Chapter 24

MELODY

The restof the evening goes by in a blur.

My focus isnot there, and the topics are no longer close to my heart.

We talk generalities and make no plans for the future, which is a strategy––Dr. Stenson says––no more looking for Mr. Right. Or Mr. High Quality.

She advises me to take things slowly, allow myself to process my emotions, and contain my inner conflict.

A few minutes before nine, she begins looking at the clock.

I get the hint our session is about to end, but this is more than her clueing me that it's time to go.

She seemingly looks forward to having her next session and seeing him again.

"Still doing that pro bono work?" I toss at her, catching her unprepared.

She swings her eyes to me, a bit distracted, and I feel that pang of jealousy again.

This time, it has nothing to do with how she takes notes about him or writes his name down.

This is a gut feeling.

Or is this my intuition going berserk?

But it can't be.Sheisn't dressed so sharply forhim. Or is she?

No. It can't be.

My intuition is just ridiculous sometimes.

I look at her with fresh eyes, thinkingthat in a long line of clients––men and women like me, people with less thaninterestinglives who have the means and motivation to pay someone like her to make sense of their inner lives––Jax London is a breath of fresh air.

A trip to a pristine island with caves of luring secrets and devouring mystery.

Trilling, it must break the monotony of her everyday life. That's how the time spent with him must feel like.

In retrospect, I realize how different he is from everything else in my life.

Disruptive?

Yes.

Exciting?

Yes.

Frightening and possibly derailing me?

Yes, and yes.

And she is like what…?

A few years older than me?

He likes older women––I already know that––although he doesn't necessarily need to be interested in her romantically.

He only needs to be himself, and people already pay attention to how they dress and whether their hair looks all right.

Women in particular.

Like me with my red dress and fuck me heels.

Like her with her sharp business suit and perfect makeup.

"The pro bono work?" she murmurs, rising from her seat, moving away, and tidying up her desk mechanically,still glancing at the clock as if inviting me to leave.

She doesn't need to hint at that again.

I definitely need to leave.

Despite hoping that he and I could meet again, Idon"twant toruninto him right now.

This is crazy.

I can't believe how differently I think about him now.

He's like a disease quietly sneaking past my lines of defense and irreversibly making me crumble.

Shaking at the idea that my therapist has intimate conversations with him, while I'd look silly if I questioned him on the things he said to me last week, I push out of my seat a little too fast before getting dizzy and staggering for a moment.

"Is everything okay?" she asks, not bothering to answer my previous question about her pro bono work.

She doesn't need to.

I know he'll be here any moment now.

At least she's expecting him.

Perhaps she's experiencing trepidations like me now, as men like him often don't show up.

They don't make it. Their lives are complicated. Things come up. And on and on and on.

And we can't even question them because our resoluteness dissolves when they cast a look at us.

"Yes. Yes. I'm fine."

I regain my focus, collect my trench, and put it on before snatching up my bag and heading to the door.

"Next Tuesday then?" she murmurs in my wake, unable to give me her full attention.

"Yes. Probably… I'll let you know if anything changes," I say without turning around.

"Thank you," she tosses at me just asI'm about towalk out, and I glance at her over my shoulder.

Standing behind her desk, she checks something on her phone.

I hope it's not him.

A sigh of relief rolls off my chest as I stroll out of her office and cross the waiting area.

The place is empty and quiet.

If he indeed comes, he'll be late.

Quietly, I open the door and peer down the stairs.

The place is almost as dark as last week, and stepping into the stairwell, I relive my first encounter with Jax London.How strong that first impression was.

Frozen, I keep staring down the stairs, expecting him to show up.

People live upstairs, yet there are no domestic sounds. No voices, no laughter, no TVs.

Eventually, I set myself in motion and barely take the first step down when the door on the first floor opens, and a dark silhouette slips in.

I know it's him from how his broad shoulders fill his jacket.

Before long, a whiff of aftershave travels upstairs.

He doesn't look in my direction, although I'm convinced he's headed this way.

I could take the stairs and just meet him downstairs.

I wait, mostly because my feet refuse to move, and Ihold this strange beliefthat standing at the top of the stairs gives me some advantage.

When he moves up the stairs, my breaths turn shallow, and my heartbeats become erratic.

My so-called advantage vanishes when he walks the last few steps and raises his intense gaze to me.

Infinite power sparkles in his eyes while their fire is locked away.

The last step puts him next to me, and I clutch the balustrade, dazed.

He's dressed differently tonightlikehe put some thought into his appearance.It could be because of me, it could be because he wanted to impress the doctor, or it could be a coincidence.

It'skind ofstrange that the three of us have dressed with suchgreatcare tonight.

He wears black pants, nice shoes, and a dark wool zippered jacket. The collar is popped, so I can't tell whether he wears a dress shirt underneath, a long-sleeved top, or a T-shirt.

His clothes are pressed and fall over his body like they've been custom-fitted.

His eyes don't move over me, although my trench is open, and my dress and shoes are on display.

I can't say I gape at him,butIdip my gaze a few times.Every time I do that and bring my eyes back, I find his stare on my face.

"Jax…" I say as he doesn't react, his demeanor throwing me off.

"Melody."

At least he remembers my name. There is no smile on his face, and considering the circumstances in which we left things off last Sunday, it feels pointless to start a dialogue.

As the door opens, there is no time to say another word, anyway, as a hand slides swiftly to the light switch.

"They said they'd fixed the lights," Aretha says, turning them on.

A bright glow floods the stairwell while Jax moves his eyes to her.

The moment could quickly become awkward if I stalled and stared, or even worse if I hinted that I knew her client.

She could pick up on some nonverbal clues and have questions for me next time we meet.

So I try to avoid all that, pretending I have no idea who the man next to me is, not looking at him as if I've never encountered a good-looking man in my life, and, more importantly, moving along as if there's nothing there to see.

"Oh, thank you so much," I say, completely ignoring Jax. "That is so much better," I add, my eyes on her.

For some reason, she seems restless, her eyes searching mine, but I smile cluelessly, not hinting at her that I know the man.

Is she worried that two of her clients have run into each other?

Or does this new Dr. Stenson want Jax only for herself?

I don't have time to dwell on it.

I'm annoyed, but I smile charmingly, not glancing at him andnot surewhether he looks at me.

My money is on him not staring at me.

He acts like he's never seen me in his life and doesn't care in the slightest about my red dress and sexy heels.

"Have a nice evening," she says dismissively, and I nod and climb the stairs, my knees shaking all the way to the exit.

‘I need to cancel my Thursday session' is the first thought that crosses my mind as I walk outside.

MELODY

Momentslater

He came on foot,took a cab, or someone dropped him off. Maybe he parked his car a few blocks away.

Finding a parking spot in this area at this hour is extremely difficult.

A gust of wind slides cold hands around my neck, shooting a shiver down my spine.

I wish it was a man's hand.

This is my third and most epic failure to read a man in seven short days.

Wow.

I never thought things could go sobadso quickly. Tying my belt and hugging myself, I try to stop shaking.

I look up the street.

I don't want to go home. There's a small club around the corner. It's usually packed, but the crowd is not that loud. They're more into music, drinks, and the blue lights swirling around the space.

The bartenders are friendly, and they have snacks. Delicious snacks. I was there with Alice the night she announced her engagement.

I head that way, refusing to think about the man Ijustsaw.

I'm disciplined in every other way, but not when it comes to him, so I lift my gaze and look at Aretha's windows.

The lights are dim inside her place––yet she was so worried with the stairwell lighting–-but that is not unusual.

She keeps her room as calming and soothing as possible for all her clients.

I imagine him out of his jacket, sprawled on that couch, leaning back into his seat, refusing anykind ofdrink, and answering her questions.

If he has been mandated to do these sessions as a condition for his early release, he doesn't have tospill his heart out.

I wonder if Jax London would do it anyway. He'd sooner make up a story than give the scoop on his life.

I wouldn't be surprised if he had done some research to offer her the correct answers and get off the hook as quickly as possible.

How strange this is.

I needed help to make sense of my dating life, and now there are things I can't tell her.

Pushing the memory of him back, I pick up the pace, and before long, a neon sign guides me to a different world.

Hopefully, the time spent there will make me forget.