Page 75 of Exes and O's

He makes atsksound and frowns up at me. “I wish you wouldn’t do that. There is absolutely nothing about you to loathe.”

“It’s actually healthier than it sounds—getting real with myself. Having cathartic cries every now and then. My therapist highly recommended it.” I work down a swallow, nearly crossinginto the spirit world when he runs his index finger over my knee, catching a piece of lint.

“You see a therapist?” he asks.

“I used to see one on and off since high school. Her name was Wendy. I called her my breakup therapist. My mom forced me to see her after Cody dumped me. I was inconsolable in my room for weeks, and no one knew what to do with me. I’d see her every time my life went off the rails. Went back recently after my split with Seth, but she retired last spring. I haven’t tried anyone new since.”

He presses his cheek against my thigh. “You should. Spilling your guts on the regular seems like it would be healthy for you.”

“Probably. I’d recommend therapy for anyone, actually.” I absentmindedly pat down the section of his hair that’s sticking out. Working my fingers through his dense, silky mane shouldn’t feel so comfortable, so ritualistic, like I’ve done it a million times before.

“I don’t know about therapy for everyone,” he decides after a few moments of silent enjoyment of his head massage. His eyes are closed now, which is probably safer for everyone involved—mainly me.

“You don’t think it would be healthy to talk to someone about your... baggage?”

He cracks a lid and smiles up at me. “You think I have baggage?”

I level him a serious look. “Metcalfe, you have a full luggage cart of baggage. You’ve gone through a lot with your parents, your brother, and Angie. I know you don’t love talking about them, or your feelings in general, but maybe it would help.”

“I think it’s the talking-to-strangers part I have an issue with.”He peers up at me again. “Maybe you can be my therapist. I like talking to you.”

I meet his gaze, holding my breath. Somehow, that seemingly insignificant statement means everything. Regardless of whether he has feelings for me, he feels comfortable talking to me, of all people. “I like talking to you too.”

“You like to talk to everyone, though.” He pauses, letting out a one-syllable laugh. “You’re gonna be the death of me, Chen.”

I have no idea how to interpret this, nor do I have time to, because from the sound of his labored breathing, he’s fallen asleep on my lap. As much as I’d love to be his pillow for the night, this does not bode well for either of us. He stirs as I gently shift his head.

“Where are you going?” he slurs.

“Bed. We both need to go to bed.”

He opens his eyes and frowns. “Can’t we stay here?”

“If I let you sleep on the couch, you’ll just complain tomorrow about having a sore neck.”

“Yeah... You’re right.” With a long sigh, he stands, stretching his arms toward the ceiling, allowing me the briefest flash of his delicious abs when his shirt lifts.

Head down, I follow him into the dark hallway. I expect him to head straight to his room and close the door, but he lingers in the middle of the hall outside my bedroom doorway. As I pass through the tight space toward my room, his fingers just barely graze mine.

“ ’Night,” he says, ever so formally.

I smile. “Goodnight.”

A beat of silence.

He doesn’t go to his room, and neither do I. We’re standing in our respective doorways in a weird, nonconfrontational face-off.

Why isn’t he going to bed?

Why aren’t I?

My heart thumps wildly against my chest wall like a steel drum. Just like that moment of intense telepathy in Daniel’s lobby, right before he kissed me, I hold his stare, mentally daring him to approach.

And he does.

chapter twenty-four

SWEET CHRIST. Iam not equipped for this.

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