Page 20 of Invisible String
“Rain, what are you doing here?”
“Rain?” She shrugs. “I like it.” Her lips go into a straight line. “I came to hang with you?”
“I’m good. I bet your boyfriend is looking for you.”
She scrunches her nose. “Boyfriend? No way in hell. He’s friends with the guy Lana is hooking up with. I just met him today. Lana thought she was heading to Europe this week, but she mixed it up. It’s next week, so she surprised me.”
The tightness in my lungs relaxes with a need to choke her with my tongue down her throat. There’s no way in hell I’ll get tangled in her spell.
“He’s annoying. I’d rather hang with you.”
I nod and turn the hot tub on. “Get in, you’re cold.” She obliges, unwrapping the towel from her waist, then drops it on the chair. I can’t help but stare at her perfectly shaped ass.
“Aww, so warm. Do you, by chance, have any more ramen? I’m kinda hungry.”
Slowly, I avert my gaze from her body and run my fingers through my hair. “I do.”
“Awesome blossom. Can you warm one for me? I don’t want to drip all over your floor,” she says, leaning her head back.
My gaze stays on her. I know it’s only a cup of soup, but I’ve had no one this close. To where I’m being this hospitable, letting her in the house, warming the hot tub, eating dinner with her, and to top it off, washing the dishes. I won’t allow her to domesticate me—no way in hell.
“My stomach just growled,” she whines.
I sigh and head to the kitchen—so much for that.
When I return, Rainey sits on the rim of the hot tub with her legs dipped into the warm water. I hand her the Styrofoam cup. She sniffs the aroma of the soup then twirls her fork in it. “Thanks, Max.”
I go back to eating my now cold ramen.
“What do you like to do in Vegas, Max?”
“Not much. I enjoy boxing. I’ve been doing it since I was sixteen.” I lean back in my chair, relaxed for the first time in a while. The sound is calm, except for the noise from Rainey’s place.
She slurps on a noodle. “Wow, that’s awesome. By the size of your biceps…well, your whole body, it shows.” Her gaze rolls up and down with a bite to the lip.
I clear my throat. “So, what are you going for in school?”
“Psychologist or therapist. I haven’t quite decided, but it will be one or the other.”
“Don’t they do the same?” I ask.
Her eyes widen with intense interest in the conversation. “Oh, no. Well, yes, in a way. Psychologists and therapists are both mental health professionals who provide treatment. The difference is the education, training, and scope of practice. Psychologists have their Ph.D. or Psy. D., and therapists need their master’s.” She takes a deep breath. “Sorry, that was a mouthful.”
Well, you learn something every day. I’ve been to a psychologist and therapist once, when a social worker advised my foster family to do so, and another time at a home I was at. They all want to know what’s going on in your head.
“So, you need more schooling to be a psychologist?”
“Yep. I love helping people. The way the mind works is astonishing, but can be heartbreaking.”
If she only knew what goes on in the fucked-up head of mine. She would run for the hills.
“The mind can be the devil’s play area.” My tongue seems to loosen up around her. I would never want her to know my truths, my pain, my struggles. She’s too pure.
She tilts her head. “Only if you allow it,” she whispers. The way her gaze lingers on me, it’s as if she wants to figure me out. “Come sit, put your feet in, or you can get in.”
“I’ll put my feet in. Just don’t dunk me in.”
She laughs. “I would never, but you should take your shirt off just in case.”
