by J. D. Dexter
“You have advanced degrees? Plural, more than one?”
“Yup. Two master’s degrees. Psych and Social Work.”
He stops walking, the weight of his hand in mine pulling me to a stop.
“Why? That sounds like a different road, let alone path, from massage therapy.” He sounds astonished. In the light of the street lamp, I can see his blond eyebrows, inching up towards his hairline. I’m a little surprised by his reaction.
“Well, when I first started doing massage therapy, I just took for granted the stories people used to tell me while laying on my table. It wasn’t until I was in my third year of practice that one of my clients, who was there for only relaxation massage, told me a truly horrifying experience with sexual assault. She broke down and bawled for twenty minutes, simply because of where I was working on her body.”
“That must have been hard. So how did you get from one to the other? Although it sounds like you made it back to massage.”
“True.” I nod. “On the whole, we take for granted our bodies, only giving them attention when they don’t work right. Same with our mental states. The biggest lesson I learned before even starting graduate education, was that when we push our emotions aside, our bodies store them for us. It’s how we’re designed.” I look into his eyes, seeing an emotion I’m not sure I’m ready to admit to myself. I turn to look at the small pond, not ready to deal with what I feel inside.
“I started my psych education hoping to combine massage therapy into traditional mental health techniques. Not one of my professors or advisors told me that touching was against the ethical code. So, three days after finishing my first master’s degree, I started my social work degree. I made sure to check the ethical code before starting.” I chuckle.
“Does that mean you also see mental health clients as a social worker?” I turn back to look at him.
“Not right now. I worked with sexual assault survivors during both degrees—so about four years—and that is hard work. I’ve always been impressed by the resiliency and tenacity of survivors, they could put gods to shame with their perseverance.” I pull my cardigan a little tighter around me, some of the horror stories flirting with the edges of my mind. Giving my head a shake, I push them away.
“But I’ve focused on massage therapy for a couple of different reasons. One, trying to get the professionals in the middle of the Bible Belt to understand, and support, the value of touch within traditional mental health modalities isn’t a hill I want to die on right at the moment.” I take a deep breath. “And two, I needed some time to work on myself after hearing horror after horror, trauma after trauma.” It feels good to get this off my chest.
I’ve only shared the first reason with others. He’s the only person I’ve shared the second reason with. It’s really personal to me, and I hate admitting that hearing those stories got to me. It makes me feel like the perpetrators have won, again. I know it’s not true, and I know those I’ve helped would never feel that way, but sometimes you just can’t help how you feel.
“I’m feeling really insecure and lacking right now.” He blurts out, both of us having grown quiet.
“What? Why?” I ask, looking at him in wonder. “You’re a freaking ER doctor. You’ve not be slacking.”
“I didn’t say slacking, just lacking—and insecure,” he corrects me.
I shake my head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to push aside your feelings like that. I hate when that happens to me.” I take a deep breath. “I’m willing to listen if you want to share with me…which I hope you will.”
“You’re sexy, beautiful, successful in a number of fields, have a great family—even if they’re a little scary, and your heart seems to be made of gold.” He flips out a finger for each of my qualities as he lists them.
Switching to his other hand, he keeps ticking off attributes. “Not to mention you’re brave, can protect yourself against bad guys, you have amazing superhero powers, you can put away Mexican food like no one’s business, and you laugh at my stupid jokes.”
My heart drops, taking up new residence somewhere near my toes.
I get a swallow down my suddenly dry throat. “Thank you. Honestly. But I don’t see you as lacking in any way. I can’t comment on your insecurities, but if you can stand up to the boys, you are not lacking confidence,” I tell him truthfully. “And I do love Mexican food.” I smile at him. “You’re nothing to sneeze at either, mister.” I poke my finger into his belly, not at all upset with the hard ridges of muscle I feel. “Besides, I think you are sexy and handsome.”
“A lot of people go to medical school, Finley. I’m not that special.” He looks abashed.
I hold my hand up, palm out. “Full stop. I don’t play that game. I try very hard to only tell the truth. I will call you on your bullshit…ahem, BULLSHIT…and you should know your own achievements well enough to be proud of them. Not to mention, I don’t go out with losers or idiots.” I smirk at him.
His burst of laughter, and the shocked look on his face, says he wasn’t expecting my answer. I grin cheekily up into his glowing face.
“You did more than go into medicine. You do emergent care, crisis management, surgery, healing, and paperwork like a madman. You are handsome, have a beautiful spirit, love your parents and siblings—even though you feel like you don’t relate to them, you don’t let opposition stop you, your sense of humor is bad—but I love it, and deep down, you’re a protector.” I flick my fingers up in turn, counting off his good points one by one.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks, his hands reaching for me.
“Only if I can kiss you back,” I answer, stepping closer to him. I hear his chuckle right before our lips meet.
His lips are as soft as I thought they would be. I feel like my whole body is being taken over by slow flames. His hands grip my hair as he opens his mouth over my own, urging my lips to follow so his tongue can slip inside my mouth and play with my mine.
His groan fills my mouth, moving through my body. Pressing myself fully against his hard body, one of his hands sliding down from my hair, across my shoulder to clench in the hem of my shirt, pulling my lower body into full, heated contact with his.
A vibration against my lower stomach has my back arching, pushing harder against him. The groan that had trailed off, returns ten-fold; full of frustration, sexual promise, and aggravation.
He pulls back slights, his rushing breath flowing across my damp limps. I barely manage to swallow my disappointment. He thrusts a shaky hand into his pocket to retrieve his vibrating cell phone. A tremulous laugh escapes my kiss swollen lips. He glares at me, his eyes still dark with heat.
“Jamison.” The living heat in his voice sends shivers down my spine.
I take a few steps away to give him privacy with his call, and to give myself a chance to cool down. I feel like I should strip off my cardigan, giving my overheated body a chance to breathe. I take a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm the pounding of my heart.
I tilt my head up, filling my gaze with stars. God, you did good with that man. Thanks for letting me borrow him. I don’t go around shouting about my relationship with God, but it’s vital to my functioning. Too many things have happened in my life to ever think we were made by the big bang or evolution.
“Finley.” Hunter’s voice brings my attention to the glorious man striding toward me. His face is a mixture of pain and amusement.
“Hi. Everything okay?” I ask him as he wraps his arms around me.
“Yeah. A mix up with paperwork at the hospital.” He settles around me, dropping his chin into my hair. I hear, and feel, him take a deep inhale.
Burying my nose in his chest, I breathe him in.
“What cologne do you wear?” I ask him, my face still perched between his pecs.
“I don’t wear any. Too many people have scent allergies at the hospital. It’s easier not to wear any than try to remember not to wear it when I’m working.”
I step back, absolutely astonished that
the delicious man-scent of him is simply how he smells naturally.
He puts a finger under my chin, slowly closing my jaw that apparently dropped open.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, looking concerned.
“You smell amazing! I’m embarrassed to admit that I would have gone out to buy your cologne to spray around my house because it smells so good.” My hands reach up trying to cover the blazing heat of my cheeks.
He splutters a laugh. “Seriously?” Using two fingers he pulls his shirt up to his nose, giving it a whiff. He lets it drop and shrugs his shoulders.
“Sorry. Just me,” he says. “You smell good too. I was sniffing you before you pulled back.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for. And I know.” I laugh, his deeper chuckle combining with mine. “That’s why I took a deep breath of you.”
“We are so weird.” My laugh gets bigger.
It’s a couple of minutes before either of us can talk coherently again.
“Indeed. But I’d rather be weird with you than normal with someone else.” He wipes his eyes of the laugh-tears that have escaped.
“Me too.” I’m trying not to smear my mascara and eyeliner all over my face.
He takes my hand again, and we resume our walk around the pond. We fill the time talking about everything and nothing. I’m amazed, again, at how easy it is to talk to him.
“Can I ask you something?” We’ve both been quite for a couple minutes.
“Sure. Anything,” he answers quickly.
“Do you think you live a quiet life?” I’m a little surprised by the question; that wasn’t the one I had planned on asking.
He looks thoughtful for a moment. “I guess. I haven’t really thought about it being quiet, per se. But I’ve never been one who seeks drama or danger. Most of the time I think my life is a little hectic.”
“Me too. But when I left the hospital, everyone wanted me to live a quiet life, for obvious reasons. And I thought that it would be easy, that nothing much would change about my life. I have to juggle schedules, home, and work life. The same as everyone else in the world. But my life is not overly dramatic or dangerous—until recently.”
“I hear a ‘but.’”
“You’d be right. Buuut, after being through all of the danger and drama at the hospital, my life seems a little lackluster—at least the ‘normal’ part of my life. I’m not looking for danger, believe me.” I shake my head, struggling to find the right words for what I’m feeling. “But something feels…different, I guess. And it’s leaving me feeling unsatisfied. Although that’s not the right word either.” Waving my hand in the air, I try to bring the right words to my mind.
“Well, you found out that you’re not the only one with ‘enhanced abilities.’ That knowledge must have weighed a lot to carry alone.” He squeezes my hand in his.
“I hadn’t really thought about that part of it,” I say. Could that be the problem?
“Considering how tender-hearted you are, it couldn’t be easy knowing that others who do have similar enhancements didn’t fair as well in the family lottery as you did.”
I hear what he says, and a small, deep part of me relaxes.
“You’re on a roll with the deep thoughts. I haven’t thought of either of those issues, but they make a lot of sense now that you’ve said them to me.” I hug his arm.
“That’s me, king of deep thoughts.”
“This has been bothering me for the last couple of days. I haven’t even thought to share it with my parents, and while I had thought about telling the boys, I didn’t because I didn’t want them to freak out or go all caveman protective on me. You’re the only one I’ve told,” I admit to him.
“That makes me happy.” He stops on the pathway, folding me into his arms.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders, looking up into his eyes. Why does he feel so familiar?
“I need to tell you something I haven’t told anyone else either,” he says seriously.
I wait for him to go on, watching his face as he chooses his words.
“I’ve never experienced anything like this before. Something in me recognizes you. I’m in a lot deeper, and definitely a lot quicker, with you than I ever thought possible.” His soft words are an echo of my thoughts.
“Will it help you to hear that I feel the same way? I have this sense that we’ve known each other forever, and are just catching up after not seeing each other for a while,” I admit to him, my voice quiet.
His eyes close, his face softens. “Yeah, that helps. I’ve been freaking out, telling myself what I feel for you is too soon, and it is. But I also can’t deny that there is part of me that is happy you’re in my life. A part I didn’t even know was…sad, for lack of a better word.” His chin rests on the crown of my head once again. His stubble scratching lightly against my scalp, it’s really soothing.
Gathering my courage, I take a deep breath and take the dive. “I was nervous thinking about tonight. Needing it to go well, this undefined, gut-wrenching need. I’m not a nervous or anxious person. I’ve got my crap together, and I’ve fought hard to get to a place in my emotional life, and head space, to not only like myself, but to love myself. You, the thought of us, was driving me insane. A good insane, but insane nonetheless.” I murmur into his chest, my nose against the line of skin between his collar bones.
“I don’t do vulnerable well,” I admit to him. I pull back so I can look in his eyes, making sure he knows I’m serious.
“Neither do I. I hate being vulnerable,” he says, his eyes steady on mine.
“Ditto. I know that when I feel vulnerable, I tend to lash out, pushing away those things that make me feel vulnerable. I don’t want that to happen with you. I’m asking you to be patient with me, because I really want for us to work,” I whisper, my throat going dry.
“I can do that.” He nods. “I tend to go a little crazy when I feel vulnerable, just so you know. I want to overindulge to the point of either cementing it into my life or pushing it out altogether. So, I need you to be willing to work with me, as well. Because I want this to work too.” His smile is a little sheepish.
“I can do that, too.” I smile at him, taking a huge breath. “I feel a little sick to my stomach,” I admit.
“My heart’s racing,” he confesses.
“Weirdo.” I kiss his throat.
“Weirdo.” He kisses the top of my head.
Chapter Seventeen
“What’s with you today?” Josh asks me at lunch after church on Sunday.
“Hmm? What do you mean?” I blink him back into focus.
“Exactly. You’ve been off in La-La Land all day. You were even distracted during church. Everything with Hunter okay?” His tone of voice letting me know he’ll take care of the situation if it’s not.
“Yeah. Josh…” I trail off. How do I share this with him? How do I not share this with him?
Get a freaking grip, Finley Marie, I mentally shout at myself.
“Yes?” He’s looking at me like I’ve lost my ever-loving mind.
“I feel like this thing with Hunter is huge. Like, wedding bells and ovary charts, huge.” My breath is heaving, my heart racing. I really need him to be alright with this. He’s one of the most important people in my life.
“Wow.” He sits back into the booth, his shock evident. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah.” I manage a swallow. “We talked about it Friday. We’re both feeling this way. We’ve agreed to take it slow, because neither of us want to rush into it, but yeah, same page, same freaking word.” I nod.
I feel like my body is about to explode waiting for his reaction. My palms go damp, my head starts throbbing, my foot is beating out a rapid tempo on the floor.
He takes a big breath, shakes his head like a dog getting out of the bath, and says, “Okay.” He goes back to eating.
“Okay?” I practically shout. Other diners look over at our table, their startled glances letting me know my outburst was a little louder
than planned.
“Yeah. Fin, you’ve never been unsure about anything in your life. You follow through on your decisions. You think them out, usually until I want to murder you slowly. But jumping in without looking isn’t your style. So…okay,” he says between bites of his lunch.
I think I might be dead. I actually died from the gunshot wound, and all of this has been a dream. Meeting Hunter, making out with him beside the pond, sitting here across from Josh. Everything.
“If he hurts you, we will kill him though.” Josh dips a fry into his salted ketchup. His matter-of-fact threat calms me down.
My world starts spinning again. Josh being protective is definitely real-life. I certainly did make out with Hunter next to the pond. My tummy does some flips remembering that moment.
“Stop making that face.” Josh spits out, throwing another fry at me.
“Don’t tell me what to do.” I pause. “What face?”
“Your I-got-to-make-out-with-a-hot-guy face. You get it all the time when you’re in a new relationship.”
I gasp. Throwing a piece of lettuce at him, I say, “I do not have a just-made-out face!”
“Do too.” He smirks at me, the lettuce falling in the empty space between our plates.
“Do not. Besides, kissing Hunter was so much more than just making out with a hot guy.” I giggle. I freaking giggle like a little girl. I feel the heat rush over my cheeks.
“Oh gag. I don’t want to know.” He makes retching noises, before stuffing another fry into his mouth.
“You’re the one who brought it up.”
“That’s because you had your remembering kissing face on. Not my fault you can’t keep your mind on the discussion at hand. Get your hormones under control, woman.” The last comes out with a look of maniacal anticipation.
“What did you just say to me?” I can feel the heat creeping into my cheeks.
Hormones, I’ll show you hormones.