Page 45 of Not Catching Love

I scowl. “Stop psychoanalyzing me.”

“But that’s what you’re here for.”

“No, I’m here so Seven will know that I love him and I’m willing to put myself through this shit to prove it.”

“Seven’s your boyfriend?”

I frown, hating that assumption. “My foster brother.”

“You’re close.”

“Duh.” I wouldn’t be here for just anyone.

“Well, you’ve proved that you love him by being here. Now, why don’t you prove you love yourself by letting me help you?”

That makes me pause. “But I don’t love myself. No one does. It’s no big deal. I’m not a very nice person.”

“Interesting you think that.”

“You’re telling me that you don’t?” I snort. “I’ve walked in here and insulted everything you have.”

“Not true. You haven’t said a thing about my desk yet.”

“Big and wooden. What a cliché.”

He goes on smiling at me. “We have a whole hour. Now, I get paid either way. Are you really going to waste your moneyby using this hour to talk about my decor? I have a lot of experience, and I’d like to put it to good use.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Your choice.” There’s a pause. “It’s very quiet in here though. If you don’t want to talk about yourself, tell me about Seven.”

“He’sthe one who goes to therapy.” I fold my arms and lean against the bookshelf. “Actual fucked-up things happened to him as a kid.”

“I’m sure he didn’t deserve that.”

He really didn’t. Who would he be if he’d never had to go through what he did? If he’d got to have an easy life, the type we both should have been allowed to experience. “People are assholes. Nothing will change that.”

“I’m a firm believer that anyone can change. If they want to.”

“It must be nice to be an optimist. Molly’s one too, though I probably would be if I had a DILF for a dad like he does.”

“You remember your parents?”

“Nope.” Not that it’s a real loss. “Better off without them though. I was taken as a toddler. They passed out high in the park, and someone called the cops because I was crying.”

“Where are they now?”

Sure, because I’ve really gone looking for them. “No clue. Maybe if I hadn’t cried that night, we’d still be one big, fucked-up family together.”

“Or maybe not.”

“Or maybe not.”

He watches me kindly. Eyes like Derek’s and also not like Derek’s. “Children cry, Xander. And adults make their own choices.”

I yawn, obnoxiously loud. “Gotta say, you made some shit choices along the line, having to listen to people whine all day.”

“I like talking to people.”

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