Let Love Live (The Love Series #5) (31 page)

“What?” I ask, looking up at him with my hand at the buckle of his pants.

He shoves his hips up into my hand, brushing the length of his cock against my fingers. “You fucking know,” he growls.

The metal of his belt buckle clinks as I pull it through the loop. Each tick of his zipper lowering resonates in the space between us as if it’s a separate pulse. “This?” I ask, my voice a raspy-like whisper that matches the feather-light touch of my knuckles against his erection as it strains against his boxers.

“God, yes.” He lifts his hips again. “Your mouth. Suck me.” His demands grow in fervent need.

My lips hover at the band of his boxers for a moment and our eyes meet again. I make a motion to move lower before changing my path, licking up the center of his stomach once again. He’s panting wildly, beyond aroused. I slide my hand up the side of his neck, half cupping his jaw. “I’ll give you that,” I grind against him to emphasize my point, “when you give me your time.”

Shocked and not at all pleased with what I’ve just said, Dylan’s eyes go wide. He opens his mouth to speak, but I shut him up with a hard heated kiss. Somehow, I manage to pull myself away from him. It’s taking all my strength not to give into him, not to give into the physical pull between us.

I don’t bother adjusting myself when I stand next to the couch. I want him to see how he affects me, to think about just how good it’ll be. Dylan stares up at me with a confused and more than pissed off look in his eyes. “Three dates. That’s what I want from you before I give you what you want.” His gaze falls to the crotch of my jeans. “What we both want,” I add as an afterthought.

He doesn’t say anything, just lays staring at me as if I’ve just said something in another language. After rubbing a hand over my face and up through my hair, I step away from him and grab my jacket from the chair.

By the time I reach the door, he’s behind me. We stand there, silent for a minute, me facing the door, him facing my back. When he clears his throat, I turn to face him. Dylan shoves his hands in his front pockets, and rocks on his heels. “Three dates. I mean it.”

“But−”

“No. I’ve done the purely physical relationships and I know that they never work. I want to learn more about you.”

He nods, and then hangs his head as I open the door. I turn back to him once I’m in the hallway. He leans against the frame, looking a little less angry than he did a few minutes ago. “Call me.”

He laughs. “Like you’ve left me much of a choice.” The playful look in his eyes returns as he smiles at me.

“Exactly.” I walk away, a smug and satisfied grin plastered to my face. It doesn’t go away the entire ride home.

“What the hell happened in there?” Reid scowls at me over the hood of my car. I shrug, not wanting to rehash the last hour of my botched session with the group of Calhoun High School students who have been involved in bullying.

“Nothing happened,” I deflect.

We both slide into our seats and I turn the engine on. “Bullshit nothing happened. You were all agitated and on-edge with Dean. He was the one kid who looked like he could have been reasoned with, could have turned the group around, but you chewed him out once he said one wrong thing.”

“It’s just been a bad week, okay?” No, I haven’t told Reid about my date with Conner, or how I haven’t stopped thinking about him for one minute in the three days and two nights since I saw him last.

“That’s a load of crap, Dylan, and you know it. Carlo needs your help and you know his case inside and out. It’s going to take at least three more sessions before we can get back to a decent starting point.” The frustration is rising in Reid’s voice and he’s not exactly overreacting. I did fuck it up. I made a mistake by asking the wrong question and pushing the kid too far.

It’s amazing how quickly someone’s defenses go up when they hear something they don’t want to.

I laugh inwardly at my foolishness. Dean only reacted the same way I would have. He became defensive and aggressive. He shut down and pushed away everyone who was willing to listen. “I wasn’t thinking, okay?” Shaking my head, I become frustrated with my own stupidity.

“You knew about Dean’s father. How he’s always on him to be the best at everything, especially football so you bring up the main issue that’s brewing between Dean and Carlo.” My anger starts to boil.

“What do you want me to say, Reid?” I raise my voice, but keep my calm. “I screwed it up. I’ll fix it. My head was somewhere else. That’s all there is to it. I can’t walk back in there and change what happened, so we’ll just have to figure out how to fix it and move forward.” My words are clipped, much like my attitude at this point.

As he leans back against the door, turning to face me, Reid’s face morphs. A confused and astonished look takes over as he stares at me.

“What?” I ask defensively.

“Nothing.” He crosses his arms over his chest and shrugs. “That just sounds a lot like something Dr. Baker would say,” he adds smugly. “You’re taking her seriously, huh?”

I take a deep breath, needing all the patience I can summon in order to survive this conversation. “I’ve only met with her once,” I say, as if it somehow deflects some of the attention off me. Reid shoots me a look as I pull away from the high school. When he turns down the radio and stares me down as I drive back to the office, I finally give in. “She said something about trying to focus on where I want to be, rather than where I’ve already been. Something about that resonated with me; it made sense.”

“It was the same for me,” Reid adds quietly as he stares out the window, idly watching the traffic moving alongside us. “She kept talking to me about focusing on Maddy and Braden. How it’s important not to forget Mom and Shane, but to remember that I need to be here for the people who are a part of my life now.”

I laugh. “It seems so simple. Sounds like something either you or I would say to someone we’re counseling. I guess it just wasn’t a piece of advice I was willing to tell myself.”

“So, where do you want to be?” Reid asks pointedly, not letting me evade any longer.

Ironically enough, I turn down the road where Conner’s gym is just as his face flashes through my mind. Not enough has changed in me to just open up and spill every emotion I’m feeling to Reid. He might be my best friend, but since we’re still guys, I go for the easy answer. “I’m not sure, yet.” The car lurches forward as I stop at a red light at the crossroad of Michelson’s MMA. In the thirty seconds we’re stopped there, my eyes scour the entryway. Only the front desk is visible, but Conner isn’t. The light changes, and as we accelerate back into traffic, I say, “But I have an idea.”

Even though my first instinct was to push him away, it’s been a week since Conner threw down his three-date challenge and I still haven’t been able to shake him. Add in that I haven’t been to the gym since I hurt my shoulder, to say my energy is building up is an understatement.

Staring blankly at my computer screen on a drowsy Tuesday afternoon, I can’t focus on anything. As much as I want to forget him, at this point, I’ve pretty much given up on the idea of shoving Conner aside. When he walked away from me the other night, I was all ready to cancel my gym membership and block him from my memory. But extinguishing the flame of his touch, the heat of his mouth, the burning desire of his eyes - that proved to be a little more difficult. His need to get to know me more isn’t one I’m sure I can deal with. Conner, and a few other items, are on my short list for my second therapy session this afternoon.

Before I realize it, it’s time for my appointment. A ten-minute walk and some bright summer sun are enough to lift my mood on the way over to Dr. Baker’s office. She calls me into her office shortly after I arrive, not even giving me more than five minutes to flip through a magazine.

After the routine greetings of “how are you” and “how have things been” are out of the way, we get down to business. Blunt openness is my muse today. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said about trying to focus on where I want to be rather than where I’ve already been.”

The laugh lines around her lips crease in a deep smile as she leans back in her chair slightly. “Oh, is that so?” she asks rhetorically. A small, almost imperceptible laugh passes her lips. Her legs cross at the ankles and her hands fold over her lap as she patiently waits for my reply.

As if it’s acting on its own, my head shakes back and forth, dismissing her light chuckle. “It’s not such a far-fetched idea, you know.” My you-don’t-know-more-than-I-do tone doesn’t prompt her to react. She waits patiently, letting me fill the therapeutic silence descending upon us. “I’m just having some trouble dealing with how to get where I want to be. With where I
think
I want to be, anyway.”

She looks over my head to the clock before looking back at me. “Well, Dylan, we’ve got about forty-five minutes left for today. Why don’t we make use of them by you talking and me offering some suggestions?”

Her take-no-prisoners attitude is one I can appreciate. I know she’s not here to placate me, to “yes” me to death, to tell me, over and over, how Shane’s death wasn’t my fault. The adult part of my brain tells me that every day, anyway.