The Love Series Complete Box Set (185 page)

Dr. Baker’s eyebrows furrow together. I’ve thoroughly confused her and, to be honest, it sounds odd, at best, to say you don’t want to be with someone because there aren’t any problems. But the fights are important. They show you who the other person is.

They show you who you are.

And that’s a battle you need to fight.

“And Conner?” Her question is obviously meant to force me to verbalize the difference between him and Matt.

“He’s the exact opposite.” My leg starts to bounce, acting on its own nervousness. “Conner’s openly honest, from what I can tell at least.” I laugh, thinking about how agreeable Matt was to pretty much everything I ever suggested over the course of our six-month relationship—my longest since Shane. “And he is pretty much the definition of challenging.” I bite back a groan thinking about his physical teasing. The feel of his fingertips tracing over my cock dances against my skin like a phantom pain, just like it has for the last week. But at least I’m usually in the shower when it does—much easier to take care of then.

“Challenges you?” She tips her head to the side inquisitively.

I look back at the clock, hoping for my time to be near an end. No such luck. I’ve got ten minutes left. “He wants to get to know me.”

She gasps audibly. It’s uncanny how she can convey her sarcastic disbelief through an inhale. “And did you turn him into the authorities? He’s clearly certifiable,” she jokes, but then quickly recovers. “I shouldn’t joke around like that. I’m sorry.” All professionalism returns. “But to be honest, Dylan, what he’s asking for isn’t all that outlandish.” Dr. Baker closes up her files that have sat on her lap, open and untouched since the session started. “Even after only two hours with you, I can tell that you’ve got a lot to offer. I’m actually quite surprised to see that you don’t think the same thing of yourself.” All too abruptly, she gets up from her seat and walks over to her desk. She pulls what looks like a prescription pad out from her top drawer and scratches out something very quickly. “Here,” she hands me the piece of paper, “no questions asked. Otherwise, you’ll find yourself doing a lot of existing and not a whole lot of living.”

Her kind eyes smile at me as she escorts me to the door. “I’m not saying to give him everything you are, but start small. See what he has to offer. You might be surprised.”

I smile back at her, folding the small rectangle of paper in my hand as I walk out of the office. After I make an appointment for the following week with the receptionist, I start back toward the office.

When I get back to work, I pull the prescription out of my pocket, chuckling as I read it over.

Go for it
is scrolled across the main part and in the box where the dosage is usually listed, it reads,
now.

The phone rings once before he picks it up. “One week,” his words mingle together with a hearty laugh. “Not bad. Figured it would take at least two for you to call, if you did at all.” Conner’s humor-filled voice forces a smile to curl at my mouth as I kick my legs up on my coffee table when I get home later that night.

“Does last week count?” I’ll admit, my question seems out-of-the-blue, but it’s important, nonetheless.

“What?” The vision of his coffee-colored eyes squinting in confusion forces me to relax.

Muting the television drowns out all the ambient noise. Conner’s voice and the background noise of weights clanking and gym members chatting fill the background of our conversation. “Does our date last week count in your little three-date-challenge?”

The other noises fade away, the sound of his hand covering the mouthpiece overriding them. “Hold on,” he adds quickly as I hear a barrage of sounds filter through the line. Treadmills pound in the background; television newscasters report the latest stories; women make grunting noises in the name of self-defense. Finally, a door slams shut and we’re alone, albeit telephonically.

“It counts as far as I’m concerned.” I can hear the smile in his words; I can envision the smug, confident look taking over his face. “Under one condition.”

Already feeling like I’m giving in, I can only hope this term is one with which I can deal. “Okay.” Skepticism colors my response.

“You have to make the plans and it has to be more than just a meal.”

“That’s actually two conditions.” We both laugh as the tension evaporates. He doesn’t say anything after the laughter subsides and I consider his idea. My weekend plans run through my head and I actually have the perfect idea. “I’ll pick you up Saturday morning at nine. Wear work-out clothes.”

“What exactly do you have planned?”

“Well, Mr. I-need-to-get-to-know-you-better,” I joke, “you’re just going to have to wait and see. Now, are you going to give me directions to your place, or do I have to google you, after all?”

After giving me directions, Rachel’s voice fills in the background. I can’t hear exactly what she’s saying, but I know that Conner’s attention is needed. “I gotta run. I’ll see you Saturday.”

“Okay.”

I’m ready to end the call just as Conner says, “I’m glad you called,” before hanging up.

To be honest, I’m glad I called, too. The thought of finally moving forward in my life is simultaneously exhilarating and scary. It’s unrealistic to say after two therapy sessions and one date with a man to whom I’m ridiculously attracted that I’m healed. But for the first time in a long time, I’m not afraid of giving it a try.

June 6, 2015

Excitement wakes me up on Saturday morning for my date with Conner. It’s more than just the idea of seeing him that has me all anxious, though. Knowing he’s going to see part of who I really am only adds to the giddy nervousness. Conner’s apartment building is a simple three-story brownstone. Nothing is all that special about the exterior. It’s clean and modern—the front porch looks like it’s in desperate need of an update—but other than that, the building actually reminds me a lot of Conner; sturdy, a little rough around the edges, but probably comfortable and relaxed on the inside.

He told me to call when I got here, not wanting me to have to deal with parking, but since there’s a spot out front, I park, deciding to do the right thing and actually pick him up properly. A little old lady is walking out of the door as I jog up the steps. As I hold the door open for her, she wobbles under my arm. “Thank you very much, young man.” Her voice is soft and her eyes are kind. “Here, let me help you the rest of the way.” She nods, smiling brightly as she clutches her purse under her arm.

There’s a stack of phone books dumped in the corner of the foyer, so I use one to prop open the door as I escort her the rest of the way down the stairs. The handrail nearly comes out of the concrete as she leans her weak, can’t-be-more-than-ninety-pound frame, against it. She places her wrinkled hand in mine shakily and we slowly walk down the crumbling steps together. “Thank you again,” she pauses, waiting for me to add my name.

“Dylan,” I tell her.

She pats the top of my hand before releasing it. “Mrs. Keating, but you can call me Cindy.” As she tries to readjust her glasses, her purse drops to the ground. I hand it back to her as she says, “Well, thank you, Dylan. Are you here for that pretty new girl? What’s her name, Raquel or Randy, something like that?” Her expectant face lifts up to scan mine.

“Do you mean Rachel?” I clarify the confusion over her name, assuming that she must be talking about Conner’s sister. Since they were pretty much starting from scratch, Conner and Rachel decided to share an apartment until the gym took off. He explained that much to me over the phone, not wanting things to be weird for any reason should I find out on my own.

“That’s right.” Mrs. Keating snaps her fingers, and then taps the side of her head. “This old thing don’t work like it used to.”

Shaking my head, as I laugh with her, I say, “No, ma’am, but I am here to see Conner, her brother.” It’s been a long time since I’ve been afraid of or even ashamed of openly saying I’m gay; it’s not something I’ll ever hide. And it’s not that I’m either of those things right now, but it’s odd to feel like I’m waiting for some kind of reaction. Having only known this seemingly kind old lady for less than two minutes, I don’t know what’s going through her head as she scans me from head to toe.

“Oh.” Astonishment, but not an ounce of disdain rings alongside her single-word response. “You boys have a good day then.” Her cheeks turn rosy pink and she waves goodbye before strolling slowly down the street.

Just as I turn to walk back toward the building, I catch the sight of Conner bending down and tossing the phone book back into the foyer. He turns and sees me standing on the sidewalk. A warm, but surprised smile spreads across his face. I take in the sight of him as he casually strolls toward me. The Michelson’s MMA t-shirt he’s wearing pulls tightly across the hard planes of his chest, the sleeves stopping just above the edge of his tattoos. His black, mesh athletic shorts hang low on his narrow waist, stopping in the middle of his thick, muscular thighs. I’ve never in my life been more jealous of a pair of shorts, but the way they hug his body sends my mind in a craze. As he gets closer, his full lips pull into a lopsided grin. His face looks calm and relaxed, and even though it’s not the first time I’m looking at him, it’s almost like this is the first time I’m seeing him. His chestnut hair is messily spiked, as if he just ran his hands through it after waking up. The golden flecks in his deep, brown eyes shimmer in the morning sunlight.

“Hi,” I greet, taking the full view of him in as he stands before me. His eyes scan over me from head to toe, and I wonder if he is thinking about me the way I just thought about him. When he croaks, “Hey,” I know that he is. His voice exudes a calm sexiness, fogging my brain for a second.

“You ready?” I wink and he wordlessly nods as we walk back to my car.

The five-minute drive is filled with casual pleasantries—how is work going? What have you been up to? It’s relaxed and easy, a mood which I’ve come to expect when I’m around Conner.

The gravel of the parking lot crunches under my tires and a cloud of dust trails behind us as we park at the local little league field. Conner shoots me a wry look from the passenger’s seat. “Baseball is more of a team sport. Not really sure what we can do with just the two of us.”

Leaning over, I unclasp my seatbelt. Pitching my voice low, I say, “Oh, there’s plenty just the two of us can do, but not today. We still have another date left. Don’t you remember?” I add the last part facetiously, reminding him that this was his plan in the first place.

When we both get out of the car, I fold my arms together, and lean on the doorframe. Looking at Conner over the hood, I try as best as I can to explain our date. “You said you wanted to know me, to do something that was more than just a meal.” As if on cue, the bus from Hamilton Home for Boys—a local group home for orphaned boys—pulls into the parking lot. “This is how I spend my free time.” I swipe my hand to the side, just as the bus pulls to a complete stop.

Like clowns out of a small car, the fifteen twelve-year-old boys who make up the Elmira Tigers file out of the bus. Excitement rushes off them in waves as their voices smash together in a loud cacophony.

“Coach Hopkins! Coach Hopkins!” They jump and clamor around me.

“Hey, guys.” Immediately, they fall in line, waiting for instructions. “Before we get started today, I want you to meet my friend Coach Michelson.” A twinge of quiet nervousness descends on us. “If it’s okay with you, he’d like to help out today.” As soon as they realize I’m not being replaced, they loosen up and greet Conner with open arms.

Kieran, a kid who I’d consider a natural-born leader, calls out above the group. “Hey Coach, can I pitch today? Last week you said you’d show me how to throw a slider.” His big, blue eyes are begging me with more enthusiasm than usual.

“You got it, Kieran.” A proud look washes over his face as I pat my hand on his shoulder. “Kieran and Brett, you two lead warm-ups today. Three laps, short toss and then long toss. After that, we’ll do some drills and then batting.”

“Yes, Coach,” they all call out at the same time. Eager to please and thrilled to be at practice, the boys race out to the field as Conner and I get the rest of the equipment from the trunk.