Page 42 of Near Miss

Rolling down the window, I lean forward and call after her. “You forgot your award.”

Greer looks over her shoulder, sharp features appraising before she wrinkles her nose. “Keep it. You deserve it after your performance. Great legs, great tongue. Who knew?”

She smiles softly, raising a hand before gathering her dress again and starting down the walkway towards her apartment.

I watch, waging an internal war and seriously considering sprinting after her, pinning her to a nearby tree and fucking her brains out. I shift in my seat, pulling at the thigh of my suit pants. They’ve been too tight ever since we left the closet, my cock permanently hard all night because of her.

My hand reaches for my seat belt, like it’s got a mind of its own, but she pauses right before the bottom stair, turning back around. She tips her head, ponytail dancing over her shoulder, and she blinks those eyes at me before she says, “Peanut.”

My brow furrows. “What?”

“Cashew and Peanut.” She shrugs one shoulder. “Our nicknames as kids. My dad called me Peanut.”

“Huh.” I nod, the corner of my lip kicking up. It might not seem like much, but I know she just gave me something, cracked open the door of hers she keeps closed and shared a secret with me. Whispered it to me like a child might.

I tuck it in my back pocket with her smile and her laugh.

Greer raises her hand again and she goes to turn, but I lean forward so I’m closer to the open window. I want her to hear me, and I hope she knows I mean it. “You’ve listened to me for thelast few weeks. If you ever want to talk to someone, I’d be happy to listen to you.”

Her smile turns rueful, and her hand stays up in farewell this time. “Good night, Beckett.”

“Night, Dr. Roberts.”

I wait until she’s inside, and when the door shuts, I see the curtain pull to the side. A flash of auburn hair and the shadow of someone hopping off the couch and sprinting across the room.

I kind of wish it was me in there with her, but I’m glad she’s not alone.

Greer

I see Rav the third Tuesday of every month. Unless I have an emergency surgery, or my dad needs something, I’m punctual and I don’t reschedule.

I thought about rescheduling this session—mostly because I can still feel Beckett’s hands and eyes—his tongue—on me.

We haven’t spoken since, other than a simple thank-you text I sent, that he followed up with a simpleanytime.

Just a simple word, but I can imagine the way he’d say it—the lazy grin he’d toss my way, the shadow of the dimple.

It’s not a simple thing, whatever happened between us, and I think that scares me.

I’ve been sitting silently on Rav’s couch for ten minutes. I’m not trying to lie this time—he says most of the lies I tell are things I don’t even realize, because it’s not as if I set out to keep things from him. When I do feel like speaking, he says I’m honest to a fault. But there are these other things, and I think they must exist outside the confines of my lines—my cage—and that’s usually where the lies start.

He usually waits for me to start, but today, he speaks first. “Congratulations on the honour. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to attend.”

I offer a tight smile. “You didn’t miss much.”

Amusement flashes behind his eyes when he taps his pen three times against his clipboard. “No? Nothing?”

I narrow my eyes. Rav stares back at me like he knows something I don’t, or like he’s waiting for me to spill some big proverbial secret about the night. I roll my shoulders back and tip my chin up, even though my skin heats and my heart stumbles the way it’s started to whenever I think about the closet.

Beckett on his knees.

But there’s no way he knows I let Beckett Davis go down on me in a hallway closet. He’s a psychiatrist, he’s not clairvoyant.

“Nothing noteworthy.” I shrug.

His hand stills, and he pockets the pen, leans forward, and looks at me with this air of maddening patience.

I can tell he’s going to wait today—that I won’t win—so I roll my eyes and say, “I’m sure word has reached your ears that Beckett accompanied me.”

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