“Um,” he said into the awkward stretch of their silence. “What now?”
“Don’t stop talking,” Stilettos whispered, breathing heavily.
“Okay then … well. All right,” the counselor managed, recovering from his stunned silence. “I’m glad you’re staying positive despite your many, and clearly severe, problems. Tell me, why do you think you have too much sex?”
“It’s like an obsession,” Blue Eyes answered promptly. He gave the others a glance before sinking lower into his chair. He seemed to finally realize the effect he was having on the room at large. The other members were leaning forward, as if straining against invisible ropes. They looked ready to launch themselves into his personal space.
His discomfort seemed more a result of Leah’s fellow addicts than because he was in therapy for sex addiction. In fact, the way he’d introduced himself made it seem as if he was perfectly glad to be here. Who in their right mind would actually want to attend these sessions?
Not that her body was complaining about his presence. She concentrated as hard as she could on the counselor. It was probably the first time she had even made eye contact with the guy, but anything was better than the way she felt when she looked at Blue Eyes. Not because it was unpleasant to feel turned on, to have that excited burn in her belly, but because she knew what it would lead to if she pursued it—empty, meaningless sex.
Of course, she was banned from sex until Helena was satisfied, but doing anything with Blue Eyes meant she’d also have to worry about possibly seeing him again at the next meeting. In the past, she’d preferred it when the guy either left before she woke or without her having to ask. Kicking him out could sometimes be awkward, especially when he got it into his head that she might want a second date.
Yet, somehow, she just couldn’t endure the thought of watching this particular boy walk away.
And judging by Blue Eyes’ extraordinary speech, he was every bit as much a slut as she was.
She had no problem, however, with allowing her imagination to run wild, picturing him writhing on a bed with his multiple naked partners … She sucked in her breath and held it as she stopped mid-thought. Apparently, she did have a problem with it. She’d expected to react to the daydream with arousal, but instead she felt … vaguely pissed off.
She mentally sneered at herself. It was ridiculous to feel even a hint of jealousy over someone she hadn’t known existed until five minutes ago. He could have as many orgies as he wanted.
She spent the rest of the meeting staring a new hole into the puckered floor tiles.
Twenty minutes before the end of the meeting, the counselor left them for what he liked to refer to as ‘group time.’ He seemed to think they would talk more freely if he was gone. She always felt like telling him the only thing that happened when he left was a sigh of relief all around and some stilted small talk.
This week, however, Blue Eyes seemed to have livened everyone up.
“Is it me,” he said, “or is it a bit naïve to put a bunch of sex addicts together in one room? Surely that’s just a pick-up service under the guise of therapy.”
Maybe if her fellow addicts were all male belly dancers, Leah thought. Unfortunately, reality was always more disappointing.
“I know, right?” Stilettos said. “This should totally be like a free-for-all night. Now that’d be therapy.”
“There’s no one here I want,” Old Lady chirped from under her hat.
“Until now.” Stilettos grinned at Blue Eyes. Leah decided she wanted to tie Stilettos to her chair and lock her in the closet.
But that would be crazy, and Leah hated proving Helena right.
“I don’t believe that.” Blue Eyes’ mouth took on a wickedly sexy slant. “What about her?” He gestured at Leah, whose heart set off at a sprint in the direction of her panties.
He thought she was hot. He just implied he would sleep with her.
Then again, coming from a guy with a sex problem, it probably didn’t mean much.
But Leah smothered a smile anyway.
“Oh, her.” Stilettos sniffed. “She’s hot, but her personality is so abrasive that it just completely puts you off.”
“You’re not my type, I assure you,” Leah said, stiffening at the insult. She didn’t actually care what any of them thought about her. She wasn’t here to make friends. Just one more session, and then she’d never have to see any of these people again.
Packers Cap laughed. He sounded like a perverted seal pup. “Sleeping with you would probably freeze my penis off.”
“Sorry, no charity cases today,” Leah said airily. The last thing she needed was the mental image of his frozen dick. “But feel free to find a freezer.”
“Maybe we can ask the counselor to make it an alternate solution,” Stilettos said. “Weekly meetings with him or a night with the Ice Queen.”
“That’s a bit rich coming from you lot.” Blue Eyes’ voice was unamused, and everyone looked startled.
Well, everyone except Leah who hid her surprise behind a frown.
She knew how she came across to people, and she was used to the names. ‘Ice Queen’ was really on the nicer end of the spectrum. However, she wasn’t used to anyone besides Helena standing up for her. It made her feel restless. Agitated. This guy didn’t know the first thing about her, so what did he care?
“I don’t need you to defend me,” she said evenly. “The way you talked about your ‘problems’—you sounded more like you were here to brag instead of looking for help. It’s disgusting.”
Blue Eyes looked a little taken aback and, by the way his brows drew together, a little annoyed too. The agitation in her stomach immediately shifted into guilt.
She hadn’t meant to sound like such a bitch. Strangers were only nice to her when they wanted something, so she’d reacted the way she always did by being defensive and snapping at him. She felt stupid and awkward as she pushed her hair behind her ear and tried to ignore his probing glances.
After that, no one would answer any questions no matter how charmingly Blue Eyes put them. Leah had, as per usual, reduced the room to one giant, mutual sulk.
Everyone released conspicuous sighs of relief when the counselor returned to tell them they could leave. Stilettos shot out the door faster than anyone on four-inch heels had ever moved before, and Packers Cap wasn’t far behind her. Before Old Lady could stumble yet again into the chair with the cookies, Leah reached out to guide her around it. Then she pushed another chair out of the way so the lady could at least make it to the door without anymore obstacles. How she even functioned in her day-to-day life was beyond Leah.
Leah’s jacket, which had been hanging over the back of her chair, slid to the floor. She stooped to grab it but drew up short when someone else’s hand closed around the dark green material first. Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she looked up and locked gazes with Blue Eyes. He was even more stunning up close.
He was looking at her like she puzzled him, and her brain had apparently decided to abandon ship because she had no idea what to do or say in response. She didn’t dare open her mouth in case something stupid or insulting came out of it again. As he handed over her jacket, their fingers brushed. The brief contact sent shivers through her even though he was warm.
“Have a good night,” he said before giving her a small, thoughtful smile and turning away.
Chapter Three
Will jolted awake to the fading memory of nails biting into his shoulder blades, warm skin, and a piercing gaze.
“Wonderful,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He stretched his arms over his head and then glanced at the digital clock on his nightstand. He was late. “Even better.”
He rose from his bed and stumbled tiredly into the bathroom in his boxer briefs. From the doorway, his cat meowed at him to express her displeasure at having to wait to be fed.
“Sorry, Bonny, give me a moment,” he said. He squeezed toothpaste onto his toothbrush as he peered at his di
sheveled reflection.
Bonny was a stray who had shown up outside the flat one morning almost a year ago. She’d been thin and distrustful, and Will had decided immediately that he needed a pet. After a while, it became sort of comforting to know someone was waiting for him when he got home, even if it was a cat.
Once he finished in the bathroom, he threw on the first pair of jeans he could find and shrugged a clean t-shirt over his head before tending to Bonny. When she finished her breakfast, he allowed himself a few minutes to play with her. It had taken over a month to earn her trust, but his lap was now her favorite place to curl up in the mornings, and he hated disappointing her. Anyway, he was already late for his work study.
Of course, he also didn’t want to get fired so, with a final scratch to Bonny’s chin, he set her on the floor and returned to his bedroom. He stuffed all his textbooks and folders into his book bag, slung it over his shoulder, and slipped out of his flat.
He only lived a few minutes from campus, but he was still nearly an hour late. The details of his dream had already slipped away, leaving him only with the impression of hazel eyes. Hopefully, that would fade as well. The last thing he needed was to be having inappropriate dreams about a girl who he was not only supposed to be studying, but whose words had stayed with him all evening after the therapy session.
It wasn’t just her condescension for him that stuck out in his mind though; it was the look on her face when the others had mocked her. It had been defiant, as if she had to prove to them, or herself, that their words hadn’t bothered her. And maybe they really hadn’t, but he couldn’t help feeling angry on her behalf.
Holding coffee in one hand and his notes from last night in the other, Will sidled into the wee office hidden in the back of the psychology department as quietly and unobtrusively as he could.
James, his boss, looked up from a giant textbook and rolled his eyes. “Will, you are my sole research student in an office that measures the span of three scooters. Do you really think I’m not going to notice when you’re late?”
“Sorry,” Will said. He smiled his ‘I’m disorganized, but you love me’ smile and handed James his coffee before wedging himself behind his desk.
James made a slightly mollified sound and took a sip of the coffee before setting it on a stack of ungraded papers. His worn leather chair groaned beneath his considerable girth as he shifted his weight and ran a hand over his bald head.
“How did it go? Will it make a good case study?” James demanded, apparently refusing to let Will’s brain wake up enough to recall the notes he’d written. At the moment, he was still trying to shake off the last vestiges of the girl who’d slipped into his subconscious last night.
He made a show of yawning just to annoy his boss. Then he grinned behind his hand when James raised a knowing brow.
“You mean, will it confirm your theory?” Will asked.
“Well now,” James said, giving him a stern look that was clearly fake. “That would be unscientific, to simply look for evidence that supports my hypotheses.” The stern look faded to curiosity. “But does it?”
Not for the first time, Will was grateful his boss was so laid back. “Aye. I don’t see how sex addiction can be treated by a well-meaning hippie who makes you do guided meditation and talks about controlling animal urges.”
The counselor seemed like a decent sort, and his heart was in the right place. But good intentions weren’t enough to run a successful therapy group, especially if the addicts truly needed professional help.
James moved a pile of questionnaires to one side and said, “You’ll need to go a few more times, just in case the counselor has some ideas that aren’t completely useless.”
“That’s just perfect,” Will said, shuffling through his notes as his computer booted up. “You do realize you’re sending me off to be molested? As I was leaving last night, I had my bum pinched three times.”
“I’m sure that a grown man such as yourself can effectively protect his virtue,” James said.
“Remind me why you get the kleptos and I get the weird addictions?”
“Because you’re my research student,” James said in a ‘duh’ tone of voice. He buried his head in a textbook and muttered something along the lines of, “Can’t go … might get recognized … troubled youth.”
Will decided not to ask. He would probably be happier not knowing.
When he applied for this job, other psych students had warned him about James. They told him he was a slave driver, a loon, totally mad. James’ previous research student hadn’t just quit his position; he’d quit psychology altogether and was now reportedly in music therapy for his own mental health.
While Will didn’t think James was nearly as bad as he’d been told, there were definitely times he questioned whether his boss studied the human mind out of an intellectual interest or just plain morbid curiosity.
Maybe if he told James he was having dreams about one of the subjects, he would be reassigned.
Except a part of him kind of wanted to go back and see the group again. Specifically, he wanted to see her.
At first, when he called the group out on their hypocrisy—which he probably shouldn’t have considering he was meant to fit in, but the words had been out of his mouth before he could stop them—the suspicion in the way her head tilted had worried him that he’d been caught. But then she had responded by insulting him, and he realized she just wasn’t keen on having others defend her. Or maybe she wasn’t used to it. She had regarded the entire group with such contempt that it wasn’t hard to see why the others didn’t like her.
And yet she had still helped one of them to the door, which made him wonder just how much of her indifference was feigned.
Maybe he hadn’t been the only one there under false pretenses. He couldn’t believe that a girl who’d perfected the ability to look simultaneously gorgeous and contemptuous would attend a sex addiction treatment class if someone wasn’t holding a gun to her head.
In his freshman year, some friends had gotten caught drinking at a campus party. The University had given them the choice of either a hefty fine or weekly alcohol counseling. Maybe she was in a similar situation, although Will could only imagine what someone had to be caught doing to be sent to sex addiction therapy.
Best not to linger on that.
Throughout the whole meeting, she hadn’t cracked a smile once. But in spite of the ‘Ice Queen’ reputation the others in the group had given her, she’d shown plenty of emotion. She was just more cautious about it, as if she expected something terrible to happen if she let her guard down. Then, when she finally talked, her voice had surprised him by being unexpectedly low. Sultry. The opposite of cold and detached.
He didn’t even know her name, but everything about her intrigued him.
Despite this, he wasn’t sure if he even liked her. He shouldn’t like her. And he didn’t know why his brain had turned on him by making him feel like a pervert who did need therapy.
As he began typing up his notes, he recalled the introduction he’d given and the reaction it had gotten. He mentally cringed. He had practiced that speech three times, perfecting his best ‘I’m a man on the edge of spiritual collapse’ voice. It had been meant to dispel any fears about his sincere addiction, making him one of them. But instead, he had rattled through the whole thing with a helplessly daft grin on his face and confused the hell out of them. And all because he had been distracted by a pretty face.
He should have been focused on his job, not making eyes at one of his unsuspecting subjects.
“So how was sex therapy?” came a loud voice.
He minimized his notes just as Finn deposited himself on the edge of Will’s desk.
James only gave Will’s friend a brief nod of acknowledgment. James didn’t mind Finn coming around, even though he was an art major, because he usually helped file papers. James was all for free labor.
Finn had been Will’s dorm mate their freshman year. They had bon
ded over paintings—specifically, Finn had painted them and Will had analyzed him by judging what he saw in them. His general evaluation had been ‘adequately sane.’
“It’s not—” Will stopped himself and shook his head. “Sex therapy means fixing whatever issues you’ve got through having sex, not learning how to resist it. If you have to, call it hypersexuality.”
Finn gave him a blank look. “You are ten times less cool than you were before you started talking.”
Will laughed. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”
“Cancelled. Prof is hungover.”
Will gave him a skeptical look.
“Well, the email only said he was sick, but I read between the lines,” Finn said, flashing a grin.
“And you actually got out of bed?”
Finn gestured at himself. His short, dark blonde hair stuck out at all angles and his T-shirt looked like it had never seen an iron. Or a washing machine. Was it some sort of unspoken rule that art students look perpetually unkempt?
“Look at me. This is the image of a man thwarted out of more sleep. I didn’t find out until I got here.”
Will nodded at the stack of files James had pulled from the wall shelves yesterday. “If you’re going to stick around, be useful and put those away.”
Finn hopped off his desk and set about organizing them. “So are you now equipped to restrain your manly urges?”
“The research isn’t about learning how to approach the addiction so much as it’s about whether those approaches are credible, particularly since it’s an unregulated treatment program.”
“Well then what did you learn?”
“I don’t think I should be discussing this with you.” Will’s remark was accompanied by a pointed look at his boss.
“Oh, come on, James loves me.” Finn glanced over at James. “Right?”
James gave a noncommittal flap of his hand.
Heat Up the Fall: New Adult Boxed Set (6 Book Bundle) Page 23