Page 42 of Misery and Ecstasy

“One thing led to another,” he finishes my thought for me.

“Exactly. But anyway... I’m pretty sure it was a one-and-done experience.”

“Two-and-done, apparently.” The corner of his mouth quirks again, and I can’t stop the smile that spreads on my face. “But how do you know?”

“Trust me, it was as casual as you can get. Plus, it’s not as if I like her like that. I needed to fuck away some stress just as much as she did.”

I lie through my teeth.

Do I want it to happen again? Hell fucking yes. I can’t and won’t deny how much I enjoyed it. But there was a finality in the way she dismissed me. Like she realized we fucked up, and our civil parting of ways was a silent agreement that we will never speak of it—or act on our lust—again.

“No doubt, brother.” Atticus doesn’t meet my eyes this time.

Several minutes pass where the two of us work in unison but don’t speak. This is part of the reason I get along with Atty as well as I do. Neither one of us feel the need to fill silent pauses with small talk or needless chatter.

“I think we can have your bike back in safe riding condition by the end of the week, as long as the rest of the parts come in tomorrow like they’re supposed to.” Atticus eventually breaks through the noise of tools cranking and metal clanking against metal.

“Thank you, again, for getting them ordered as quickly as you did. It was the furthest thing from my mind two days ago. But between therapy with the doc…” Atty’s eyebrows start dancing across his forehead. “Actual therapy… and working on my bike with you, I think this is just what I need to get my mind and my life back on track. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt okay, but I think I may finally be starting to get there.”

“You know I’ve got your back, Draven. Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

At a loss for words, I simply nod my head at my brother and friend.

I don’t know what I would do without him.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

MCKINSEY

The pain in my head is making it difficult to continue applying my makeup.

My latest migraine started in the middle of mine and Draven’s second tussle in bed. But it for sure didn’t detract from the mind-blowing way he moved himself inside of me.

A phantom tingle flicks along my clit—still swollen from Draven’s masterful fingers—and I nearly drop my eyeshadow onto the surface of my vanity.

Fuck. Get it together, McK.

Closing the palette I’m using, I check my watch to find I still have about an hour until Mr. Tillman is due here for his five o’clock appointment. I was going to try to squeeze in a trip to the bank and post office, but that’s the last thing I feel like doing at the moment. They’re both going to be hella crowded with people an hour before they close for the day.

Pulling my mascara out, I finish the final step in my makeup application when the pain increases, and a strong throbbing begins on the left side of my head. I finally give in and tell myself to take something. I don’t like taking medicine if at all possible, but sometimes I don’t have a choice.

I turn off my light on the way out of my bedroom and head down into the kitchen for some ibuprofen. Just as I’m opening the cabinet, my doorbell rings.

I groan. It’s probably another pushy door-to-door salesman. They always come around here, giving me a hard time when I tell them I don’t want what they're offering.

Ignoring whoever’s at my door, I grab two tablets, downing them with some water. I refill my glass then chug it down, too. There’s a very good chance I’m dehydrated from my afternoon ofcalisthenicswith Draven, which could be why my head is hurting as bad as it is right now.

Another ring at my doorbell rips an eye roll from me, and I’m tempted to scream at whoever it is from here.

Reluctantly, I walk to the door and open it calmly. I run a successful practice, and I don’t want any rumors of my grumpiness to ruin that. When I see Mr. Tillman standing on my front step, I’m glad I chose to contain my irritation. However, I’m confused why he’s an hour early.

“Mr. Tillman, hi. Is everything okay?” Maybe he’s in crisis, needs help and can’t wait until five.

“Yes, it’s fine. I’m just here for my appointment.” His eyes narrow in question.

I look at my watch again to make sure the battery didn’t die. Confusion exacerbates my headache as I see the second hand quickly tick its way around the watch’s face.

“It’s only four o’clock. Your appointment isn’t until five.”

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