Page 39 of Stray

“Just so you know,” she starts once we are in the truck, and she’s calmed down. “I’m not laughing because you came. I’m laughing at how embarrassed you are.”

“Oh gee, that’s so much better,” I mutter, backing out of the parking space.

“I like that you came quickly,” she shrugs, and I nearly wreck the truck at her words.

“Why?” I ask skeptically.

“Tells me you were as nervous, excited, and turned on as I was. Makes me feel… not so alone in this.” I glance over at her, and I feel the seriousness in her tone.

“Tink, you’re not alone.” I offer, holding out my hand, which she grabs. “You are right, you know? I want to move Pops downstairs.” She looks over at me, and I see a sad smile tug at her full lips.

“Good. We can start after you guys wrap up your fair thing this weekend.”

Ozzy

“You gonna miss me while I’m gone?” Jackson waggles his brows suggestively as I help him load his truck. The guys have some end-of-the-year trade fair they’re setting up this weekend, so the ranch will be pretty empty all day. It’ll be weird not seeing them around.

“Nope,” I say, popping my lips on the p. “In fact, as soon as you clear the drive, I’m having a huge house party.” Jackson snorts and rolls his eyes.

“I’m sure.”

“I am. There’s gonna be a bikini contest and everything.” I watch his gaze darken as he steps closer to me. I notice he leaves an opening on my right so I can move away, and, fuck that does something to me. He’s so sweet, even when he’s about to be an asshole.

“Anyone looks at you in a bikini on this ranch before me, and I’ll pluck their eyes out and force them to eat them. Is that something you want on your conscience?” I can’t help the laugh that escapes me at his words.

“Were you trying to sound all possessive and alpha male?” His face falls.

“I am a possessive alpha male, thank you very much.” I give him a playful nod before looking around. When I see there is no one near us, I lean in, wrapping my arms around his waist.

“Will you kiss me?” I whisper and watch the crooked grin appear beneath his beard.

“Always,” he cups the side of my face, and I smile to myself when I barely flinch at the contact. It’s not that I necessarily fear he will hurt me, but my body has been conditioned to respond to all contact as bad, and it’s not something you can just switch off simply because a really good man enters your life. There is no magic fix; it takes time, therapy, healing, patience, and repetition.

His lips connect with mine, and I feel my toes curling in my teal Doc Martens. I let out a shuddering breath against his mouth as I remove his cowboy hat to deepen the kiss. My tongue plunges into his mouth, earning a needy moan from him.

“You taste so good.” He whispers against my mouth.

“Filthy whore,”

I freeze at Patrick’s voice and feel the dread sinking in. Jackson must notice my change because he pulls back and looks me in the eye.

“Tink,” he says, holding my face. I blink before staring up at him. My face falls as shame fills me for ruining the kiss. I’m about to say something when he grabs his hat and sets it on my head.

“Now there’s a look,” he chuckles lightly. “Pretty, tattooed, and pierced hottie in my hat. I’m gonna keep that one right here.” He taps his head, and I snort before rolling my eyes.

“Wrong head there, bud,” I smirk before moving away to finish helping load the truck.

* * *

“Ozzy, you are being a little hard on yourself.” Dr. Lois Krane’s soft voice says in my ear bud as I continue pacing in my room.

“You aren’t understanding,” I groan in frustration. “There I am, kissing this hot as fuck guy, I’m finally feeling something for the first time in years, and all of a sudden, I hear Patrick in my ear reminding me what a dirty whore I am.” I shiver at the thought. “And this is after I had already done it with him over the phone! And dry humped him in an alley… I mean, yeah, I didn’t freak out, but–”

“No buts, Ozzy,” I hear her shift, followed by a clunking noise. She must’ve taken off her shoes. I love Lois. She was the psychiatrist I saw during my recovery in the hospital. I was supposed to take a referral and get a “more grounded, more available psychiatrist” after I left. Lois didn’t take new clients. She was in her late fifties and only continued to see a handful of long-term clients. But I told her I wouldn’t see anyone else if she left me. So she took me, and I refused to let her go. Lois doesn’t sugarcoat things; she’s not “professional” with her language and will talk with me instead of expecting me to speak for an hour. “I understand that you’re frustrated about hearing him. But you were able to keep it separate. You were able to stay in the moment, and that is an amazing thing! Don’t overlook that. Healing from trauma is not linear. You know this. Jackson is the first man you’ve been willingly close to in—”

“Six years,” I mutter, picking a loose thread on my pajamas. “What am I supposed to do when he wants to see me naked?”

“Well, you take it slow, and you communicate with him. Are you worried about your scars?” I grunt out my response. “Ozzy, he knows you have scars.”

---