I didn't know how to do makeup-that was Krisney's forte.
However, I gave it my best shot, and ended up with lip gloss, mascara, and a light gray color of eyeshadow that had glitter in it shading my eyelids.
It was very simple, but it helped my pale white skin look less ghost-like, and more presentable.
I'd just stepped out of my house and locked the door when I looked over at the house across the street and the breath stalled in my lungs.
Tate was there, standing beside his bike, staring at something. Something that I couldn't see, but he was definitely interested in.
My brows furrowed as I took the steps down the walk, and then I tripped over a large book that was on the ground.
"You Need Jesus," I read aloud. "I need Jesus?"
"You got one, too?"
My eyes went from the book lying on the ground, to the man that was now straddling his motorcycle.
"You mean the ‘You Need Jesus' book that was on my front walk?"
He nodded.
"Then yes, I got one, too." I smiled, trying not to seem too overly eager to talk to him.
I wanted to lay my head against his chest and listen to the rumble of it while he spoke, but that would probably be one of those patient/doctor boundaries that I probably shouldn't cross.
"See you there," he muttered, then started his bike.
I bit my lip as I watched him ride away, and wondered if I could take a picture of him the next time I saw him get on his bike.
I was in this ‘Beard Watch' group on Facebook, and each time someone from the group saw an exceptional beard that they loved, they snapped a picture and posted it.
See, I wasn't all that great at it like some people were.
The group admin's mother was good. She'd walk right up to a bearded man and take a photo. Me? I'd be willing to take them through the blinds of a restaurant, but if it required me to actually interact with said bearded man, then I'd freeze.
I got embarrassed easily, and when I got embarrassed, I forgot how to use my tongue.
Hence why I sucked at doing anything outside of work.
I was a social pariah.
Annoying, but true. I got into the car and started it up, making the drive to the office in ten minutes, and still beat Tate there.
Deciding that he'd gone to grab a coffee or something, I pulled my office keys out of my purse and started walking, head down, to the front door.
That's why I never saw him coming until it was too late.
"Bitch."
I looked up to find my date, Tad, standing there with a look of pure fury in his eyes.
"I'm sorry, Tad." I hesitated. "I didn't mean to laugh at you."
"You knew I didn't want to eat tacos," he hissed. "But you said, ‘this is my favorite place. You have to try it,' and I caved. It's all because of your stupid, stupid eyes."
My eyes? What?
"I don't know what you're speaking of," I admitted. "But I have an appointment in less than five minutes, so I'll have to finish this discussion later."
"You'll finish it now, bitch."
He wrapped his hands around my arm and squeezed.
For a little dude, he was surprisingly strong!
I yanked my arm away from his grip and took a step back.
Then he lunged.
I stepped back, but it proved unnecessary when a hand wrapped itself around Tad's shirt and yanked him back before he could take even one threatening step in my direction.
Tad squealed. Literally, squealed. Like a tiny little pig picked up when he didn't want to be.
"I know that you weren't about to do anything to the good doctor here," came Tate's chilling admonishment. "Because if you were, I might very well have to defend her."
Tate let Tad go, and the way he was straining to get away caused him to fall away with the resistance he was no longer being provided.
He hit the ground with a dull thud, but caught himself on his hands and knees.
"Fucking worthless cunt," Tad growled, making his way back to his feet. "You made me throw up all night long!"
"Why?"
"Because you made me eat cow!"
My brows furrowed, and I couldn't quite grasp the link of him eating cow to me making him eat cow.
"She didn't make you eat cow, you dumbshit," Tate said. "That was an honest screw up on the waitress's part. You can't honestly be dumb enough to think that Hennessy would've done that to you on purpose, can you?"
Tad's face went mottled with rage.
"I'll have you know that I was a perfect vegan until yesterday. You can't begin to understand the cruelty to animals that goes into making the products that you heathens consume on a daily basis."
Tate frowned at him.
"I assure you that I don't like the way that animals are treated, either. However, you're not a perfect vegan. I read on Google last night that cheese used to be made using cow intestines," Tate drawled. "And let's not forget that it's made out of milk. You know, the thing that comes from cows? You were eating cheese tacos all last night before you ever ate the ‘cow.' If you were a true vegan, you'd know what your cheese was made of, and why you ‘can't' eat it."
Tad turned his angry eyes on Tate and started to sputter out a dispute.
"What are you talking about?" Tad hissed, pointing at me. "You're a fucking cunt liar, and you're just a big cunt douchebag."
I wanted to beat my head against the wall.
I was glad that I only suffered through one and only one date with the man. There was no way, with that attitude, that anything would ever have worked out between us.
"I hate the word cunt."
Tad bared his teeth at me.
"You'll hear from my lawyer."
I frowned, but before I could ask him ‘for what?' he was already gone.
"Well, that was fun," I muttered, brushing invisible lint off my shirt.
Tate snorted.
"You're lucky I was here."
I thought so, too.
"I didn't think you were, to be honest. I didn't see your bike."
He pointed to the tow truck that was sitting beside the building, barely visible but for the back bumper. "Went to get the truck so I can leave for a job after this."
I bit my lip and nodded, making my way to the front door, and opening it.
I felt his heat at my back, but I didn't turn. Didn't do anything.
Didn't dare.
Not with the way my hormones were practically urging me to do naughty things with the man, and screw anyone or anything that tried to stop me.
"You want me to get those blinds?"
I shook my head and gestured to the door. "No. I don't want to see him outside if I can help it. Not to mention my father shows up at the worst possible times, ruining our sessions. You can lock that door. We'll open it after you leave, that way nobody knows that you're here."
Tate shrugged and dropped the string he'd been holding to hoist up the blinds.
Then he stalked toward me.
"You want some coffee before we get started?"
My question had him tilting his head.
"No, I had two cups before I got out of the RV this morning," he answered, taking his regular seat on the leather couch. "Is there anything you want to start with in particular today?"
I bit my lip and looked away, realizing rather quickly that the man was wearing tight blue jeans that hugged his hips-and his package-rather deliciously.
The shirt he had on clung to his chest, and I wasn't sure that I could make it all the way through this session without involuntarily coming.
Not with the way I wanted him. Not with how he'd saved me earlier. Not with the way he was looking at me-like he wanted to eat me alive.
Shit, shit, shit!
I took a seat and crossed my legs, very much aware of the increase in sensation when I did that.
The clench of my thighs sandwiched my clit between the lips of my sex, and I had to tell myself, multiple times, not to squirm. Although it'd feel good, it was nearly impossible not to know what the hell was going on-what I was doing-on Tate Casey's end.
This is so inappropriate, I thought morosely.
Tate shifted in his seat, his eyes hot and on me, as he waited for me to begin.
Though, that was just how Tate was. So freakin' intense that sometimes it was hard to get two words strung together that made any bit of sense.
I uncrossed my legs and crossed them on the other side. His eyes tracked my movements.
"We're going to start today off a little differently." I cleared my throat. "If you had to choose one thing to never happen, whether it affected you or the world in general, what would it be?"
He pursed his lips, then casually crossed his arms loosely over his belly. His feet were stretched out in front of him, partially covered by the coffee table that was separating us.
"Anything?"
I nodded. "Anything."
He tapped his fingers loosely on the opposite hand and lowered his brows in concentration.
"Rape."
"Not murder?" I asked curiously.
He shook his head. "No. Sometimes murder is a good thing."
I tilted my head. "How do you figure?"
"Have you ever heard of assisted suicide?" he questioned.
I nodded.
I had. Texas wasn't one of the states that allowed it, but it was definitely something I'd heard about while going to school, as well as in the news and on Facebook.