Page 7 of The Last Good Man

“I don’t need all that,” I utter, annoyed. “I earn a nice living. And yes, I need safety. But that is not emotional safety to me.”

“Yeah…They’renot good for what you need. So you need a high-quality man instead. Find him and get what you need from him.”

I flick an eyebrow.

“Find him like… How? And what’s the difference, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“The high–quality man might not have external possessions. But… He is emotionally intelligent. Knows how to touch your soul, wrap himself around you and make you fall for him. He’s not a…” she says, her hand moving up as I’m about to argue her point. “He’s not a player. And you know the difference. You’ve had players. You’ve been with that guy… What’s his name?”

She dips her gaze to check the list of my exes on her notepad.

“Ellis Wilton.”

“Yes, Ellis,” she says, happy she doesn’t have to peruse the list to find him as my third boyfriend from the bottom.

“Yes. I’m not talking about players. Players play the field. They pretend to be high-quality men to make women fall for them. Sometimes, they pretend to be high-value men, and women fall for their tricks. Not you,” she rushes to clarify. “I know you didn’t buy Ellis’ shit, but you know what I mean.”

“Yeah. I do.”

“Back to the high-quality men. They are not your usual date. Frankly, I don’t think they date much. That doesn’t mean they’re not looking. They are, and they know exactly what they want in a woman. If it’s any consolation, they also havea hard timefinding partners. You have to be like them to be worthwhile to pursue.They give a lot to the right person andexpect to get a lot back.The most important thing isthey get you.And if you’re lucky to find one, don’t miss out on that opportunity, or you’ll forever be my client.”

Rain keeps falling over the teared-up windows while her words sink in.

“You need a man who can do everything, Mel. Fill your soul, nourish your mind, and pardon my French, fuck your brains out. And then, if you find him, you need to make it worksomehowfor both of you.”

MELODY

I listen to the rain for a few long seconds.

Domestic noises echo in the building, the old elevator bringing someone up before a door opens and closes upstairs.

The place is quiet again.

“All right… I guess we’re done for the day,” Aretha says.

“Yeah, yeah… We are,” I murmur, reaching inside my bag, and fishing out my phone.

Still pondering, I power it up and wait for the screen to turn blue.

“Next Thursday, then?” I say, realizing I have no new notifications.

Flashing a dry smile, I flick my gaze to Aretha Stenson.

“Sure.”

Her eyes glint as if she’d like to say something else.

Having an inkling of what’s in her head, I push to my feet, run a cold hand over my skirt, and gesture in acknowledgment.

“I’ll let you know if I need the other spot on Tuesday.”

I’m sure I won’t.

I’ve been paying for two weekly sessions for a month now.

The second I noticed my frustration had reached alarming heights, affecting my sleep andwork, I started to book two sessions.

I know how hard it is to get an appointment on short notice. Aretha Stenson isn’t busy for nothing.

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