“I don’t like helmets. They suck on my head and make my hair funny.”
“I don’t own a helmet. Guess you’ll just have to hold my hand then.”
Thelma stared at her.
PJ stared right back.
“Alright,” Thelma agreed reluctantly, “but you need to wash your hands first. You’re supposed to wash your hands for twenty seconds after you go to the bathroom to prevent the spread of bacteria.”
PJ walked to the sink, biting back a little smile of victory.
***
Twenty minutes later, PJ was biting into a jalapeno burger and moaning as her taste buds exploded. Thelma sat across from her picking at a basket of fries with a spork. For a girl with a sudden hankering for fast food, she sure didn’t seem too interested in consuming it. Her attention was far more focused on the clusters of teens pouring into the restaurant. “Looking for someone?” PJ asked dryly.
Thelma’s gaze swiveled back to her, a goofy grin lifting her cheeks. “Jeremiah invited me.”
PJ swallowed down her food with a hit of Sprite. “Wow. That’s cool,” she said carefully.
Thelma nodded once before going back to her vigil.
PJ plopped her burger down in a greasy paper-lined basket with a sinking feeling that this outing was going to blow up in her face, because more than likely it was going to end with Thelma having another meltdown when her guy didn’t show. “So, uhm… how did he invite you?”
Dark hazel eyes peered back at her with confusion.
PJ sighed. “What did Jeremiah say exactly?”
The goofy grin was back as Thelma nibbled on a fry. “He was lifting weights in gym class today with Kyle Morris, and I heard him tell Kyle he was starving because he missed lunch since he was tutoring his little sister, Tina, and so I walked over to him, and said, ‘There’s an Eataburger on Goodwood, and they have delicious shakes,’ and then he said, ‘Cool, Thelma, maybe I’ll see you there after school,’ and then he made a flirty look at me.”
“A flirty look?” PJ took another chug of her drink as Thelma grabbed a little ring of cards from her purse.
“Yes. It was flirty. I checked my emo-cards right after, and I’m positive.” Thelma flashed her one of the emotional cue cards they’d made last week. This one had a magazine clipping of Chris Hemsworth doing the smoldering eye thing.
“Wow. Are you sure—”
Thelma’s gaze swung back to the front of the restaurant, and suddenly she was bouncing in her seat as she spied another group of teens strolling in. “He’s here, Miss Jane! OMG, OMG, OMG, OMG, OMG, OMG—”
Thelma would have said this about twenty more times if PJ hadn’t stopped her by nudging her hand. “You need to calm down, T. I think he’s spotted you.”
Thelma quieted as Jeremiah turned in her direction, his lips quirking up in friendly recognition before he slipped a wallet from his jeans and tossed it to one of the two cheerleaders he’d strolled in with. The leggy brunette caught it, flipped her beribboned ponytail, and stepped into the order line with her squad mate. Then Jeremiah was walking over to their table, and PJ understood immediately why Thelma was so hung up on the dude. He wasn’t as tall as Beau, but already, at sixteen-ish, the guy had a nice muscular physique, the hint of some scruff on his jaw, and shaggy black hair that was Keanu Reeves cool.
He was cute. Heartbreaker cute. And PJ’s knee-jerk reaction to this was suspicion. Because Wade Hollis had been heartbreaker cute too, and he’d turned out to be a complete shit—
“Hi, Thelma.” Jeremiah stopped a few feet from them, folding his arms in front of a royal-blue Finkerton Falcons jersey as he grinned. “Looks like you got that milkshake.”
Thelma hummed a greeting as she reached for the Styrofoam cup in front of her. “It’s chocolate,” she said a little too loudly. “Chocolate is my favorite.”
Jeremiah winked. “I was always more of a vanilla guy.”
PJ choked on her second bite of burger.
Thelma frowned as PJ’s eyes watered. “Maybe you shouldn’t have added so many jalapenos.”
Jeremiah’s gaze shifted to PJ with concern. “Can I get you some water?”
“No, thank you.” It was painfully hard to spit this out because the hot peppers were burning their way down her esophagus, and also because PJ really wanted to tell the guy to fuck off. Technically, however, she was still in session, so modeling appropriate behavior was important. Gulping down more soda, PJ swallowed hard and smiled sweetly. “Thelma…” she said, glancing pointedly from the girl to the handsome teen loitering near their table.
It took her client a few seconds to pick up on the subtle verbal prompt, but when she did, Thelma straightened in her chair and motioned towards PJ. “Jeremiah Dax, this is Miss Jane. She’s a therapist. Miss Jane, this is Jeremiah Dax. He’s a quarterback.” Thelma made the introductions awkwardly, her voice sounding a bit too rehearsed, but PJ made a mental note to give her some points for using hand gestures and maintaining good eye contact.
“Nice to meet you.” Jeremiah smiled at PJ.
“Likewise.” PJ forced a smile back.
Jeremiah didn’t seem to notice, his gaze had already returned to Thelma. “I didn’t know you liked football.”
“I don’t,” she said matter-of-factly. “My mom makes me go to the games sometimes because my brother, Teddy, plays JV, but I hate it. Football is the worst game ever.”
Jeremiah chuckled. “Gotta admit, there are some days I get home from practice and feel the exact same way.” He shrugged, his easy grin settling into something distinctly flirtatious. “But maybe, if you’re free tomorrow, you can come out to Finkerton to support us anyways. We have a game at 6:30.”
“I know. My mom’s got booster duty.” Thelma sipped at her shake thoughtfully. “Maybe I will go. I do like the scoreboard. And the lights. And your really tight pants.”
“Thelma—” PJ said warningly.
Jeremiah had to bite his lip to keep from laughing, but there was a hint of a blush playing over his cheeks and his dark aquamarine eyes were sparkling, or maybe smoldering, as they flashed over Thelma’s gorgeous mane of curls, her smooth porcelain skin, and the low V of her T-shirt before darting away quickly.
What the fuck? PJ scowled at him. The guy was acting like he was genuinely interested in her girl, and this had PJ’s mama bear instincts suddenly overruling her need for civility. “Sorry, champ. We’ve got plans tomorrow night.” She rolled her eyes in the direction of the two cheerleaders juggling take-out bags by the soda machine. “And it looks like you’ve already got your own personal cheering squad. Say hi to Lindsey for us.” She shot him another saccharine smile before waving dismissively.
Jeremiah looked to the teens getting their drinks. Both had their backs turned, but PJ could hear the taller girl laughing as the shorter one overfilled her cup with Orange Crush. Jeremiah sighed as he turned back to her. “Will do,” he said curtly. Then he extended his hand to Thelma, his fingers curling in for a fist bump as he smiled. “See ya around school.”
Thelma’s fist shot out so fast she nearly knocked her milkshake off the table. PJ snorted. Clearly, the chick was a little more enthused about hand-to-hand contact with this guy than she’d been with PJ on the skateboard-ride over.
Still, Thelma had done a remarkable job of overcoming her insecurity on said ride, so PJ made another note to log more points for the girl when they got back to the clinic and she could do so discreetly. Some of the older teens at Journeys were sensitive about their therapists waving their tablets around during off-sites. Thelma was definitely one of them. And she was definitely crushing on Jeremiah Dax, her moony-eyed gaze tracking him as he followed the cheer princesses from the restaurant.
PJ let out a small sigh of relief as the guy disappeared, grateful he’d shown up, but still suspicious as hell of his motives. Then she tucked back into her burger and let out another sigh because the thing tasted so damn good, and this was a sure sign that Aunt Flo was coming. PJ always craved re
d meat during her periods. Red meat smothered in two heaping spoonfuls of nacho peppers? Not so much.
“You made the face.” Thelma was scrutinizing her with her own brand of suspicion.
“What face?” PJ swallowed her food more carefully.
“You gave Jeremiah the fake smile. My mom does it all the time. It’s like this.” Thelma screwed up her features into some constipated version of the Kardashian duck face.
“I don’t think it was like that.”
“Yes it was.” The girl scarfed down a handful of fries and chewed quickly, her appetite suddenly kicking into overdrive right along with her sense of assertiveness. “We’re going to that game tomorrow.”
PJ plopped down her burger. “We have a session, T.”
“We can do another off-site instead. Dad’s working late at the hospital tomorrow, and Mom will be setting up the concession stand at Finkerton around six, so they’ll both be too busy to come pick me up from Journeys at seven, so they’ll probably just cancel the whole session anyways, and then you won’t get any hours, and that means less money in your paycheck. You don’t want that, do you? How much do you get paid, anyways?”
Jesus. Not nearly enough.
PJ wiped off her hands with a napkin as she gave the highly intelligent teen sitting across from her a basic social etiquette reminder. “It’s not polite to ask someone how much money they make, Thelma.”
“Okay.” Thelma sucked on her shake and stuffed another fry. “When we get back to the clinic, you need to tell Ms. Patrice we’re doing an off-site tomorrow. She needs to code it a certain way in the computer so you can get… paid.” Thelma whispered the last word like it was a swear-bomb.
PJ let out another sigh, this one full of exasperation. The last place in the world she wanted to do an off-site was at one of her old high schools. “Who are the Falcons playing?” she asked warily.
“The Jaguars.”
Shit. That was Jefferson Prep. “I don’t know,” PJ said. “Maybe we should reschedule for Saturday.”
“No way. Saturday sessions suck.” Thelma held up her hands in a prayer pose. “Please, Miss Jane. I hate football, but I really like Jeremiah, and I want him to like me so much, so I need to go to the game, and I really need your help, so I don’t act dumb—”
“Thelma, for crying out loud. You’re one of the smartest chicks, I know.”
“Pleeeease, Miss Jane. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please—”
“Alright already!” PJ nudged the girl’s hand again. “I’ll meet you at the concession stand at six.”
“Yay!” Thelma clapped her hands, jumped from the table, and ran towards the bathroom without bothering to say where she was going.
PJ shook her head. What in the hell had she gotten herself into? Tomorrow night was going to suck. She hated school. She probably hated it even more than Thelma hated football. And yet, her fifteen-year-old autistic client was sucking up her anxieties and putting herself out there.
PJ couldn’t let her down.
Chapter 41
Beau was tired. He’d had a rough day at the office. Shortly after returning from a lunch run, he’d found out that he’d lost a client, and not lost as in she’d decided to switch firms either. Lost as in, Artemia Wells had passed away Sunday evening right around the time he’d been dispatching zombie pigmen during his Minecraft marathon with Max and PJ.
Gladys, having just gotten the call from one of Artemia’s daughters, had broken the news to Beau as he’d sat a couple po’ boys down on her desk, tearfully telling him that one of their very first clients had suffered a massive stroke after a bad fall in her bathroom. Beau had pretty much lost his appetite after that. He and Gladys had sat around their desks munching on fried catfish sandwiches, but his had tasted like sawdust, and he’d ended up dumping most of it.
Artemia wasn’t family, but Beau was going to miss her all the same. There would be no more of her silly gossip, no more of her shameless matchmaking, no more of her sweet old lady smiles and subtle words of wisdom. And this saddened him greatly. So much so, that he’d sat through the rest of his meetings that afternoon with a billboard smile plastered to his face, doling out financial advice to his clients on autopilot… when all he really wanted to do was curl up in a ball with PJ. To soak up all the warmth and softness of the woman who was, in the end, his perfect match. One thought had kept him going for the rest of the day. That PJ would be there for him, with her own shameless smile and brash, irreverent words.
Beau needed her now. And as he sat in his car, listening to her chatter with his son as they drove home from the clinic, he positively ached for her.
Max, as it turned out, had earned so many points during his speech lessons with Rhonda that his therapist had rewarded him with a pack of Pokémon cards, and the kid was sorting through them excitedly as PJ oohed and aahed over the rarer ones he’d scored. Beau knew she wasn’t being disingenuous, just like he knew she hadn’t opted to roll in the backseat again because she was miffed at him. PJ was legitimately interested in the trading cards Max was waving around.
Beau listened to her tell his son about how her dad used to buy them for her when she was a kid, how the man had a Pikachu tat on his arm, and how he’d started a collection for the triplets as well, but apparently, PJ’s little sisters, at four and a half years old, were already far more interested in Barbie dolls.
“You have little sisters?” Max asked her with amazement.
“Sure do. Want to see a picture? My dad texted me this one after Bella got into her mama’s makeup bag.”
“Her face is a whole different color.”
PJ snorted, the familiar little sound easing some of the sadness in Beau’s chest. “Well, my stepmom did have a lot of makeup in that bag,” she said dryly.
“No,” his son said after a few seconds. “I mean her skin is a different color. She has light brown skin like Brienne and Josiah in my class, but you have peach skin like the crayon I brokeded.”
“Oh,” PJ said with a chuckle. “That’s on account of Bella and me having different mamas.”
Max was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “My baby sister and me have different daddies.”
“That’s cool, buddy. You’ll love her just the same.”
Beau glanced up at his mirror just as PJ dropped a kiss on his son’s head, and the sweetness of the gesture, and the simple wisdom of her words brought a smile to his lips. The first genuine smile he’d managed since lunch.
***
Max was not smiling two hours later when Beau tucked him into bed. His hair stuck up in all directions because Beau had gone a little crazy with the towel after bathing him, and the electrified effect only made him appear that much more pissed off.
“S’posed to play Minecraft for sixty-three minutes, not forty-two,” he said sulkily.
“I know, pal. I’m sorry, but daddy’s really tired right now.”
“I’m not.” Max yawned. Then scowled. Then stretched his eyes open as wide as they’d go as if to prove how totally not tired he was.
Beau knew better than to laugh. “I’ll make it up to you, Maximilian. I promise,” he said as he adjusted the kid’s night-light. “We’re gonna play so much Nintendo this weekend your head’s gonna explode.”
Max giggled. Then scowled. Then hissed as though he were now pissed at Beau for making him laugh.
“’Night, buddy.”
Hiss.
Beau kissed his surly son goodnight, then slipped from the room.
He found PJ in the kitchen washing off a griddle pan at the sink. She’d used it to whip them up a quick meal earlier, telling Beau she “wasn’t the best cook” but her “grilled cheese were usually pretty good.” She’d been right. Her sandwiches hadn’t tasted like sawdust. They’d tasted like comfort food: golden-brown and delicious. He’d eaten three of them.
Beau moved in behind her, reached around, and turned off the water. “Thanks for dinner.”
PJ set the pan on the counter t
o dry, then turned in his arms. “You’re welcome.” Her gaze darted to his son’s room, another pleased little grin lurking. “Max was hungry.”
“I’ve never seen him eat a sandwich that fast.” Beau pursed his lips in a pout. “I think he might have liked it better than my peanut butter and Nutellas.”
PJ snorted.
Beau kissed her, pressing her ass up against the damp edge of the sink as he reveled in the spicy-sweet heat of her mouth. They stood that way for a while, hands wandering, tongues sliding greedily, before PJ finally pulled away. “You were hungry too,” she said, the lusty haze in her eyes sharpening with concern, as though she could tell he’d skipped out on lunch, and she was wondering why. Beau didn’t want to get into it.
What he wanted, was to get into her, to sink into her body slowly, to feel every inch of her squeezing him tight. Beau slipped his hand into PJ’s and pulled her away from the sink. “Still am,” he whispered.
Something hesitant flashed over her features, her gaze dropping for a second. Beau wasn’t sure what was going on in that beautiful head of hers, but he sensed that whatever it was, she didn’t really want to get into it either because suddenly she was reaching between them and rubbing the rigid length of him through his slacks.
“Well, let’s go then,” she said with a smirk.
They made it to his room with most of their clothes on. They made it to his bed with most of their clothes off. This time PJ was the one to remove his underwear, yanking Beau’s boxers off and chucking them at his nightstand.
“You know what you need?” she asked as she knelt gloriously naked beside him, staring at his dick like it was her favorite kind of dessert.
Beau absolutely knew what he needed; he could see it peeking out between her splayed thighs, those dark golden curls teasing him with the promise of bliss. PJ’s husky giggle had him looking back up. “What’s that, Pru?”
She lifted her hand to her mouth, licked the entire length of her palm, and winked. “Hand job,” she chirped.
Then she grasped him, and Beau’s head fell back on the pillows at the wet hot friction of her hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it from root to tip. “Oh, hells, yes,” he said, hissing out the words as she jerked him perfectly, working him with just the right amount of pressure, like she’d been taking notes all those nights he’d put on a show for her, tugging on his shaft as she’d watched with greedy, fascinated eyes.
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