Page 29 of Corrupting Ivy

“No one said it was.” He grabbed my hip and ground against me, causing that distinctive need to grow. Then he pushed me off his lap without so much as a warning and stood.

“I don’t get you,” I said as I watched him take long strides to the door.

He’d touched me. Created this mess of confusion in my mind where I became tangled up in the web of lust. I shouldn’t be doing this, I knew that. But once he had me in his hands, my brain turned to mush until he pulled away, leaving me yet again. “Why did you even come back here?”

He placed his hands on the knob and walked away.

That was it.

No explanation.

No, ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come,’ or ‘this is wrong.’ He just walked out the door with a clenched jaw and tight lips. I turned back to my clothes, needing a quick distraction before I went off the deep end, screaming like a banshee.

Wrapping the bag around my wrist, I popped the bubble that formed, creating a loud pop, just as my door opened once more.

Otis stepped inside my tiny loft apartment with a sympathetic smile. “I would have knocked, but I heard that pop and thought maybe something was wrong.”

I sighed. What was so special about me today that warranted three male visitors? Neither of which was going to give me what I wanted. Waving him further inside, I shook my head. “Just taking my frustrations out on an innocent grocery bag is all.”

He sat down in the same chair Randall occupied just moments ago. “Do you want to talk about it? I heard what happened downstairs.”

And this was how the town started talking about Otis and I.

I’d like to think we had a unique relationship. Although that relationship had taken a slight turn since his girlfriend became a jealous nut case over something, that was nothing.

“You know… that oddly had slipped my mind until now. That makes me an awful person, doesn’t it?” I sat on the couch beside his chair and tucked my legs up underneath me. The faint smell of Randall's cologne wafted up from the blankets. I wanted to stick my nose in it and disappear.

What is wrong with me?

A woman died in my arms this morning, and I was out shopping for new pants. Not to mention trying to get a man to notice me that clearly wasn’t interested. Iwasa dreadful person.

“I think it’s normal for someone to compartmentalize trauma.” He placed his hands on his thighs. “Most times, we don’t even realize we’re doing it.”

The words didn’t seem right coming from Otis. Even though he was a therapist that enjoyed the adrenaline rush of bull riding, he never used his therapist voice on me. He always made me feel as though I were talking to a friend. Because that’s how I considered him.

“I don’t know what that even means,” I said, fidgeting.

He gave me a warm smile. “It’s just a clinical way of saying your brain is finding a way to cope with the trauma.”

I tilted my head back as I finally understood. “That’s what I’ve done my entire life, apparently.”

He cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“Never mind.” I looked towards the kitchen. “Do you want a drink?”

“I’m good, thanks. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Subconsciously hiding from my damaged feelings while throwing myself at a man.” I rolled my eyes from the word vomit I’d spewed without a second thought.

He stood and rubbed the back of his neck, his muscular arm bulging with the motion. It was strange. On any other day, that would have sent me running for my nightstand drawer, but not today. He didn’t do it for me.

“And I wanted to apologize for the way Rachel behaved today.”

I belted out a laugh. “If you think a snobby order is going to make me upset or run for the hills, then you don’t know me.” It would take more than a prissy southern buckle bunny with an insecurity a mile wide to cause me to feel anything.

“Well, I’m sorry all the same.” He reached for the door. “You know I’m here for you if you need to talk.”

I crossed my arms and nodded. “I know. Thank you, Otis.”

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