It was an irrational fear and one she had to face, according to her therapist. Dr. Gainey didn’t simply medicate the patient and let them go on as they were. She subscribed to the doctrine of treatment that made patients face their fears head-on along with the medication. You had to retrain your brain, so to speak, and the only way to do that was to go out there and perform the task the brain thought it couldn’t handle. Becca wasn’t ready to do that yet, though. She might not ever be.
“Why do you even need someone to go with you?” Better to go on the offensive before he started in with the dimples and the pleases. She was a sucker for those, and he knew it.
“Because I do.” His eyes took on that bullheaded, stubborn look she hadn’t seen since she was fifteen, but oh, did she remember it, and remember it well. It was the same look he gave her every day in high school when she refused to speak to him. He’d gotten his way then too.
“Then take Chrissy, or Kathy, or…what the hell is her name?” She could never keep them straight. This latest one had lasted longer than the others, though.
“Charlene.”
“Whatever.” She shrugged. “Take your flavor of the week with you.”
“Flavor of the week?” He tilted his head, thinking. “That’s a good description. I’m using it in my next book.”
Becca leaned against the sink and crossed her arms. “Well, take her.”
“Can’t, Krasivaya. I sent her packing last week.”
That was a new word. She’d have to look it up later. It used to frustrate her to no end when he’d carried on the conversation in Russian just to piss her off. It was one of the methods he’d used to get her to talk to him in high school. She’d been curious enough to start looking words up. It turned into a game of sorts, but it helped her more than she’d ever told him.
“I’m sure you’ve got a new trollop waving you down on all sides. Take one of them.”
“No, I don’t.” His face turned serious. “I want—no, I need you to go, Becca.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re the only person I trust.”
Not what she’d expected to hear. Did he worry someone would dip into the money bag and rob him blind? If that was the case, he needed to invest in new women with actual morals, not his loose floozies.
She pulled down two coffee mugs and dug out a half gallon of milk from the fridge. “Are you worried about theft? Just take credit cards, and you’ll be fine with whomever.”
Dimitri nearly swallowed his tongue when she bent over in the fridge and her short nightshirt rode up her ass, revealing a pair of very lacy pink panties. When the fuck had she morphed into a sexy nymph?
Rebecca wasn’t one for video chat. She always preferred texting or phone calls, so he’d barely seen her over the last few years.
But he was seeing her now.
Sweet Jesus, the girl had grown up. He’d noticed that long blonde hair flying in all directions, her face flushed and her breathing a little winded—a just-fucked look if ever there was one. It made him wonder if she’d been busy before he’d started pounding on her…on her door. Pounding on her door. God. He needed to stop this. It was Becca, not his, what did she call it? Flavor of the week. She was Becca, not his flavor of the week.
Didn’t stop him from appreciating the fine ass she had on display or the fact she was braless. That hadn’t escaped his attention either. It was starting to make him uncomfortable, and if he stood up right now, it wouldn’t be his legs that were the problem, but an entirely different part of his anatomy. One she wouldn’t appreciate.
“It’s not theft.” He watched her pour the coffee and add the barest hint of milk to hers before gesturing to his own. He shook his head. He drank coffee as black as he could get it.
“Then what is it, D?” She sounded genuinely confused.
“Why won’t you even talk about going with me?” He knew he was going to have to open up about his disability, as the physical therapist called it, but he dreaded it. No one really knew how bad it was, outside of his doctors. Not even his family. He’d flown back out to LA as soon as the neurosurgeon in Boston gave him the all-clear to travel. His weakness