track record for keeping our hands off each other wasn’t exactly the best. “How about you schedule that order for two hours from now? Then we might stand a chance of answering the door.”
A level of excitement rose in me and I licked my lips, watching as his eyes followed the motion. “Two hours?”
Putting the HMMWV in reverse, he growled, “Make that three.”
Author
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AJ’s mind is the sort that refuses to let her write one project at a time. Or even just one book a year. She normally writes fantasy under a different pen name, but her aforementioned mind couldn’t help but want to write for the LGBTQ+ genre. Fortunately, her editor is completely on board with this plan.
In her spare time, AJ loves to devour books, eat way too much chocolate, and take regular trips. She's only been outside of the United States once, to Japan, and loved the experience so much that she firmly intends to see more of the world as soon as possible. Until then, she'll just research via Google Earth and write about the worlds in her own head.
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Books by AJ Sherwood
Legends of Lobe Den Herren
The Warden and the General
Fourth Point of Contact
Jon’s Mysteries
Jon’s Downright Ridiculous Shooting Case