Nothing More

therapist.

“Yeah, I fucking know that.”

I’m not in the least surprised by his annoyance. He can’t stand anyone, including me, coming to Tessa’s rescue. That’s his job, he thinks. Even though he’s the one I’m protecting her from.

“I’m not going to do anything stupid. I have a few meetings and wanted to maybe hang out with you and her a bit. Honestly, I’m just happy to be in the same fucking state as her.”

I focus on the first part of his sentence. “What kind of meetings? You’re trying to move here already?”

I sure hope not. I’m not ready to be in the middle of a war zone again. I thought I would have at least a few more months before the magical forces of insanity brought those two back together.

“Fuck no. It’s just some shit for something I’ve been working on. I’ll tell you when I have time to explain the whole thing, which is not now. Someone’s calling on my other line.” He hangs up before I can respond.

I look at the time on my screen. Five minutes and twelve seconds, a record. I cross the street and shove my phone back into my pocket. When I reach the corner, I look around to gauge where I am. Rows of brick town houses and brownstones line both sides of the street. At the end of the block, a small art gallery shows prints of brightly colored abstract shapes hanging from string through its window. I haven’t been inside, but I can only guess how expensive the pieces are.

“Landon!” a familiar voice yells from across the street.

I search the sidewalk and see Dakota. Damn that woman and her lack of clothing. She’s dressed the same as yesterday: tight spandex, workout shorts, and a sports bra. Her chest is on the smaller side, but she has the perkiest tits I’ve ever seen. Not that I’ve seen a lot of them, but hers are amazing.

She starts waving at me as she crosses the intersection, and if this isn’t some sort of fate-driven meet-up, I don’t know what is.