“Because thirty-six-year-old men with PhDs don’t wear clip-on ties.”
She laughs. “Who tied your ties? Your wife? Please don’t tell me your dad is still tying your ties.”
“Jenna did. She liked to do it. She should have been a stylist or a personal shopper.”
“That explains the walk-in closet full of clothes for Morgan.”
I nod.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring that up.”
“It’s fine. We found out we were having a girl a month before Morgan was born. Jenna’s nesting involved nonstop shopping.”
“You said she should have been a stylist or personal shopper. I’ve never asked, what was her job? I’m sure you make good money, but I feel like this house exceeds the salary of a professor your age.”
“Her grandfather—her mother’s father—invested in cheap real estate years ago. When he finally decided to sell it, the land was worth millions. Like every other millionaire who wants to feel like they’re giving back, he started a foundation. When he died, Jenna took over running the foundation and the hefty salary that came with the job.”
“Foundation for what?”
“Botanical research.”
“Are you talking about Strauss Botanical Gardens and Research Center?”
I nod.
“Wow. I’ve attended several weddings there.”
Morgan fusses. Floor time is about over.
“This one.” Swayze holds up the blue and white tie she originally suggested.
“Can you tie it?”
“Maybe.” She gives me the just-a-minute finger and fishes her phone out of her pocket. “Everything you could ever need to know is on the internet. Here.” She plays a YouTube video.
“You think I’m supposed to learn how to tie my tie from a video?”
“No.” She hooks the tie around my neck and gives it a playful tug. “I’m going to tie it for you while watching the tutorial. And if you’re lucky, someday I may teach you how to tie it on your own like a big boy.”
“If you tie it well, I can simply loosen it and slip it on and off like I do with my other ties.”
“They’ll get all wrinkled. That was my original point. If you’re going to leave them knotted, then you might as well buy clip-ons.”
Swayze’s eyes flit between her hands working the tie around my neck and the screen of her phone on the bed. I’m impressed she’s able to talk, tie, and follow the instructional video at the same time.
“Boom! Perfect.” She takes a step back and grins.
I go to grab it, feeling the natural need to adjust it because I hate wearing the damn thing.
“Don’t touch it.” Shooting me a warning glare, she picks up Morgan. “Look at your daddy. Isn’t he handsome?”
Swayze looks at Morgan, but I look at Swayze. How can she not see the obvious explanation for this?
“What’s the grin for, Professor?”
“Nothing.” I slip on my suit jacket.
“You’ve had a lot of nothing smiles lately.”
I head toward the kitchen. “It’s you.”
“Me? You find me amusing, do you?”
Filling my stainless steel coffee mug, I search for the right response. I wish it could be how much I love reminiscing about the past with my best friend. It’s better therapy for coping with the loss of Jenna than anything I’ve received from my time with Dr. Greyson.
“I find you to be a good distraction.”
“Oh …” she says, like the oh someone might say before running to the bathroom to vomit.
I turn, screwing on the lid to my mug. “That’s a good thing. In case you didn’t catch my meaning.”
“I think I understand your meaning, and I’m not comfortable with being that kind of distraction. I don’t think it’s appropriate.”
Where do I go with this? Has she made the connection? Or maybe she’s just made the connection that I think she’s Daisy even if she still can’t recognize it.
“I need you to be more specific about what you find inappropriate.”
“Really?” She narrows her eyes on a sidelong glance as she heats up Morgan’s bottle. “And I thought we were done talking about this. What happened to the ‘forget it ever happened?’ Gah! I can’t believe Griffin was right about this.”
With one arm crossed over my chest and the other bringing my coffee mug to my mouth, I let her words play in my mind. They don’t make sense.
Shit!
Now they do.
“No.” I shake my head. “You’ve got this all wrong. I wasn’t referring to the text. I meant your knowledge of my past. Talking about Daisy. That’s the good distraction.”
“Oh, oops. Well, thank God.” She sits in the recliner and gives Morgan her bottle.
“You thought thinking about your text was my good distraction?” I made an emergency trip to Dr. Greyson’s office yesterday. My voice shouldn’t hold such an offended tone.
“Maybe.” She cringes. “It’s my boyfriend’s fault. When I told Griffin what happened, he tried to convince me that you … well …” Her teeth chomp down on her lower lip while her nose scrunches.
“I what?” My head juts forward.
“He insisted that, for at least a split second, your mind imagined I was talking about you in the text. You know, like I didn’t accidentally send it to the wrong person. So …” She shrugs. “Griffin thinks you won’t be able to easily forget the image that first popped into your mind.”
My jaw relaxes to say something, but I’m at a loss for words so I clamp it shut again.
“I’m not the one who thinks it. It would be really wrong for your brain to go there. And he doesn’t know you like I do. He wasn’t there last night when you said those things to me before I left. Those weren’t the words of a man who had inappropriate images in his mind. Right?”
I nod several times.
“That’s what I thought.”
Good. She read my nod as “you’re correct” instead of “yes, it was really wrong of my mind to go there.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why my brain went there just now—making absurd assumptions about the meaning behind your smiles. It really makes me feel good to know that something positive has come from my unusual knowledge of you. I can deal with the crazy if it gives you a sense of peace—a needed distraction.”
Grabbing my bag, I give her a tightlipped smile. “Very kind of you. Well, I have a long day ahead. You two have fun.”
*
Nate’s thinking about me giving him a blowjob. This isn’t good. Griffin was right. Why does he have to be right about this? Personal fact number 6742 that I know about Nate Hunt: he flaps his jaw like a puppet when he’s contemplating telling a lie. He didn’t exactly lie, but he also didn’t exactly tell me the truth. I’m surprised he didn’t slip on the puddle of guilt beneath him as he made his way to the garage. I could see it dripping from him as he lost his battle to find a single good response to my accusation—Griffin’s accusation.
I won’t confront Nate. That’s just wrong. What if he can’t control his thoughts? I’m not telling Griffin either. He’ll lose his shit and refuse to ever let me step foot in this house again. But the worst part is now that I know Nate has thought or is thinking about it, I can’t stop thinking about him thinking about it, which means I’m thinking about it.
My mind won’t stop creating an image of my mouth around Nate’s cock. The mind isn’t simply a dangerous place, it’s the most dangerous place. All that’s wrong, sinful, and evil starts in the mind. It’s ironic how the part of the human body that controls everything is also the most out of control part of the body.
When Morgan goes down for her morning nap, I put her in her crib because I’m feeling a little snoopy today. Nate already confessed his busy day, so I feel fairly certain monitoring the nanny cam is not top priority. Besides, he gave me permission to snoop yesterday, citing that he has nothing to hide.
I start in his office. Boring anatomy books and other textbooks clutter his shelves. He never was one for reading novels. I move his rook and knight on the chessboard just to mess with him. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’s in the middle of a grueling chess match with himself. A picture of Jenna sits on the corner of his desk. She’s looking down at her hands folded on her baby belly. It’s painful to look at it.
After exploring all that’s in plain sight, I wander down the hall to his bedroom. There’s a camera in the corner of the room. I noticed it the first time I came in here. It’s a good idea to monitor most of the rooms, but I can’t stop my thoughts from stretching to the obvious possibility that on Nate’s computer there’s footage of Jenna and him having sex.
I can’t think of them having sex without thinking about the text. And there’s no way to think about the text without thinking about my mouth around his cock. That sends my brain in the direction of Nate’s thoughts. Does the idea arouse him? How often does he think about it? Where does he think about it? Is that really the reason for his grins that seem to come out of nowhere but always when he’s staring at me?