Hunching over the table, I snort-chuckle into my coffee, then wiggle a finger to motion her closer. “I literally lost count of how many he gave me in one night.”
“Gah! I’m so jealous. The last guy I dated was so off-putting, it left me drier than the surface of Mars.”
“That’s…weirdly specific. And sounds painful.” I wrinkle my nose at her. “Anyway, that’s not an issue. I’m like a slip-and-slide down there with him.”
She giggles uncontrollably, even stamping her feet on the floor. “I will never get that image out of my head now.”
“Neither will I, Martian pussy.”
We both burst into fits of giggles, my body sagging until my forehead hits the table. Something sticky pulls at my skin and I jolt upright.
“Eww.” I rub the sticky spot.
“Here.” Emily passes me a small package of wet napkins.
“You’re so organized.” I swipe at the spot until the stickiness is gone. “Thanks.”
“So, the orgasms are good. I assume that means there are no…technical difficulties with his late model…hardware.”
“Late model…Jeez, Emily. No. Good God, he has more stamina than guys I’ve been with who were half his age.” My whole body shivers at the memory of him hunting and capturing me in the living room.
Her teasing expression fades. “So, you’re happy?” she asks.
“I am.”
“Good, then I’m happy for you.” She discreetly flips her phone over and checks the screen. “I have to jet. We should have a girls’ night. Libby really wants to hang with you.” She pulls a fake sad face. “I’d be wounded if I didn’t love you so much myself.”
“Aww, we definitely need to get together. Is she doing okay?”
“Star pupil. I’m so proud of her.” We both stand and she gives me a quick hug. “Text me later.”
She darts out the front door. I check my phone for the time and still have a few minutes.
A text buzzes through.
Gray: How was coffee with Emily?
Me: Good! She just left. Heading back to work now.
I suck down the rest of my coffee, clear our table, and duck into the bathroom to quickly brush my teeth.
Outside, slushy remnants of last weekend’s snowstorm cling to the sidewalks and curbs. The temperature’s warm enough that it’s not icy. I keep a brisk pace all the way to my office, enjoying the last bits of fresh air for the afternoon.
Trish is at the front desk, talking to Lucy when I enter. She smiles and my gaze flicks to the clock.
Five minutes to spare. Phew.
“How’s your surprise patient progressing?” Trish asks. “Grayson…?”
My entire body freezes.
Slowly, I remember to smile and act casual. “Okay. I, uh, actually ended up referring him to Weston PT.”
She frowns and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, he seemed like the type who wouldn’t like taking direction from a female therapist.”
The urge to defend Gray rises up, but I bite the inside of my cheek. I feel lower than a slug lying to Trish when she’s been so good to me. “Well, it was a location issue. He was looking for somewhere closer to where he lives. This was a bit of a drive.” At least that part’s true. Downtown Empire is almost an hour away from Gray’s apartment.
“Well, we have to do what the patient wants, right? Too bad since he was self-pay.”
“Right.” I nod weakly, guilt still clinging to me for lying and for feeling like I’m getting away with the lie.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Serena
Hours later, I’m tired and ready to leave my day behind. I’m thinking of the video I want to shoot tonight and mentally composing a response to a sponsorship offer I’d received from a cosmetics company as I step outside and breathe in the soggy, evening air. Smells like dirty water and bus fumes.
“Serena Cargill?” a gruff voice calls out my name.
My heart jumps in my throat. My mind quickly flips through all my bills and creditors.
Did I forget to pay someone? I’ve been pretty wrapped up in spending time with Grayson and growing my Tranquil Sparkle brand lately, but I haven’t let anything slip. Have I?
“Yo, Serena Cargill, that’s you, right?”
Is one of them finally suing me like they’re always threatening?
My attention’s drawn to the shadowy space between the building I work in and the parking lot. A man steps into view.
No, he’d come inside the office and serve me with a lawsuit. Not accost me in the parking lot. Right? The one time I’d been served, they knocked on my door and tossed legal papers at my feet.
Too late, I realize I stupidly looked for whoever called my name. But who doesn’t respond when they hear their name?
I glance over my shoulder and try to mentally calculate if I have time to sprint back to the safety of my office.
“You Serena, right?” He asks with more impatience coloring his ragged voice. He has an accent. Somewhere downstate. Not the nasal whine and long vowels of Long Island. More like the rapid, r-less dialect of one of the boroughs. Bronx? Brooklyn, maybe?