Read Online Worth a Thousand Words by Cherie Noel - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cherie Noel
Tags: Contemporary
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chat.”
Glancing down at the card, Devon froze. In neat little block letters, it read:
|||KIT|||
Center for Wellness
Catherine Marie Simpson, Phd
Specializing in family systems theory and Post Traumatic Stress Disorders
Phone (315)555-0100 Fax (315)555-0101
Shit. Mierda. Double damn fucking shit. He was so going to be eviscerated. Either the dog or the woman would get him long before Rose arrived to do an extraction. Devon slumped in his chair as he evaluated which would be less painful. He couldn’t bring himself to run, not knowing Adrien would probably hear Betsy eating him on the landing. He heaved out a lungful of strangely heavy air.
“Rose—um, Michael said to ask if you could make him some cocoa when he gets here.”
Catherine Marie Simpson sat quietly, hands folded in front of her and head tilted slightly in a listening stance.
“He told me it would take about an hour and fortyfive minutes for him to get here.” He slid a glance from under his lashes at the devious old woman.
She smiled at him, reaching over to gently pat the back of his hand where it rested in front of his tea cup.
Devon caved. “Okay, fine. I’ll chat with you.”
Mrs. Simpson gave him a teensy, close-mouthed smile. “Excellent. Let’s start with what happened earlier.”
Betsy came over, crawled under the sleekly Scandinavian dining room table and flopped down on top of Devon’s feet. The solid weight of him steadied Devon. He drew in a shaking breath, silently telling himself to man-up. “Alright.”
****
The jaunty ringing of his house phone roused him from his fitful nap. Adrien considered getting up to answer, and then figured he’d wait for the answering machine to pick up. He didn’t care how much his friends laughed at his Goodwill finds, they were so old they were retro, and in Adrien’s book that made them cool. Plus, he liked being able to screen his calls even when he couldn’t see the number display. Benji’s light tenor came pouring out of the little speaker.
“Bitch, you better be up and ready when I get there. I get off work in like, twenty minutes. So I should be at your place in half an hour. Please don’t use all the hot water.”
Adrien winced at that particular request in light of his wanton hot water wasting earlier. Then he remembered how quickly the water reheated since the owner had installed the new water heater last month. The man had done the installation himself, with much banging of pipes and inventive swearing. It had been almost funny, considering the owner was also a licensed plumber and one would assume well qualified to do the upgrade.
Shrugging, Adrien climbed out of bed for the… second? No, the third time that day. Ugh. He stank of Drakkar and sex, and right now the scents were just pissing him off. He quickly made his way into the bathroom and got the shower running. Kicking the rug straight, he made a mental note to go get one of those non-slip thingies the next day.
Adrien eyed his hairy legs. He was going to the party tonight as Maid Marian. The dress did come all the way to his ankles. He could probably get away with only shaving to just above his ankles, but that would feel odd under his tights when—then he remembered. He wasn’t going back to work. Not anytime soon. Fine, he’d only shave to the bottom of his calves then. Arming himself with a fresh disposable razor and his favorite foaming body wash, Adrien stepped into the shower to bravely do battle with the hair on his lower legs.
Twenty minutes and two razor cuts from when he’d slipped while standing on one leg later, Adrien was squeaky clean and freshly shaven. Jaw, underarms, lower legs up to the knee—he’d gotten carried away—and groin. The groin wasn’t strictly necessary, but it felt nice when he shaved there, and he planned to use any and every means at his disposal to bolster his mood after the day he’d had. If he expected Benji to have time to help him with the crown and makeup, he’d better
Glancing down at the card, Devon froze. In neat little block letters, it read:
|||KIT|||
Center for Wellness
Catherine Marie Simpson, Phd
Specializing in family systems theory and Post Traumatic Stress Disorders
Phone (315)555-0100 Fax (315)555-0101
Shit. Mierda. Double damn fucking shit. He was so going to be eviscerated. Either the dog or the woman would get him long before Rose arrived to do an extraction. Devon slumped in his chair as he evaluated which would be less painful. He couldn’t bring himself to run, not knowing Adrien would probably hear Betsy eating him on the landing. He heaved out a lungful of strangely heavy air.
“Rose—um, Michael said to ask if you could make him some cocoa when he gets here.”
Catherine Marie Simpson sat quietly, hands folded in front of her and head tilted slightly in a listening stance.
“He told me it would take about an hour and fortyfive minutes for him to get here.” He slid a glance from under his lashes at the devious old woman.
She smiled at him, reaching over to gently pat the back of his hand where it rested in front of his tea cup.
Devon caved. “Okay, fine. I’ll chat with you.”
Mrs. Simpson gave him a teensy, close-mouthed smile. “Excellent. Let’s start with what happened earlier.”
Betsy came over, crawled under the sleekly Scandinavian dining room table and flopped down on top of Devon’s feet. The solid weight of him steadied Devon. He drew in a shaking breath, silently telling himself to man-up. “Alright.”
****
The jaunty ringing of his house phone roused him from his fitful nap. Adrien considered getting up to answer, and then figured he’d wait for the answering machine to pick up. He didn’t care how much his friends laughed at his Goodwill finds, they were so old they were retro, and in Adrien’s book that made them cool. Plus, he liked being able to screen his calls even when he couldn’t see the number display. Benji’s light tenor came pouring out of the little speaker.
“Bitch, you better be up and ready when I get there. I get off work in like, twenty minutes. So I should be at your place in half an hour. Please don’t use all the hot water.”
Adrien winced at that particular request in light of his wanton hot water wasting earlier. Then he remembered how quickly the water reheated since the owner had installed the new water heater last month. The man had done the installation himself, with much banging of pipes and inventive swearing. It had been almost funny, considering the owner was also a licensed plumber and one would assume well qualified to do the upgrade.
Shrugging, Adrien climbed out of bed for the… second? No, the third time that day. Ugh. He stank of Drakkar and sex, and right now the scents were just pissing him off. He quickly made his way into the bathroom and got the shower running. Kicking the rug straight, he made a mental note to go get one of those non-slip thingies the next day.
Adrien eyed his hairy legs. He was going to the party tonight as Maid Marian. The dress did come all the way to his ankles. He could probably get away with only shaving to just above his ankles, but that would feel odd under his tights when—then he remembered. He wasn’t going back to work. Not anytime soon. Fine, he’d only shave to the bottom of his calves then. Arming himself with a fresh disposable razor and his favorite foaming body wash, Adrien stepped into the shower to bravely do battle with the hair on his lower legs.
Twenty minutes and two razor cuts from when he’d slipped while standing on one leg later, Adrien was squeaky clean and freshly shaven. Jaw, underarms, lower legs up to the knee—he’d gotten carried away—and groin. The groin wasn’t strictly necessary, but it felt nice when he shaved there, and he planned to use any and every means at his disposal to bolster his mood after the day he’d had. If he expected Benji to have time to help him with the crown and makeup, he’d better
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