Page 53 of Not Catching Love

I’m not sure what a summery guy is like, and I wonder what Derek means by that. “He’s pretty too,” I bait, hating how easily I drop back into bad habits.

“He is. He and Seven look good together.”

“I look good with them too,” I insist.

“Sorry. I didn’t know you were dating them.”

I don’t know if he’s being a smart-ass or not, but that comment makes me groan. “He’s my brother, don’t be gross.”

“You said it.” The teasing in his tone is everything I’ve been missing. Then, he gets overly focused on the road. “So …areyou seeing anyone?”

It’s the first time I’ve gotten the temptation to lie. How would Derek react if he thought there was someone else in my life? The fact I can’t tell whether he’d get jealous or not care doesn’t help make up my mind. “Are you?” I ask instead.

“Nope. Other than my host family, most of the people in Ghana who I met were patients. And you know the law between patients and the medical professionals treating them.”

Unfortunately, I know about those rules way too well. “That it’s not allowed.”

He takes his eyes off the road for long enough to meet my gaze. “They’d take my license.”

Well, I guess that’s that. Coffee really is just coffee and not a euphemism for him wanting to take my virginity. At this stage, I’d gladly yeet the damn thing because I want it gone. I’m almost thirty and still haven’t had sex.

Dr. Sherwin hasn’t even begun to work with me on my weirdness to sex when we have so much else to unpack, like my catastrophizing, anxiety, and apparent OCD—while I repel people, apparently, I collect mental illnesses like trading cards—but apparently, it makes sense. To him. Which, yippee for me. I’ve been neglected so many times, and sexualized so many others, that I need trust before I can go there.

I’d told him his theory was stupid and went out that night in an attempt to hook up, which led to me hyperventilating and passing out in the middle of the dance floor.

Ah … the memories.

But that leaves us at one point to Sherwin. Zero points to me.

Maybe I need to stick my dick into a glory hole and get it over with, but my mind won’t let me go there. All I can think about is whether the person on the other side has bad breath or funky teeth or … or …thrushor something.

There’s also the potential he’ll chomp off my dick and leave me bleeding out on a seedy bathroom floor—not ideal circumstances for getting it up.

Derek doesn’t have funky teeth though. Derek smells nice. I bet he uses breath mints and brushes twice a day.

I want to have sex with him. I want to have sex with him a lot.

We get to the cafe, place our orders, then settle at a table in the back. He takes the booth side, and I sort of want to join him there, but instead, I remind myself that a friend would take the opposite seat.

Derek takes a tentative sip of his black coffee while I dump sugar in my hazelnut latte.

“Sweet tooth?” he asks.

“Sometimes.” I nod to his coffee. “Old man?”

He laughs. “Sometimes.”

While this might be friendly catch-up coffee, I need to clear up a few things. “Did you really go to Ghana to get away from me?”

“Sure did.”

I’m not expecting him to admit it again. “I don’t understand.”

Derek drums his fingers against the mug handle. “I’ve wanted to volunteer for Nursing International since I completed my degree, so it wasn’t totally because of you. It’s something I needed to cross off the bucket list and actually experience.”

“And you did it.”

“I did. It was amazing. Really helped open up my perspective of the world. But you are the reason I decided to go now.”

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