Next Door Daddy by Amy Brent (39)

“I remember how you kissed me and how you whispered sweet nothings in my ear. You’re the one that’s going to give in, Spencer. I know what it takes to make you concede defeat.” There were no rules and if there were they were made to be broken. “I’m not shy or naïve and I do take chances.” I showed him my fortitude by not being afraid. I slipped my mouth over top of the bulbous crown. I gave it all of those little tricks to make him go past the hope to hold back.

“You and I are not meant for conventional…relationships. You were quiet and demure, but now…look at yourself. You’re giving me a hand job right here in the fucking park. I think that we bring…the best and the worst out of each other. I refuse to think that we are done.” It was hard to concentrate with him playing with me. I had to remind myself that this was my pound of flesh. I couldn’t give in, no matter how much he was making me feel like I was going to explode

I didn’t want to believe that he could have this kind control over me, but the proof was in the way that he was making me feel. There was absolutely nothing that I could do and I didn’t want to be any place else other than where I was right now. Seeing that I was in a public place, I just didn’t know if I was taking a risk or not. The fact was that I had a standing in the community. If I was seen as some sort of slut, then I would lose all of my credibility.

I wanted this moment frozen in time, but I had to keep an eye out for anybody that might recognize me. He was working me into a frenzy and my juices were bubbling to the surface like that of a cauldron on high heat. I wanted to hold out, but sooner or later, I was going to lose the battle of the sexes. I would shame myself and those of my gender and that was not something that I was willing to do.

I had the advantage and my mouth was that secret weapon. I was popping his knob in and out in rapid succession and trying my best not to lose myself to the pleasurable feelings that he was inflicting on me.

“You’ve always been a dirty girl underneath it all, Megan. Oh my God…how did you ever get this good at giving blowjobs? I thought that I was the one that was keeping you a prisoner of your own body, but maybe we’ve been doing that for each other. I can’t even imagine anything being like this. It would kill me to lose you, but it would also kill me to have you at my beck and call. I would die of a heart attack and I would do it with a smile on my face and a hard on between my legs.” I was wondering what it was going to take and then I began to hum a tune on top of everything that I was already doing.

I could feel that the floodgates were going to open up and that a geyser was in my future. His shaft filled to capacity and his balls felt like they were overflowing. To see him in this position of being submissive was something that I could definitely get used to. He might have thought that he had the power before, but now I was showing that I was ready to step up and be noticed.

The way that he was thrusting his hips off the bench told me that the matter had already been decided. I could see that determination in his eyes, but he had been condemned to his own fate by coming here and teasing me mercilessly. I wanted to let him know that I wasn’t weak minded and that I couldn’t be manipulated like I had been back in the day. I wasn’t sure if I believed that, but at least I could pretend with the best of them.

I let him build the pressure between his legs. Every time that I thought that he was going to lose it, I would slow down and let him stew, until I was sure that sensation had abated. I made sure that when he did explode that there would be no denying that I had been the cause. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself, even if someone were to come upon our little covert union.

He knew what I was trying to do and he was now trying to force the issue by three fingers instead of just the two. That was dirty pool, but it wasn’t like I wasn’t expecting it. I figured that he would try something like this and all I had to do was trap those feelings and not let them see the light of day.

“You…are definitely not for the faint of heart. I’m going to lose it and I have this feeling that you’re not going to stop this time… AHHHHH.” He started to scream, but then he slammed his fist into his mouth, so hard that I thought for sure that he might come back with one less. He managed to stretch his jaw like I had over his cock and the bright light in all of this was that I had made him do my bidding. I was the one that was pulling his strings and when he went off, I was right there. I could’ve easily taken it all down my throat. I’m sure that others would take exception to us being together.

I relinquished my hold and I jacked him repeatedly. I let his seed fly everywhere all over himself. An older woman with gray hair was now staring. She had stopped and was now standing by a tree in the shadows where she couldn’t be revealed.

“That will teach you…oh my God…. I’m going to fucking….AHHHHHHH.” I lie there splayed out in a comatose post orgasmic state. His fingers had vacated and once again, I found myself alone. The only proof that this had happened was the mess in my hands and the absence of my panties.

Chapter five

I had been running from the pain and I didn’t want to feel the same way that I did the last time. I tried to fill that void with those that looked the part, but never really measured up. I was upset with myself that I had fallen for his charms all over again. Spencer was that guilty pleasure that every woman would want in their closet for a rainy day. If I could just have his body, I would be perfectly content, but maybe I was only trying to convince myself of that.

“I don’t know where your head is at, but I’m trying to tell you that I’m in trouble. There is a hostile takeover going on and I have no idea who’s responsible. I have my best people working on it, but so far they’ve come up empty. I’m worried that we’re going to lose everything and you seem to be smiling for some reason that baffles me. There’s something going on with you and I think that you should do me the courtesy of laying your cards on the table. I am your father and I should know what’s going on in your life.” This was the first time in a long time that he had ever given a damn. He was asking because he was desperate and he wanted my advice on how to deal with the shadow corporation that was looming ever closer.

“Do you remember about four years ago that I went into a tailspin? I had to go into therapy and I never did explain why. I’m sure that you have been wondering, but then again maybe you haven’t. You probably thought of me as a disappointment and wanted to wash your hands of the whole thing. I showed you that I had weakness and that was a cardinal sin in your eyes.” I swallowed hard, thinking about what happened in the park just this morning. I’d no idea what I was afraid of. With Spencer, I had always believed that the most unpredictable things could happen.

“I just thought that it was something personal that you wanted to keep to yourself. It’sthe reason why you went to therapy, so that you could get it off your chest and finally put it behind you. I’m guessing that you haven’t put it behind you. I didn’t want to say this at the time, but I guess I have to. Were you foolish enough to get involved with a man and then have your heart broken? I thought that you were different and that you were built with a stronger stock than that.” I thought that I would know better myself, but the heart had a funny way of betraying good judgment and logical sense.

“I did get involved with a man and he was by far more superior than any other that has come before or since. He came back into my life and I feel like I can’t get out of my own way.” I’d called my therapist and found out that she was on vacation. I didn’t know why I would unload on my father, but he was asking and now I was telling.

“Nobody should be able to take your power. I thought that I taught you that. The only way to survive is not to trust anyone. I know that I have been married a couple of times, but this last one has really grated on my last nerve. She may not be your biological mother, and trust me, you should be happy for that. That woman and her son Spencer have been the bane of my existence. I castrate myself all the time, metaphorically speaking, for bringing them into our home. You tried to warn me, as well as a lot of others, but I just wouldn’t listen. I had to see it for myself and the bitch has been bleeding me dry.” There was no way that I could tell him that Spencer was the cause of my angst. If I did, I’m sure that he would see me as a problem and not part of the solution.

“It’s nice of you to take me to this fancy restaurant for dinner, father. You’re right, nobody should be able to take my power. I found that I’ve been able to take it back in some form. He will not be a problem, but I don’t think that I will ever be able to get him away from me. As for your problem with that hostile takeover, I suggest that you talk to the Board of Directors and see where their head is at. You’re the one that has a majority vote. That was made clear from the moment that you put that board together. There’s no way that they could possibly oust you. I thought that you were a genius when you came up with that, but now I see that you were just looking out for number one.” He was breathing a sigh of relief and maybe he just needed some reinforcement and encouraging words to get him to realize that he was the one that was holding all the cards.

“Now that I think about it, I don’t really have much to worry about. If somebody was trying to come for me, then they would have to realize that I would get a settlement in the millions to step down. They couldn’t take my stock, unless I gave them a signed affidavit. I’m getting tired of the rat race and the politics and the headaches and I would gladly retire . This corporation needs a strong hand at the helm, but I’m through treating it like it was my baby.” He was always about business, but the scare of his heart condition a couple of months ago had made him prioritize. He had changed and I could see that he was willing to take a step back for the right offer. I could help Spencer and convince my father that it was best for him to take the money and run. I think that he had already come to that conclusion on his own. My cooperation and advice was only giving him a reason to think of his twilight years.

“Where was this man when I was growing up? You spent 18 hour days in the office and I never did see much of you. I’m wondering if you feel any regrets whatsoever for letting me feel that you didn’t love me.” I had no idea why I was opening this can of worms, but I felt like I was entitled to an explanation.

“I’m sorry that you felt that way. I guess I thought that I needed to leave a legacy and something that I could turn over to you. I know that you’ve never had any interest in running my business. It took some arm turning for you to come to work in the legal department. Seeing you walk away four years ago was like a knife in my stomach and seeing you made things worse. I felt that knife turning just a little bit deeper. I thought that you were being selfish, but now that I have felt my mortality, I know that you were just trying to make yourself happy.” I had my father back and a relationship that I had yearned for growing up. I had Spencer back, but I didn’t know how long he would stick around before running for the hills.

“I could make your life easier. The cost of this takeover is weighing you down. I have a proposal that you would be a fool not to accept. There has been interest from an outside source that would like to take over a majority share of the company. I can have them send over the document and then you can sign on the dotted line and this ugly chapter of your life can be over. I will make it a condition that I stay on and that I receive the same voting privileges that you did. Is this something that you might be interested in?” I was only doing this so that I could have Spencer, but I also knew that I could bring this company out of the black.

“I would have to see the offer, but yes, I think that I would like to put this all behind me. The stress is killing me and I’m through trying to make others happy. I don’t want to be this ruthless businessman when the beaches of Cabo are calling my name. Are you sure that you wanna be a part of this company? You’ve never shown any interest before. I’m only asking because I’ve known you all of my life, daughter. I’ve seen your highs and I’ve seen your lows and I would really like to see that you find that happiness that has been kept away from you over the years.”

I called the number that Spencer had given me and I relayed the information. He was most anxious to complete this transaction through a proxy server. He didn’t want to be mentioned by name and that was perfectly fine by my father. He believed that the offer was coming from a reclusive billionaire. With his signature, he turned over the keys to the kingdom to me and Spencer without his knowledge. I knew Spencer well enough to know that he was a consummate businessman. I had given him everything that he wanted on a silver platter and now I needed to see if I was being used.

My father got the first flight out to Cabo to meet up with my stepmother. He was an absentee father and I was sure that he would have to do a lot of groveling to get back in her good graces. I had no doubt that his charm would win out in the end.

I went over to Spencer’s penthouse suite at the Hilton. I knocked on the door and the door swung open to pitch blackness. I was a little hesitant to step into the room, but then I realized that this was just one of his many games. I was barely inside when the door clicked shut behind me like a cell door slamming behind an incarcerated prisoner.

He was behind me; he grabbed my hands and he lifted them over my head, so that I could feel his features with my fingers. “I knew that I was fighting a losing battle for the last year. I’ve made some headway and I bribed my way into getting inside information on your father’s company. I didn’t even think about using you. It was quite a surprise to hear your voice and then the proposal of taking your father’s business. I’ve seen him run it into the ground and I’m ready to roll up my sleeves with you to make it great again. I promise that my name will never appear on anything. I will be working with you anonymously. You will have the real power…but in the bedroom…that’s where we both hold the reins of control.” He ran his hands down over my red dress, touching on the swell of my breasts and making my nipples strain against the fabric.

“I didn’t do this primarily for you. I saw that my father was aging 10 years for every year that passed and I was worried that he was working himself into an early grave.” I had dreamed of the things that we could be, but partners in life and in love had never occurred to me. He was hiking up my dress and putting his hand on the small of my back. I knew exactly what he wanted, but this time it wasn’t going to play out like that.

I turned and seductively ran my eyes up and down his frame. He was completely naked and he thought that was going to shock me. I put my dark hand on his pale chest and used my fingernails to show him that I had claws and knew how to use them. I grabbed the prize that I was after and I moved it up underneath my dress, so that he could feel that I was going without.

“You really are a different woman with the curves that are too hard to resist. You have this new confidence and I probably should mind that you’re trying to put me in my place. I should know by now that behind every great man is a woman pulling his strings.” With one concentrated motion, I had his knob encompassed within the silky lips of my sex. That slickened surface beckoned him closer and before long he was as deep as he could possibly be.

“I don’t want you to think of me as some dainty little flower. I want more than that and I think that you’ll find that I’m more than a match for you.” I’d always been known for someone that was speechless and didn’t have a voice. I’d found my voice and I had Spencer to thank for that. He was bending his knees and lifting me practically off my feet with each stroke of that magnificent tool. “I thought that I was going backward, but now I realize that I am the architect of my own destiny.” I heard him grimace and that was from my fingernails wrapped around his base.

“I’m getting the feeling that I really didn’t know you at all. I saw something entirely different and I think that I’m the one that showed you that you could be more.” I had my heel up on the door. It was an awkward position with my weight, but I wasn’t about to back down for anyone. “You have always been your own woman and you just needed somebody to show you how to bring that out.” I was pushing myself towards him and even in high heels; I was amazed that I was able to continue this pursuit of delights that would probably make a grown sailor blush.

When he was gone, I didn’t know where to turn to and now that he was back, I was on the top of the moon. I had lost myself and when he emerged back into my life, I found the woman that I was supposed to be.

I stared at him the entire time that I was working him over and I was enjoying this special moment of celebration. “I think that we can time this just right for a simultaneous orgasm that we can share together.” This was the path that we would walk together. We were soon grunting our replies like that of something that you would find in the animal kingdom. Sweat was soaking through my dress and making it transparent to the naked eye.

“Yes…”

“Fuck yes…”

“Yes…”

“MEGAN…”

“SPENCER.”

We were screaming at the same time and then it ended with both of us slumping down onto the floor, exhausted and unable to move. I lay in his arms with him stroking my cheek and knew that tomorrow would be the day that would start the rest of our lives together. We were an interracial couple, but we couldn’t have cared less about anyone’s opinion. We were happy.

FORBIDDEN LOVE

Chanise was on her way down to the office when she got a phone call from her daughter's daycare.

“Ms. Johnson?” the school secretary asked. “This is Amanda Palmer, from Bright Eyes Daycare.”

“Yes? Is something wrong?” Chanise was in her car, with the phone on speaker. She started pulling over to the side of the road right away, worried that something had happened to her daughter.

“Well, it's nothing too bad,” Amanda said. “But Deena has had a little accident.”

“Accident?” Chanise's hands gripped tighter on the steering wheel. “Is she okay?”

“Yes. Sorry, not an injury, Ms. Johnson. I mean she made a little mess. She's fine, but I'm afraid she needs a change of clothes.”

“Oh.” Chanise let out a long breath of relief. “Okay. I can come by and pick her up. Sorry about that.”

“It's no problem. She's just a bit upset about her dress, that’s all. She said it's new.”

“Yes,” Chanise said. “She just got it for her birthday. All right, I can be there in about ten minutes.”

“Okay, that'll be fine.”

Chanise turned the car around and headed for the daycare. She would be late for work, but that wouldn't really be a problem. One of the few advantages of working for her dad was that he gave her a bit of leeway when it came to this sort of thing. She called him to let him know that she would be a little bit late. He told her not to worry about it. Apparently, there was only one patient scheduled for today anyway.

When Chanise arrived at the daycare, Deena was sitting off to the side of the room by herself. The teacher greeted Chanise as soon as she came in. “Hi. Sorry, we had to call you in the middle of the day. Deena's been in a bit of a mood because of her dress.”

“It's okay,” Chanise said. “I don't really have time to run home and get her a change of clothes, so I'll just bring her to work with me.”

“If that's what you want to do,” Amanda said.

Chanise went over to the table Deena was playing at. “Hey, baby girl. Momma's here.”

“Momma!” Deena jumped out of her chair and wrapped her arms around Chanise's legs, hugging her tight. “I made a mess and my dress is ruined! Look!”

She stepped back and held her skirt up, showing off the stain. Chocolate milk was spilled all over the front of the dress. It looked like an effort had been made to clean it up, but the stain was still visible.

Chanise took her daughter's hand and led her to the door. “We'll get it cleaned up. I promise. But for now you're gonna have to come with me to Grandpa's office.”

“Can Grandpa clean my dress?” Deena asked.

“No. Don't worry about that, baby girl. I'm going to get it fixed up when we get home.”

“But...”

Chanise knelt in front of her daughter to look her in the eye. “Now, baby, you just have to be patient, okay? I promise. It’ll be okay.”

“Humph.” Deena stomped a foot on the ground, frowning in her best grumpy face.

Chanise sighed and stood up, tousling her daughter's braids. “Let's go, sweetheart.”

She got Deena into her car seat and they headed for Grandpa's office. When they got there, there was a single patient waiting in the waiting room. He was a big, muscular man who was nearly as tall sitting down as Chanise was standing up. He smirked at Chanise as soon as she walked in, his eyes roaming over her curvy figure. “Well, hello there,” he said. “I was getting mad about being kept waiting, but I'm starting to think it was worth the wait.”

Chanise snorted and rolled her eyes. She didn't have time for her father's patients to be flirting with her, especially not some jock white boy who looked way too full of himself. “I'm sorry about the delay,” she said, keeping her most professional tone. “If' you'll just give me a moment, I'll get your paperwork.”

“Take your time,” the man said.

His eyes followed Chanise as she led her daughter through the door that led to her desk, separated from the waiting room by an opaque glass wall. She kept the window closed for a few minutes while she got Deena changed out of her dress. She didn't have any clothes in Deena's size stored at the office, so she zipped her up in a spare hoodie that was so big in such a way that the bottom sagged on the ground. She had to roll the sleeves up several times to keep them from dangling off the ends of Deena's arms, and Deena had to pull the bottom of the sweatshirt up in order to walk.

“Okay, baby girl,” Chanise said, “you go color or read one of your storybooks, okay? Momma has to work for a while.”

“But I wanna play outside,” Deena protested.

“Later, baby, okay?” Chanise smiled at her daughter and kissed her forehead. “I promise I'll take you outside in a little bit.”

Once Deena was occupied with her coloring books, Chanise opened the window between her desk and the waiting room. The patient walked over and leaned his elbows on the windowsill, looking down at her and smiling. “So, are you my shrink?” he asked.

“No, you'll be speaking with Dr. Johnson.” She decided not to mention that the counselor was her father. There usually wasn't any reason to let patients know that she was related to him. It tended to lead to people making assumptions that she had only gotten the job because he was her father. When the truth was that she had turned down a higher paying job in order to work at her father's practice. She felt like this was the best place for her, and she was proud to help her father keep his business running. Especially since without her help, he would never be able to keep the books in order.

“Your name, please?” She asked the man, slipping into her professional tone of voice. Since there was only one patient scheduled today, it was a moot question, but she had to make sure that the man wasn't in the wrong office. There were several other practitioners in the same building, and mix-ups did happen from time to time.

“Jake Stone,” he said. “What, you don't recognize me?”

She glanced up at him. His face wasn't familiar. Ruggedly handsome, but not familiar. “Sorry, should I?”

He looked a bit disappointed. “I won the Superbowl a couple of years ago. Come on. Don't you watch the news?”

“Not the sports news,” Chanise said. “Sorry. Here, I'll need you to fill this out.” She handed him a clipboard with the standard questions for a new patient.

He took the clipboard, frowning at it. “Is this really necessary? I'm only here because my coach said it’s mandatory. I figured I would go in, talk to the shrink for a few minutes, and then you can sign off on it to show I did what I was told. No big deal, right?”

“I'm sorry,” Chanise said, handing Jake a pen. “We have the same procedures for all patients. It'll only take a few minutes.”

He let out a long sigh. “All right. If I have to jump through hoops, I will.”

He took the pen, and his fingers brushed against her caramel skin just for a moment. A deliberate moment, she thought, based on the way he winked at her.

She pulled her hand away and slammed the window shut, blocking him out. Then, while he was filling out the required forms, she checked the computer for information about the patient. It turned out he had been sent here for therapy because of issues he had been having with other players on his team, resulting in some kind of fighting in the locker room. According to the information the coach had emailed them when booking the appointment, Jake had to undergo mandatory counseling for anger management before he would be allowed to return to the field.

Chanise snorted and shook her head. Not only was he a jock, but he was a jock with a bad temper. She knew she would have to keep this one under a tight leash.

A few minutes passed before Jake knocked on the window. Chanise opened it and took the clipboard when he handed it to her. “Thank you,” she said. “It'll just be a few minutes.”

She started to close the window, but he leaned into it again, blocking her from shutting it. “Mind if I wait here?” He asked. “It's not every day I get the chance to chat with a fine piece of caramel delight like you.”

Chanise narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me?”

“What?” Jake spread his hands, grinning at her. “It's a compliment. I like a girl with a bit of booty on her, too.” He leaned through the window a bit, trying to look at her ass.

“Okay, you listen to me,” Chanise said, standing up from her chair. “I am not your 'caramel delight,' and I don't need some pasty-faced jock coming in here, trying to get his freak on with me. Now, if you'll excuse me.”

She shoved him back and slammed the window shut before he could say another word. He protested from the other side of the window, offering her an apology, but she ignored him. And she made sure to excuse herself into the back to take care of some paperwork when her father came out to bring Jake back into the counseling room. She didn't care to look at that fool man's face ever again.

* * *

Chanise saw Jake again a week later when he came in for his next appointment. It was a busier day that day, and there were several other patients in the waiting room. One man was busy filling out updates to his insurance information, and a young mother was sitting and reading a magazine while she waited for her teenage daughter to finish her counseling session.

Jake walked up to the window, flashing Chanise a smile. She looked up at him and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Fortunately, for her, he seemed to be in a more subdued mood this time.

“Hi there,” he said. “Got any more forms for me to fill out?”

“Not this time,” she said. “We have all the information we need from you. I'll just need you to sign in.” She handed him the clipboard with the sign in sheet.

He signed his name and entered the time of his arrival. When he handed the clipboard back to her, he said, “Listen, I wanted to apologize to you for last week. I guess we got our signals crossed or something.”

“Is that what you think happened?” Chanise asked, folding her arms. “Because to me, it seemed like you were trying to put the moves on me while I was at work.”

He blushed slightly and lowered his eyes. “Yeah, well, I'm sorry about that. I'll be on my best behavior today. Promise.”

She watched him doubtfully, but she decided to give him a chance. “All right. Take a seat. Dr. Johnson is with another patient. It'll be a short wait.”

“No problem.” He turned away, then paused and looked back at her. “By the way, I don't think I ever got your name.”

“Chanise,” she said.

“Chanise. That's pretty.” He flashed her a smile, then went to sit down. Chanise watched him through the window as he started chatting up the young mother. Within a couple of minutes, he had her laughing and smiling.

Chanise shook her head and turned back to her work. It seemed like some women were easier than others were.

She was busy for the next hour or so, helping the man who needed to update his insurance forms, and working on scheduling for the next week or two. She barely noticed at first when Jake walked out of the counseling room at the end of his appointment. Her father walked out with him, walking Jake to the door. He had a hand on Jake's back, and he was leaning close and talking softly to him. Jake had his head down, nodding along with whatever Dr. Johnson was saying. At one point, he raised his hand to his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he were trying to fight off tears.

Chanise watched the exchange, arching her eyebrows. With the way Jake had bragged that he was only here on his coach's orders, she hadn't expected counseling to have that sort of an effect on him. But it looked to her as if he'd had some sort of a breakdown. Of course, she didn't know the first thing about his life or his issues. But it made her curious. Maybe, she thought, his anger issues had some deeper cause.

Her father patted Jake on the back, then left and returned to his office. Jake waited for a moment, composing himself. He started to wipe his eyes on his sleeve, then stopped and looked around the empty waiting room.

Chanise picked up the box of tissues from her desk and set it on the windowsill. Jake walked over and took a few out. He wiped his eyes and blew his nose. “Thanks,” he said.

“No problem,” Chanise said.

Jake flashed her a weak smile, then turned to leave. She watched him go, wondering about his life and what had brought him to this point.

* * *

A few weeks passed. Jake came to his counseling sessions once a week, sometimes flirting with Chanise when he came into the waiting room, other times sitting quietly and keeping to himself. Chanise stayed out of his business; just like she did all of the other patients who came into her father's office. Though one day when she was home with her daughter, she ended up stumbling across something that told her a bit more about Jake Stone than she'd ever wanted to know.

“Mommy, look!” Deena called out from the living room of their small apartment. “That man is on TV.”

“What man?” Chanise asked. She headed from the kitchen into the living room, drying her hands on a towel.

“Look,” Deena said, pointing at the TV.

A news report was on the TV, with a picture of Jake on the screen, superimposed next to the anchor's face. The headline across the bottom of the screen read, “Superbowl Hopes Ride on Quarterback’s Mental Health.”

“Deena, why are you watching this?” Chanise asked. “Where are your cartoons?”

“I want to see this,” Deena said, hiding the remote behind her back.

Chanise sighed and sat down, curious what was going on with Jake that would have him on the news.

The report was already halfway done by the time Chanise started paying attention. “Sources say that the star quarterback has been suffering from severe stress and depression, for which the league has put him into mandatory therapy. At least once source, who spoke to us on the condition that they remain anonymous, has said that Stone will be unable to return to play at the beginning of the season. He may return as early as mid-season, but that may be too late as the team's record may already be too far behind by that point, potentially ruining their chances of making it into the playoffs.”

Chanise shook her head. It was a shame to see that Jake was being kept off his team like that. Though what the reporter said next made it a bit harder for her to be sympathetic.

“Stone's forced therapy comes after a suspension for disorderly conduct near the end of last season. According to reports at the time, Stone was accused of assaulting several of his teammates after a confrontation in the locker room during one of last year's playoff games. Many fans blamed Stone's suspension as the reason that the team didn't make it into the Superbowl again last year, even though they had seemed to be on a clear path to the championship all season long. Some fans are clamoring for Stone’s return, while others say that his behavior should disqualify him from any future career in the NFL.”

The news report moved on to talking about the weather. Chanise sighed and got up, returning to the kitchen to continue working on dinner. “Deena, why don't you tune to Nickelodeon instead? You don't need to be watching this sort of thing.”

Deena let out a dramatic sigh. “Okay, Mom.”

She flipped the channel, and the opening theme of one of her cartoon shows soon filled the air.

Chanise stirred the pasta, trying to put Jake's story out of her mind. But she couldn't help but think of the contrast between the news report of a man who had assaulted his teammates, and the man she had seen crying at the end of his counseling session. It was clear to her that there was more to Jake Stone than what met the eye.

* * *

The day before Jake's next appointment, he called the office. “Hey, is this Chanise?” he asked.

“That's right,” I said. “How can I help you?” I kept my professional tone firmly in place.

“Hey, listen, I need to reschedule my appointment. Can you help me out with that?”

I checked the computer for Jake's appointment. “This is a bit last-minute, don't you think? We normally need forty-eight hours for cancellations.”

“This isn't a cancellation,” Jake said. “Just a rescheduling. Can you give me a hand, baby? This is really important.”

“I'm not your baby,” I said, my professional tone vanishing.

“Sorry. Sorry, Chanise. But seriously, I need to move my appointment. Something later this week?”

I looked through the appointments we had booked for the rest of the week. “This week is full,” I told him. “I can set you up for something next week.”

“No, that won't work,” he said. “I have to have weekly sessions. The coach said if I miss any, there's no chance I'll get my suspension lifted.”

“Then I suggest you make it here tomorrow,” Chanise said.

“You don't understand,” Jake said. “This thing tomorrow, I absolutely can't miss it. It'll just kill me if I do. I need you to help me out here. You'd be a real life saver.”

“I'm sure that whatever football party you're going to isn't that important, compared to keeping up with your appointments.”

“It's not a football thing,” he said. “It's my niece's birthday.”

“Oh.” Chanise sat back in her chair, suddenly feeling like a jerk.

“I promised her I'd be there,” Jake said. “I promised her like a dozen times. And I'm such a jerk. I didn't realize until the last minute that the party was at the same time as my appointment. If I don't go, she's going to be crushed. Can you please help me out?”

Chanise drummed her fingernails on her desk, thinking it over. “I suppose I could set you up for a Saturday appointment,” she said. “That’s if the doctor approves. He doesn't normally come into the office on the weekends, except for emergencies. So I'll have to ask him if it's all right.”

“Please do. Please. I'll owe you, big time.”

“Hold on a moment.”

Chanise put the phone on hold and headed down to her father's office. She knocked on the door and entered when he called her in. “Hey, Pops. I've got Jake Stone on the phone. He's asking if he can move his appointment to Saturday.”

She explained the situation Jake had told her about his niece's birthday party. Her father smiled sympathetically. “I'm sure that'll be fine. Jake is a good man. I'm happy to come in on Saturday for him.”

“All right,” Chanise said. “I'll let him know.”

She turned and left the office, shutting the door behind her. She was curious, though, about how understanding her father had been. Not that he was normally a stubborn man or anything. But he had seemed to have a genuine concern for Jake. She wondered what Jake and her father had talked about during their sessions. Whatever it was, it must have painted a very different picture of Jake Stone than the one that she had seen in the media.

She headed back to her desk and picked up the phone. “Jake? Dr. Johnson says he can see you this Saturday. How does eleven o'clock sound?”

“Sounds perfect. Thank you, Chanise. This really means a lot to me.”

“I'm happy to help,” she said.

She hung up the phone, a small smile on her lips. She certainly hoped that Jake's niece appreciated what she was doing for him.

* * *

That Saturday, Chanise got to the office a little while before Jake's appointment was scheduled. Since she had to come in on her day off, she had decided that she would spend the day catching up on some filing that had been piling up for weeks. She also brought Deena to the office with her. She couldn't afford to pay for an extra day at the daycare, and besides, they would only be out for a couple of hours anyway.

“You’ll be good for me today, okay?” Chanise said, rubbing her daughter's head. “Momma's got some work to do. We won't be here for long.”

“Okay, Momma,” Deena said. She sat down at the child-sized table in the waiting room, where they kept some copies of Highlights for Kids and a collection of storybooks and toys. Deena busied herself looking through some of the books, while Chanise went into the back to take care of the filing.

A little while later, she heard someone speaking in the waiting room. She headed out there and saw that Jake had arrived. He was sitting on the floor at the little table, looking at one of the Highlights with Deena. Deena was pointing at something on one of the pages, while Jake read the page aloud.

Chanise watched them for a moment, a smile on her face. Then she cleared her throat. Jake looked up at her, smiling bashfully. He got up and wiped his hands on his jeans, clearing his throat. “Hey. We were just reading.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Chanise said, pursing her lips. “You read a lot of Highlights, Jake? I guess that's about your reading level, being a jock and all.”

“Hey now,” he said, spreading his hands. “I read them to my niece all the time. She's not much older than...what was your name?” He looked down at Deena.

“Deena,” she said. “With two e's.”

“Deena,” Jake said, smiling at her. “That's a very pretty name.”

“Dr. Johnson is waiting for you,” Chanise said, folding her hands at her waist.

“Okay, cool.” Jake waved to Deena. “See you later, kiddo, all right?”

“Bye,” Deena said. She had already turned her attention back to her books.

Chanise led Jake back to the counseling room. He smiled at her and said, “She's a cute kid.”

“Thank you,” Chanise said.

“Really exotic name, too.”

“Exotic?” Chanise asked, crossing her arms. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Jake shrugged. “I don't know. It's not a name I've heard before.”

“Well, for your information, it was my mother's name. And it was very common in the seventies.”

Jake spread his hands, chuckling. “Okay, okay. Sorry. I didn't mean anything by it.”

“I'm sure you didn't. I bet lots of black girls' names sound 'exotic' to you.”

“Hey, that's not fair,” Jake said, frowning.

Chanise rolled her eyes and opened the door to the counseling room. “Have a seat. Dr. Johnson will be with you shortly.”

She headed back to her office to catch up on her filing, trying to put Jake Stone out of her mind. She didn't understand how one minute he could seem so sweet, then the next minute they were butting heads. But it was starting to drive her crazy.

An hour later, Jake stepped out of the counseling room. His shoulders were slumped and his eyes were red. Chanise watched him walk down the hall and into the waiting room. He paused with his hand on the door, trembling a bit.

Chanise stopped by her desk and grabbed the box of tissues, then brought them over to Jake. He looked up at her with a weak smile. “Thanks,” he said, taking one and wiping his face with it. “You must think I'm a real loser, huh? Always coming in here and crying like this.”

“I don't think crying makes you a loser.”

“Well, most men don't cry.” He shrugged, setting his jaw determinedly.

Chanise crossed her arms. She looked up at him, her lips pursed together in a humorous smile. “Oh, really? Well, I'll have you know that plenty of good men I know are men who cry. There's nothing wrong with that.”

“That's not how I was raised,” Jake said. “My dad always told me that boys don't cry. You need to tough it out. Shake it off. When you get hurt, you get up and keep pushing on through.”

Chanise snorted. “That sounds like a destructive attitude. There's nothing wrong with taking comfort when you need it.”

“Maybe if you're weak.”

Chanise dropped her arms to her sides, the amusement vanishing from her face. “See, that's so typical. You think crying is weak because it's what women do. Are you telling me you think women are weak?”

“No, not at all.” Jake forced a grin, though there was still a strain on his eyes. “You don't seem weak at all.”

“You can bet your white ass I ain't weak. I'm stronger than you.”

“Oh really?” Jake leaned against the doorframe, his grin widening, and his eyes starting to light up. “You think you could take me?”

“Typical man,” Chanise said. “You only equate strength with physical strength. I'm talking about emotional strength. If you're too afraid to cry, then that shows that I'm stronger than you, because I'm not ashamed of my emotions.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Wow. You sound just like Dr. Johnson. He keeps telling me I need to stop being scared to face my emotions. That's kind of why I'm such a mess right now.” He looked down at his feet, blushing a little.

A little smile touched the corner of Chanise's mouth. “Well, you should listen to him. He's a wise man.”

Jake nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, he definitely is.”

Chanise sighed and shook her head. “Well, you have yourself a good day, Mr. Stone. I'll see you next Thursday.”

“Maybe we could see each other before then.”

Chanise paused, looking up at Jake. He looked her right in the eye, his gaze steady. “Excuse me?” she asked.

“You and me,” he said, smirking. “Maybe we could see each other sometime. Outside of this place, I mean.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Mr. Stone, are you asking me out on a date?”

“It's Jake. And yes, yes I am.”

“I don't think that would be a good idea.”

“Why not? What, are you afraid?” He crossed his arms and grinned, staring her down, a challenging look in his eyes.

“Oh, no. I'm not afraid.”

“Yes you are,” he said. “You're afraid that if you go out with me, you might wind up liking me.”

She snorted. “Is that what you think?”

“I know it. So come on, Chanise. What do you say? Or can you not face your own fears?”

She held his gaze for a long moment. She felt cornered. She didn't want to admit it, but she knew deep down that she was scared. She had been scared of dating for a long time. Ever since her husband died before Deena was born. Jake wasn't the first man she'd mouthed off to, knocking his ego out from under him when he thought he was all that. Her father had told her it was a defense

mechanism. A way for her to avoid letting someone get too close. To avoid letting someone have any power over her. She hated it when he analyzed her the way he did his patients, but she had to admit that maybe he had been right.

“Just coffee,” Jake said, his expression turning more serious. He reached out and took her hand in his, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. “There's no harm in that, right?”

She pursed her lips, thinking it over. “I suppose there's no harm in coffee.”

“Great,” he said. “How about you give me your number? Are you busy tomorrow?”

She wasn't busy, though she knew she'd need to find someone to watch Deena if she went out on a date. Though her dad would probably be able to watch her. “I guess tomorrow works,” she said.

“Great. That's great.”

She gave him her number, fighting against the fear that it was a bad idea. Especially considering what a braggart Jake had been when they first met, and how domineering he could come off at times. On the other hand, she had seen his soft side. And she had to admit that maybe she liked that side of him.

Jake tucked the paper with her number on it into his pocket. “Awesome. I'll give you a call tomorrow, say, after lunch?”

“That works.”

“Great.” He reached out and gave her hand another squeeze, and then headed out the door.

Chanise followed him into the waiting room. Deena was still there, coloring. Jake waved to Deena on his way out the door, and Deena waved back.

Chanise crouched down next to the table. “What do you think of Jake, sweetie?”

“He's okay,” Deena said, shrugging.

“Just okay?”

“Uh-huh.” Deena kept her attention focused on her coloring, seeming uninterested in her mother's potential love life.

Though Chanise had to wonder, assuming the coffee date went anywhere, how it might affect Deena. Chanise hadn't dated since Deena's father died. She wasn't sure if she was ready for it, or whether her daughter was ready for it.

Though it was just coffee, she told herself. There was no harm in that.

* * *

Chanise dropped Deena off at her father's house about an hour before her coffee date with Jake. After they got Deena settled in the living room with a Disney video, Chanise's father asked, “So, where did you meet this young man you're going out with?”

Chanise felt her face heating up. She hadn't told her father who she was seeing, only that she had a date. For one thing, she didn't want to see what her father would say about her dating a patient. For another, there was the potential conflict of interest. She wasn't sure if it would technically be against the rules for her to date one of her father's patients, but at the very least, her father would probably insist on sending Jake to see another counselor. She didn't want to let that happen. Not when Jake seemed to be making so much progress. Starting over with a new counselor could be like setting him back to square one, especially if the new counselor had a very different technique and view of the human mind.

“He's just someone I ran into,” Chanise said. “We started talking, and he asked me out.”

“Someone you ran into?” Her father frowned, folding his arms across his chest. “Do you know anything about this man? I don't know how I feel about you going out for coffee with a complete stranger.”

“He's not a stranger, Dad. Besides, I'm not a teenager anymore. I can make my own decisions about who I'm going to date, thank you very much.”

Her father huffed and shook his head, but he didn't protest any further. “Well, I suppose you are all grown up now. Though I don't think I'll ever approve of anyone as much as I did Tyrone.”

Chanise sighed, her thoughts drifting to her deceased husband. He had been a good man. And he would have been a great father, she was sure if he had lived to see his daughter grow up. “I'll be fine, Dad. It's just coffee.”

“All right. Well, you give me a call if you're going to be out late.”

“Dad!”

“I'm not trying to check up on you,” he said. He gestured to Deena in the living room. “But I need to know how long I'll be watching the little one. You know how she gets sometimes when you're running late.”

“I know.”

Chanise gave her father a hug, then said goodbye to Deena, before heading out the door. She drove down to the coffee shop she had chosen. It was a small place, not far from home, and the owner baked some of the best biscuits and scones that Chanise had ever eaten.

She arrived a bit before Jake got there. She sat at a table in the corner, checking her phone while she waited for him to arrive. She was busy scrolling through her Twitter feed when a looming shadow passed over the table. She looked up and saw Jake standing there, holding a single red rose out to her.

“Oh my…,” she said. She rose from her seat, touching a hand to her chest. “Well, this is unexpected.”

“My father always told me,” he said, “if you don't show up for a first date with flowers, don't bother showing up at all.”

She took the rose and inhaled its sweet scent. No one had ever given her a rose before. Her husband had given her lilies since they were her favorite flower. But there was something sweet, romantic, and traditional about a rose, and it set her heart aflutter.

“You ready to order?” Jake asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

“Sure.”

Chanise got into line alongside Jake, twirling the long stem of the rose between her fingertips. She glanced up at Jake out of the corner of her eye. She wasn't used to standing right beside him like this. It really made the difference in their heights stand out. He was tall enough that if he put his arms around her, his chin would easily rest on top of her head. She was short and curvy, with broad hips and quite a bit of booty, which had always done a good job in bringing the boys to her yard.

They placed their order, and then went back to sit down. Chanise ordered a light, foamy cappuccino. Jake ordered black coffee. They also ordered a couple of pastries to share.

“So,” Chanise said. “What else is there to know about you, outside of your sports career?”

“What?” Jake asked. “You don't like talking about sports?”

She shrugged. “I don't care for it. I think there's a lot of things in the world with far more value.”

“You wouldn't say that if you saw my annual salary.” Jake winked at her.

“See, there you go again.” Chanise waved a hand dismissively. “You always jump straight to bragging and chest thumping.”

“Chest thumping?” Jake frowned at her. “Are you calling me an ape?”

“Are you one?” Chanise asked, smirking at him.

Jake chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “Sometimes, I guess. But I'm working on fixing that. That's why I'm in therapy, remember?”

“I thought you were in therapy because your coach ordered it,” Chanise said. “And because you can't get taken off suspension until you're finished.”

Jake scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, well, maybe that's how it started. But, I wasn't expecting to get anything out of it, you know? Now it's like...” He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table and looking down into his coffee. “Now it's like I'm seeing a whole new side of things. And, I dunno, I guess that's a good thing.”

Chanise smiled at him and reached over to touch his hand. “It is a good thing. It's a sign of personal growth.”

“Yeah, well, whatever.” Jake pulled away, leaning back in his chair again. “I just hope it doesn't make me go soft.”

“You keep confusing emotions with weakness. But confronting your emotions can be a source of strength.”

“How?”

“Because if you don't confront them, you let them have power over you. If all you ever do is bury your emotions and hide from them, then the darkness is winning. But if you can face what's inside, and work your way through it, then you end up a lot stronger than if you'd just run away and hide.”

“I guess you're right.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Damn! You're so much like the doc. This is starting to feel more like a therapy session than a date.”

“Sorry about that,” Chanise said. “I guess I got it from him.”

“From working with him for so long?”

“No. He's my father.”

“Ohh.” Jake rubbed his chin, looking her over. “Wow! Okay. I see it now.”

“See what?”

“You've got his eyes. Except yours are lighter. More...gentle.”

He leaned forward, staring deep into her eyes. “Like dark pools of wonder. I could spend all night staring into those eyes.”

Chanise felt her face heating up. She cleared her throat and looked away, not sure how to respond to such flattery. It had been a long time since anyone had spoken to her in such a fashion. And as much as she had loved her husband, he had never been quite so...poetic.

They chatted for more than an hour at the coffee shop, with Jake's flirtation becoming more and more bold as the coffee date went on. Chanise found her head spinning with all of the compliments. She wasn't used to getting this much attention from a man. It made her nervous, but at the same time, she found the attention flattering. And long after her coffee cup was empty, she found that she didn't quite want the date to end.

But then, she remembered that her daughter was waiting for her to come home. She had promised they would spend some time together tonight. Chanise checked the time on her phone and let out a long sigh. “I really should get going,” she said.

“Already?” Jake asked. He reached across the table and touched her hand. “But we're just getting started. Can't you stay a little bit longer?”

“I really shouldn't. My daughter is waiting for me.”

“Aww, the kid will be fine.” He gave her fingers a squeeze, grinning at her. “I thought maybe we could go back to my place for dinner and drinks. What do you think?”

“Back to your place?” Chanise asked with a frown. She pulled her hand away. “On a first date? What kind of girl do you think I am?”

“Hey, now.” Jake spread his hands apologetically. “I didn't mean anything by it. I just thought we were having a good time.”

“We were.” Chanise stood up, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “But not anymore. I guess I'll see you around.”

She headed out the door. Jake got up and hurried after her. He followed her into the parking lot. “Chanise, wait.”

“I told you, I need to go,” she said.

“I know, but...”

He grabbed her arm and spun her around, enveloping her in his strong arms. She held still, looking up at him. Being enclosed by his rock-solid arms made her feel small and vulnerable. It wasn't a feeling she was used to.

“Come on, baby,” he said, reaching up to caress her cheek. “I know you were having a good time. And I know you want me.”

“Is that so?” Chanise asked. She tried to keep an assertive tone of voice, but she felt her resolve weakening.

“Nothing wrong with giving in to your desires,” Jake said, looking deep into her eyes.

“There can be,” Chanise said. “Having a desire is one thing. Acting on it is something else.”

“Are you afraid?”

“Of you?” Chanise's eyes sparkled with amusement.

“Of yourself,” Jake said. “Of us. Of letting go of whatever this wall is that you're trying to put up between us.”

“Who says I'm putting up a wall?”

“I can see it,” Jake smirked. “Your father keeps talking to me about bringing down the walls I've been using to hide from my emotions. And I think now maybe I can see the signs in you. You're afraid of being hurt.”

“I've been hurt in the past.” She thought back to the loss of her husband. They had been married for less than a year. She had thought she was going to spend the rest of her life with him. She hadn't been prepared for his life to end so quickly.

“You can trust me,” Jake said, leaning closer.

“I don't know if I can.”

“You can.”

He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. Chanise held herself stiff for a moment, not sure if she should give in to this desire. Jake was attractive, and she found herself drawn to him. But she wasn't sure if this is what she really needed in her life, or if she was just being foolish and giving in to a simple crush.

But his lips felt so nice against hers. He started suckling on her lower lip, and she melted against him, slipping her arms around his neck. She held on to him while he kissed her, his hands gliding down her sides and caressing her ample hips. He squeezed her, and a soft moan slipped from her, betraying her desires.

She pulled back, looking up at him, her eyes filled with doubt and uncertainty. “I need to go,” she whispered.

“When will I see you again?”

She tried to find her voice, fighting against her breathlessness. “I'll be in the office Thursday.”

“No,” Jake said, holding her tighter. “I don't want to wait that long. Have dinner with me. Tomorrow night.”

“I can't.”

“Why not?”

“I have my daughter.” Chanise looked away.

“So, bring her along,” Jake said. “We can all have dinner together.”

Chanise looked up at him, her lips pursed in amusement. “Really? You'd want me to bring my daughter along on our date?”

“Hey, if that's what it takes to get you to have dinner with me, I'm all for it,” Jake smirked, a victorious look on his face.

“All right,” Chanise said. “But you'd better be on your best behavior.” She jabbed a finger against his chest. “I don't need my daughter to see us getting up to any hanky-panky.”

Jake laughed. “I promise, I'll be a perfect gentleman.”

Chanise wasn't sure if Jake was even capable of acting like a true gentleman, but she decided to give him a chance to prove himself.

They shared another kiss, and then she headed for her car. Jake followed her and opened the door for her. She drove off, heading back to her father's house to pick up her daughter. Though the entire way there, she could still taste Jake's kiss, and she couldn't fight off the feeling that she should have stayed longer. No matter what she might have told him, she hadn't really wanted the date to end.

* * *

The next day, after she picked Deena up from daycare, Chanise sat her down so they could have a talk about Jake. Chanise sat on the living room couch, and Deena was in her child-sized rocking chair on the other side of the coffee table.

“Deena, baby,” Chanise said, “you remember Jake? From Grandpa's office?”

“Yeah. He was on TV.”

“That's right.” Chanise didn't want to think about the news report of Jake getting into brawls with his teammates. The man she knew didn't seem like a violent person. If she believed he was truly capable of violence, there was no way she would ever bring her daughter near him. But she had seen his gentle side, and she knew that was the real him.

“Jake invited us to dinner at his house,” Chanise said.

“Yay!” Deena clapped her hands. “Can we have spaghetti?”

“Well, I don't know what he's cooking.” Chanise had a hard time imagining Jake in front of a stove, making a family dinner.

“Well, that's okay,” Deena said.

“What do you think of Jake?”

“He's okay.” Deena shrugged.

“Just okay?”

Deena nodded.

Chanise smiled at her daughter. “What would you think if I spent more time with him? If he started coming over a couple of times each week to see us.”

“Is he your boyfriend?” Deena looked up at her with wide, innocent eyes.

Chanise pressed her lips together, trying to think how to answer that question. “Maybe. Would that be okay with you?”

“Bobby told me black girls can't have white boyfriends,” Deena said.

Chanise crossed her arms, a frown forming on her face. “Oh, did he now? Well, next time you see Bobby, you tell him that is an archaic attitude that belongs back in the 1950s.”

“What's ark hay ick?”

Chanise laughed. “It means old. Bobby's attitude is really old. And smart people nowadays don't listen to old ideas like that.”

“Oh. Okay.”

She got Deena dressed in some nice clothes, and they drove over to Jake's place together. Jake had an apartment in Philadelphia, and it was the first time Chanise had taken her daughter into the city. Deena leaned over in her car seat, peering out the windows at the tall buildings they passed. “Wow. Those are really big houses.”

“Most of them aren't houses,” Chanise said. “They're office buildings where people work.”

“They're lots bigger than Grandpa's office.”

Chanise chuckled. “Yes. Yes they are, dear.”

When they got to Jake's building, Deena insisted on being the one to press the button in the elevator. They rode up to Jake's floor and found Jake's apartment at the end of the hall. When he opened the door to greet them, Deena rushed right past him into the apartment, looking around with her jaw hanging open. “Wow! Your house is even bigger than Grandpa's!”

Jake chuckled. “It's pretty big, yeah. You should see the view.”

He led them to the dining room. The dining room was set in the corner of the apartment, and both walls were filled with floor to ceiling windows, looking out over the city. Deena ran over to the windows and pressed her face against the glass. “Wow, we're so high up! Are we gonna fall?”

“No, you won't fall,” Jake said. “The windows don't even open.”

Chanise looked around the apartment. It was quite lavishly decorated, with a black leather sofa and a big screen TV in the living room, and a solid oak table and chair set in the dining room. She glanced into the kitchen and saw one of those new fancy fridges with a computer screen on the front, the kind that connected to your cell phone so you could order food deliveries with the tap of a button. It all felt very Jetsons to Chanise, but she supposed that was what you could afford nowadays on a quarterback's salary.

“You ready to eat?” Jake asked. He held out a chair for Chanise.

“I'm starved.” She sat down, and then Jake helped Deena onto a chair as well. They waited while Jake made several trips back and forth from the kitchen, bringing out a veritable feast. There was steaming hot lasagna, a large Greek salad, a bowl of penne pasta with marinara, and a plate of garlic bread. It looked and smelled delicious, and it was more food than the three of them could possibly hope to eat.

“Wow,” Deena said, looking at all the food. “You cooked all that yourself?”

“Yup,” Jake said with a grin. “Dig in. I hope you enjoy it.”

The meal was delicious and filling. Chanise was even a bit jealous of Jake's cooking skills. She was a decent-enough cook herself, but she had never learned how to cook anything fancy.

Though when they finished eating and she helped clean up the plates, she found out that the meal wasn't all that it had seemed. While she was putting her plate into the sink, she saw a box from a catering service sticking out of the trash, mostly hidden by the trash can’s lid. She smirked and shook her head, deciding not to say anything about it. If Jake was going that far out of his way to impress her, she found it a bit flattering.

“You don't have to do that, you know,” Jake said. He walked into the kitchen carrying a stack of dishes. “I'm not being a very good host if I let you clean up after yourself.”

“Please,” Chanise said, rolling her eyes. “I have a kid; I'm used to being the one cleaning everything up.”

“I know, but seriously. Let me get that.” He stepped up behind her, setting the dishes in the sink. Then he slipped his arms around her. He leaned in close, pressing his cheek against her dark curly hair. She smiled and leaned back against him, pressing her hands over his and holding him tighter. She closed her eyes for a moment, forgetting where she was and putting all of her worries and doubts out of her mind. Just for that moment, it felt good to just be held by a man. She had missed this sort of simple, intimate contact.

The moment was broken when Deena called out from the other room, “Momma! I need to go potty.”

Chanise sighed and pulled away from Jake. “I'll be right there, sweetheart.”

Jake gave her a sad smile, clearly disappointed that their moment had been interrupted. She reached up and patted his cheek. “Maybe next time, we'll have dinner, just the two of us. No interruptions.”

“I'd like that,” he said, his eyes lighting up.

After Chanise helped Deena in the bathroom and got her cleaned up after dinner, she told Jake, “We should probably get going soon. We have an early morning tomorrow, and I don't want to keep Deena out too late.”

“But it's early,” Jake said. “You should stay. I got some videos to keep the kid occupied.”

Chanise crossed her arms, staring Jake down. “Oh? And what were you planning on doing while she's 'occupied'?”

Jake chuckled and scratched the back of his head. “Well, I kind of figure you and I could get some alone time together.”

Chanise scoffed, rolling her eyes. “With my daughter in the apartment with us?” She lowered her voice and stepped closer so that Deena wouldn't overhear what they were talking about. “Jake, she's just a child. She barely understands what it means for her Momma to be dating. I don't want her asking me what her Momma and Momma's boyfriend were doing in the other room for an hour while she watched videos.”

“An hour, eh?” Jake smirked. “I guess you can tell I've got an athlete's stamina.”

Chanise laughed and shoved Jake back. “Oh, you're terrible!”

Jake laughed as well, taking her hands in his. “But you love it.”

Chanise blushed and looked down at her feet. “Maybe I do.”

“Maybe?”

“Well, I can't just tell you,” she said. “You've already got a big enough head.”

He pulled her close and kissed her deeply. Chanise clung to him, savoring the sensation of his lips against hers, and the way his tongue brushed gently against her lower lip. For just a moment, she forgot that her daughter was in the other room.

But when she did remember, she pulled away. She patted Jake's chest and said, “Next time, tiger. When it's just the two of us.”

Jake grinned in anticipation. “I can't wait.”

Chanise told Deena it was time to go and they headed for the door. Deena waved at Jake and said, “Bye! Thanks for dinner.”

“No problem, kiddo,” he said. “Though I hope you don't mind if I take your mom out again soon just the two of us, for some grown-up time.”

Deena gave him a very serious look, planting her hands on her hips. “You'd better not try any funny business, Mister!”

Jake laughed, looking up at Chanise. “She must get that from you.”

Chanise rubbed her hand through Deena's braids. “Well, excuse me for raising her to stand up for herself.”

Chanise gave Jake another quick kiss before they left. Jake's touch lingered for a moment, clearly wanting more. She sucked on his lip for a moment just before she pulled away, leaving him with the promise of what was to come.

* * *

Chanise ended up being too busy to have dinner with Jake again before his appointment on Thursday. When he came into the office for his counseling session, she immediately felt awkward. Seeing him there in the office reminded her of the potential conflict of interest in dating one of her father's patients. She was sure that her father wouldn't approve, and she didn't want him to find out. At least not yet. Not until she found out if the relationship was going anywhere or not.

Jake walked over to the window and leaned through it, giving her a kiss. She pulled back, giving him a look that was a mixture of happiness and annoyance. “Not while I'm at work,” she said. She grabbed the sign-in clipboard and poked it against his chest.

“What? I can't give my girl a kiss when I see her?”

“I'm not 'your girl' when I'm in the office,” she said. She wasn't even sure if she was “his girl” at all, but she certainly couldn't afford to act like a love-struck fool while she was at work. She used the clipboard to shove him back until he leaned out of the window and took it from her hands. “Sign in, please.”

“I still need to sign in?” He frowned at the clipboard. “Come on. It's not like you don't know who I am.”

“It's for our records. If you don't sign in and the system doesn't get updated right, your paperwork might get screwed up. And then you stay on suspension, remember?”

Jake sighed and took the pen. He signed in and handed back the clipboard. Though instead of going back to sit down in the waiting room, he leaned his elbows on the windowsill, grinning at her.

“I've got work to do,” Chanise said, giving him an annoyed look.

Jake glanced back into the waiting room. “There's no one here but me.”

“That doesn't mean I don't have work.” Chanise gestured to the reports on her computer screen. “I do a lot more here than just checking in patients.”

Jake glanced at the screen, and then shrugged. “Can't that wait? I'll only be out here a few minutes before I have to go speak to your father.”

At the reminder that Jake knew of her relationship to his counselor, Chanise leaned in close and whispered, “Don't mention anything about us to him. I don't want him to know we're seeing each other.”

“Why?” Jake frowned. “What, you think he won't like you dating a white guy?”

Chanise wasn't sure how her father would react to the news of her dating a white man. She doubted he would truly have a problem with it—her father was as progressive as it comes—but there were more important matters she was concerned with. “Because he might have to stop being your counselor if he knows you're dating his daughter. It would be a conflict of interest.”

“Ahh.” Jake frowned and rubbed his chin. “Gotcha. I've only got a few weeks left before my mandatory time is up. Though...”

“What?” Chanise frowned.

“Well.” Jake shrugged, lowering his eyes. “I was thinking about keeping up with it. I mean, after coach doesn't need me to anymore. I think it's good for me.”

“That's excellent,” Chanise said. “I'm really glad that you're getting something out of your counseling. Though you'll probably need to find a new counselor if we keep seeing each other.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Jake's shoulders slumped. “You think maybe your dad will be able to recommend someone good?”

“I'm sure he…”

She cut off when her father came out of his office. Jake stood up straight, stepping away from the window. Dr. Johnson opened the door to the waiting room and waved Jake over. “Jake, it's good to see you again. I'm ready whenever you are.”

Jake flashed Chanise a brief smile before heading down the hall to the counseling room. Chanise sighed and sat back in her chair. She felt like she was dancing a little too close to something potentially hazardous. Both for her relationship with her father, and for Jake's career and his chances of getting off his suspension.

Chanise lost track of time while Jake was in his counseling session. She was busy going over scheduling and taking care of some other paperwork, so Jake's hour passed by before she even realized it.

When Jake left the counseling room, he stood straight, his body unusually stiff. There was a strain clearly visible on his face, and his eyes were a bit red. Chanise could only assume that he had had another small emotional breakdown during the session.

But after he took a few steps down the hall, it looked like this one had been worse than usual. His shoulders slumped and he leaned against the wall, trembling. Chanise got up from her chair and hurried down the hall, reaching up to touch his cheek.

He looked at her, tears welling in his eyes. He sniffled and wiped the tears away, clearing his throat. “I'm fine,” he said.

“No, you're not. Come here.”

She took his hand and led him back to the break room. It was the only place that would really be private since there was another patient in the waiting room. She sat him down in one of the chairs and grabbed some tissues. Jake dabbed at his eyes, but there was a determined look in his eye. He held himself tense, trying to hold on. Like he was afraid to let his tears flow in front of her.

Chanise sat next to Jake and took one of his hands in both of hers. She squeezed his hand and whispered softly, “Jake, it's okay. I've seen you cry before. You don't need to be ashamed.”

“This is different,” he said.

Chanise smiled sadly. “Why? Just because we're seeing each other now?”

Jake sat up a bit straighter, but the strain behind his eyes only seemed to intensify. “I can't break down in front of you.”

“Why not?”

“Because that's not what men do.”

Chanise sighed. She ran her fingers across the back of Jake's hand. “You think I won't see you as a man if you cry? Even after everything I've told you?”

“I know you don't see it that way,” Jake said. “But you weren't raised the way I was. My dad never cried. I never for once in my life saw him cry. And even on his...” He choked back a sob. “On his death bed, he didn't cry. And didn't want me to. When it looked like I was going to break down, he just said, 'I don't see what everyone is making such a fuss about.'”

He leaned forward as if the weight he was bearing was too much to carry any longer. “He had a stroke, and all he could think about was what a hassle everyone was being, getting all emotional over him.”

Chanise moved closer and put an arm around Jake's shoulders. “I'm so sorry. I didn't know. When did he...?”

“Just a few months ago,” Jake whispered.

“Ahh.” It suddenly made sense to Chanise. Why Jake had suddenly started lashing out. Why he'd gotten suspended. From what she had read in the news, he had previously had a perfect record. The incident that had gotten him suspended was, apparently, the only time he had ever acted out or broken the rules. She would read comments online from his teammates, who had all said he wasn't a violent guy. That he was a leader, that he kept the team together. They all wanted him back, even the ones who had been involved in the brawl.

She had read one comment by a player who had been directly involved in the fighting, and he had said, “Sometimes things get tense, and then it gets rough. Nobody holds a grudge. You brush it off, you shake hands, and you get back to the game. Because we're teammates.”

She tried to imagine Jake letting himself cry in front of his teammates. He would never be able to—she was sure. They were the ones that insisted he be macho, that he act like a beast, like the alpha dog. Even when, deep inside, he was just a scared boy who had lost his father.

“Come here, baby,” Chanise whispered.

She took Jake's face in both hands and gently pulled him closer, pressing her lips against his. She tasted the saltiness of his tears on his lips. He kissed her tenderly at first, timidly. As if he were afraid to touch her. But she pulled him closer, letting him know with her touch and with her kiss that it was okay. When his hands gently touched her sides, uncertain what was and wasn't okay, she reached up and took hold of his hands, moving them to her hips. He squeezed her tight, massaging her ample curves with his strong, muscular hands.

His hands started to roam higher, caressing her full, firm breasts. Chanise pulled back from the kiss with a gasp, closing her eyes. Jake leaned closer and kissed her neck, nibbling at her soft, caramel skin. She bit her lip, holding back a moan. Her mind shouted at her to stop. She couldn't do this. Not here. Not at her father's office. Her dad was right down the hall, and he could walk in on her at any moment.

Another part of her said that he was probably already speaking with his next patient. He would be busy for the next hour or more.

“Chanise,” Jake whispered. He kissed her ear. She ran her fingers through his silky hair. He leaned lower, planting a trail of kisses down her neck to her chest. He started pulling at her blouse, undoing the top button.

Chanise opened her mouth to protest, but the words wouldn't come out. She wanted this. Needed it. And she knew it had to be now. If she waited, it could be days before she felt Jake's touch again. She couldn't bring him home to her apartment when she had her daughter there. Not yet, anyway.

“Hold on, baby,” Chanise whispered. She got up and peeked out the door. There was no one in the hall.

She pulled the door shut and locked it. The only other person who might try to get in was her father, and he rarely came into the break room after lunch, even when he wasn't with a patient.

She turned back to Jake. He looked at her with eagerness, his eyes roaming over her generous curves.

She licked her lips, savoring the moment. Then she started to unbutton her blouse slowly.

Jake smiled. The tension and sadness were gone from his eyes, replaced with eager lust. He rubbed himself through his pants while she slipped off her blouse, exposing herself.

“God, Chanise,” he said.

She moved forward, lowering herself to her knees. “Shh, baby. We need to be quiet.”

Jake just grinned. He unzipped his pants while she took off her bra. She put her hands on his knees, looking at his crotch, waiting for him to show her what she had been waiting for.

He pulled it out and reached out, caressing her dark black curls. He pressed a hand against the back of her head and pulled her forward. She looked up into her eyes and opened her mouth, taking him in. He threw his head back, groaning through clenched teeth.

She reached up and took him in her hand, working him hard and fast. She didn't know how much time they had, and this wasn't the moment for slow, intimate lovemaking. There would be time for that later, when they were alone in Jake's apartment, with no restraints and no limitations. But now, there in her father's office, all she wanted was to get fucked.

Once she had him hard enough and worked up enough, she pulled back. Jake pushed her down onto the ground, unzipping her pants and pulling them off faster than she ever could have herself. She had worked him up into a frenzy, which was exactly what she wanted. What she needed. He knelt between her legs and leaned forward, then he thrust himself inside of her.

She grabbed Jake's shoulders and pulled him down on top of her. He thrust into her in quick, hard movements, burying his face in her neck to stifle his moans. She held him close, closing her eyes and focusing on the sensations pouring through her. It had been such a long time since she'd had a man inside of her. Years. And as much as she had loved her husband, he had never taken her this hard or this fast. He had never been so powerful, so in control. It thrilled her and drove her to the edge.

Jake's movements started to become more erratic as he neared his climax. He leaned back, propping her legs on his shoulders, so he could reach between her legs with his fingers and push her over the edge. She grabbed her blouse and bit down on the fabric hard to quiet her moans as he pushed her past the point of no return.

When it was finished, Chanise laid there for a moment, clinging to Jake. Then she heard voices in the hall. She didn't know how long they'd been in the break room, between talking earlier and then fucking. She suddenly worried that her father's session had finished earlier than she had expected.

She pushed Jake off her and whispered, “Get dressed!”

They hurried to pull on their clothes. Chanise didn't even bother with her bra, instead tucking it into one of the break room's cabinets to get it out of sight. She straightened her clothes and patted her hair, taking a few deep breaths to steady herself. Then she peeked out into the hall.

Her father stood down by her desk. Chanise gestured for Jake to stay put as she left the break room and headed down the hall.

“Chanise, there you are,” her father said. “Mrs. Williams needs to reschedule next week's appointment. Can you take care of that for her?”

“Sure thing.” Chanise sat down at her desk, smiling at Mrs. Williams, who stood in the waiting room, looking at her through the window.

She got the appointment booked as quickly as she could, glancing over her shoulder every few moments to see where her father was. She thought he had gone into the office, but just as she was finishing up with Mrs. Williams, she saw him walking down the hall towards the break room, his coffee mug in his hand.

She quickly handed Mrs. Williams her appointment slip, then hurried down the hall, trying to beat her father to the break room. “Dad, wait!”

He paused, standing in the doorway to the break room. “What is it?”

She looked past him through the open door. There was no sign of Jake.

“N-nothing,” she said. “Never mind, I got it.”

“You okay, Chanise? You look all sweaty.”

Chanise glanced past her father, down the hall. She saw Jake peeking out of the employee restroom.

“I'm fine, Dad. Just a bit worn out, that ‘s all.”

“Well, Mrs. Johnson was the last patient of the day. Go on home. You need some rest.”

“Yeah, I think I'll do that.”

She waited until her dad was in the break room getting his coffee, and then waved for Jake to hurry. He left the restroom and hurried down the hall, pausing only long enough to give her a quick kiss.

“I'll see you this weekend,” he whispered.

She nodded, then shooed him away. He headed down the hall and out through the waiting room, then left the office.

Chanise was about to return to her desk when her father came out of the break room. He was holding her bra in one hand.

“Chanise?” he asked. “What was this doing in with the coffee sweetener?”

Chanise laughed, her face heating up. She snatched the bra away. “Sorry about that. I had a spill and had to wash my blouse and bra in the sink. I didn't know if it was dried yet.”

He frowned at her, and she was almost certain he didn't believe her. “Well,” he said, “do me a favor, and keep your underthings away from my coffee, please?”

“Sure thing, Dad.”

She hurried back to her desk and tucked her bra into her purse, then gathered her things and headed out to pick up Deena from the daycare. The entire drive, all she could think about was Jake's touch and the way he had felt when he was inside her.

* * *

Chanise didn't mention anything about Jake to her daughter that night, but the next night, she decided she needed to bring the subject up. She and Jake had talked on the phone during her Friday lunch break, and they had made plans for Chanise to come to Jake's apartment for dinner Saturday night. Dinner alone, just the two of them. And Chanise wanted to be able to spend the night, without having to worry about rushing home to a waiting daughter.

“Deena, baby,” Chanise said, calling her daughter into the living room after dinner. “Come here. Momma needs to talk to you.”

“Am I in trouble?” Deena asked, her eyes wide.

“No.” Chanise laughed. “No, baby, you're not in trouble. I just want to talk to you about this weekend.”

Deena walked into the room and sat down in her favorite little rocking chair. She looked up at her mother, wide-eyed and innocent.

“How would you feel about spending the weekend at Grandpa's?” Chanise asked.

“The whole weekend?”

“That's right.”

“I guess,” Deena said. She shrugged. She had never been away from her mother for a full weekend since she was born, but Chanise was glad that she seemed to be taking it in stride.

“When are we going?” Deena asked.

“Well, baby, that's the other part of what I wanted to talk to you about.” Chanise folded her hands in her lap and leaned forward, hoping she could explain this right without her daughter asking too many awkward questions. “I'm not going to stay at Grandpa's place over the weekend. It'll just be you and Grandpa together, okay?”

“You're not coming?” Deena pouted.

“No, baby. But you and Grandpa will get to spend lots of time together.”

“Why aren't you coming?”

“Well...” Chanise took a deep breath. “Because, baby, I'm going to go see Jake.”

“Oh.” Deena thought about that for a moment. “Are you having a sleepover?”

“That's right, baby. Jake and I are having a grown-up sleepover.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Deena frowned slightly, and Chanise wondered what she was thinking about. Deena was far too young to really know anything about sex, and Chanise was hoping to have quite a few years before she had to have that awkward conversation with her daughter. But if Deena thought anything was strange about her mother spending the night at a man's house, she didn't say so.

The next morning, Chanise packed two overnight bags, one for herself, and one for Deena. Deena's bag had a change of clothes and some of her favorite coloring books and dolls, along with a couple of videos. Chanise's bag, in addition to a change of clothes, had something special that she would picked up for her night with Jake. Something she made sure not to let Deena see while she was packing.

Chanise arrived at Jake's house in the late afternoon. He had dinner warming on the stove, though she suspected it was catered food again. She didn't care. As long as they had the night to share together alone.

They enjoyed a quiet meal together, and then Jake opened a bottle of wine. They sat on the couch together, watching the sun set over the city. The view from Jake's high-rise apartment was breathtaking, and for a moment, Chanise wondered what it would be like to live in such a place. She had never been a city girl, but the luxurious apartment was the sort of place she could get used to.

Sitting with Jake that night was a very different experience than their wild, passionate afternoon at the counseling office. Gone was the vulnerable, crying man who had needed her comfort. He was back to his usual flirtatious, confident self. But as much as she missed seeing Jake's vulnerable side, she found herself drawn to his cocky, confident side as well. Throughout the night he made her laugh, he made her smile, and he made her blush. And with a couple of glasses of wine in her, she felt more and more relaxed around him. Enough so that she started developing some confidence of her own.

When Jake set down his wine glass and put his hand on her hip, she smiled and touched a finger to his lips. “Give me a minute, dear.”

“Just a minute?” he asked, smirking.

“Maybe two.” She set down her wine glass and got up, grabbing her bag. She headed into the bathroom and stripped down, then slipped into the nightie she had bought just for that night. It had been a long time since she had worn such a thing, and she had put on some pounds since the last time, early in her marriage. Bearing a child and the stresses of life that had come after her husband's death had rounded out her hips a bit more, though she knew she still had a good figure, extra pounds or not.

She adjusted the silken black negligee over her thighs, admiring herself in the mirror. The nightie lifted her full breasts, making them even more eye-catching than usual.

She took a deep breath to steady herself before she headed back out into the living room. She wasn't sure why she was so nervous. She had already had sex with Jake, and under much more vulnerable circumstances than these. She should have been confident and ready to go. Yet somehow, this was different.

Maybe, she thought, it was because this time, it was more of a premeditated choice. This wasn't just a moment of passion, where they lost control of their urges and ended up in each other's arms. Instead, she had come to Jake's apartment tonight knowing that they would be sleeping together. Knowing that she would be offering her body to him and that it was something she had decided on her own. Somehow, that made it bigger. More important.

Her fears and concerns were washed away when she walked into the living room and saw Jake's eyes light up at the sight of her. He smiled, taking in everything he saw. He stood up and slowly walked over towards her, his lips pursed in admiration. “Wow,” he said. “You look amazing.”

Chanise toyed with the little ribbons on the sides of her negligee. “You mean that?” She had been a bit worried that he wouldn't like the way her body looked. That he wouldn't be attracted to her when he wasn't swept up in a vulnerable moment.

“Really,” he said, slipping his hands around her waist. “You're beautiful.”

He leaned down and kissed her. His fingers trailed up and down the silken material of her nightie, sending shivers through her body. She reached up and cupped his cheeks with her hands, holding his face gently as she kissed him. His kiss was slow and sensual, and at the same time, the rough touch of the slight stubble on his chin made him feel grizzled and masculine.

Jake took her hands and led her towards the bedroom. The bed was huge, covered in silvery silken sheets. He pulled her towards the bed and he sat down on the edge, pulling her into his lap. She kept kissing him while she unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off, and then she pushed him back onto the bed, straddling him.

Jake scooted further up the bed, pulling her with him. She pulled down his pants and found him more than ready to go. She settled herself on top of him, taking him inside of her, and she leaned forward, grabbing his shoulders as she started to ride him. Every movement was slow, sensual, and deliberate. She didn't want to rush this time. She didn't want to worry about any interruptions. They had all night, and she wanted to take all the time they had.

Jake massaged her breasts and toyed with her nipples, sending shivers through her body. She arched her head back, moaning in pleasure. He ground his hips up against her, moving in time with the rocking of her body. Soon they found a steady rhythm together, and she started riding him harder, driving him deep inside of her. He held her hips, his fingers digging tight into her caramel flesh, hard enough to make her moan louder and louder. The forcefulness of his touch drove her to the edge, and she felt the sensations exploding inside of her.

She shuddered and collapsed on top of him, clinging to him. Then he rolled her over and climbed on top of her, his movements more urgent now, filled with his own need. She held him close and clung to him as he fucked her hard until he came. Then she caressed his cheeks and kissed his face, smiling and feeling a sense of pure bliss.

She fell asleep in his arms that night, the first night she had slept in the same bed with another man since her husband died. And even though it felt good and it felt right, there was a part of her that felt guilty. She felt like this night was the sign that she was finally moving on, and she hadn't realized it until that moment. She didn't know if she was ready to move on, to let herself love again, after what she had lost.

She stayed quiet, not wanting to ruin the mood or let Jake know that anything was wrong. He certainly hadn't done anything wrong. Yet even though she was happy to be where she was, she found herself crying softly in the night until finally she fell asleep.

* * *

In the morning, Chanise got up and showered. It felt a bit strange to be waking up in another person's apartment, and without her daughter there. She usually had to get up early to make Deena's breakfast, and Deena was always up at the crack of dawn. Chanise was never able to sleep in. Which was probably why she was up long before Jake woke up, even though she hadn't set an alarm.

By the time she finished showering, Jake was still asleep, so she decided to make breakfast for them. She went into the kitchen and dug through the cabinets, searching for something fitting. Like the typical bachelor, Jake didn't have much to eat in the house, aside from cold cereal, canned soup, frozen dinners, and other quick, easy, and microwaveable goods. This just proved her suspicion that last night’s dinner had been ordered from a catering place.

She gave up on the idea of serving Jake a fresh-cooked helping of breakfast in bed and stuck with cereal and toast. She sat in the living room, watching the morning news until Jake woke up. He came out wearing nothing but his boxers and a satisfied smile. “Morning, babe,” he said.

“Good morning.” She smiled as he sat next to her and kissed her cheek. “Next time you’re having company over, you should stock the kitchen better.” She gestured to her empty bowl and plate.

“Sorry about that. I usually order out.”

“I kind of figured,” Chanise smirked, shaking her head.

“So,” Jake said, leaning back against the couch and draping his arm over the back. “You have to run off and take care of the kid today, or do I get to keep you all day?”

“You can keep me until after lunch,” Chanise said. She leaned over and gave him a kiss. “After that, I have to get home. Deena isn't used to being without her mother.”

“Ahh, she'll be fine,” Jake said, waving his hand. “She seems like a tough enough kid. Besides, she's gonna have to get used to this.”

“Is that so?” Chanise asked, arching her eyebrows.

“Well, yeah.” Jake scooted closer and put his arm around her. “You're planning on sticking around, right? I mean, I wouldn't have invited you back here if this was going to just be a one-night thing.”

“Is that what you usually do?” Chanise asked. “One night stands.”

Jake shrugged, averting his eyes. “I haven't been involved with anyone seriously in a long time if that's what you mean.”

“I just want to make sure that we're both in this for the same reasons.”

“What reasons are those?” Jake asked.

Chanise chewed on her lip, thinking it over. She wasn't sure how to explain her complicated thoughts and emotions when it came to getting into a relationship. “I haven't dated anyone since my husband died. And I'm not interested in dating anyone casually. So if this is just a fling, please let me know now. I don't want to get my hopes up only to end up getting my heart crushed.”

Jake took her hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It's not just a fling. I mean, hey, when I first met you, I guess that's all I was looking for. But...I dunno...” He shrugged, looking away.

Chanise reached up and caressed his cheek. She decided not to press him to talk about how he felt. He obviously struggled with talking about his feelings, and she didn't need him to say it out loud. Not yet, at least.

They spent the rest of the morning together. They watched a movie, though they only saw about half of it before they started fooling around on the couch. They ended up going into the bedroom for another romp, after which Chanise had to take another shower. She didn't want to end up going home to her daughter smelling like sex.

Over lunch, Chanise decided there was another issue she needed to bring up. One she didn't think could be avoided any longer. “Jake,” she said. “If you're serious about us continuing to see each other, then I think we need to talk about my father.”

“I thought you said we were going to keep things quiet for a while,” Jake said. “I've only got a couple of weeks left.”

“I know that, but I don't think I can keep my father in the dark about our relationship for that long. For one thing, he almost caught us at the office on Thursday.”

A smug grin spread across Jake's face. “Yeah, but that was amazing.”

She shot him a stern, annoyed look. “That is not happening again. When we're at the office, you keep your hands to yourself, mister.”

He smirked and took her hand. “Oh, come on. You know you liked it. The thrill. The risk of getting caught.”

Chanise pulled her hand away, her face heating up despite her annoyance. “I'm serious. I don't want to risk my job or get my father angry with me. Please.”

Jake sighed, but he nodded. “Sure. I'll keep it in my pants when we're at the office.”

“And I think you should talk to my father on Thursday about needing a new counselor,” Chanise said.

“Already?”

“Yes. I don't want to spend the next few weeks sneaking around. I had to be evasive with him yesterday when I was dropping off Deena. He wanted to know about the guy I'm dating. And I want to be able to tell him. To be honest with him. Not to sneak around like I'm some teenager who has to date behind her father's back.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Jake shrugged. His shoulders slumped a bit.

“Is that a problem?” Chanise asked.

“Not really. It's just...”

“Just what?”

“It's just that I really like talking to your dad.” Jake frowned and looked away like he was too embarrassed to talk about his emotions in front of her. “I never had anyone who could make me feel so comfortable. Make me open up so much. I'm just worried that if I go see someone else, it won't...work the same.”

“I'm sure it will,” Chanise said. “Dad knows some excellent counselors. He can recommend someone. I'm sure it'll work out fine.”

“What am I supposed to tell him, though?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Jake spread his hands, pausing a moment to search for the words, “you said you don't want him to know about us yet, right? I mean, do you want me to go in there and tell him I need a new counselor because I'm fucking his daughter?”

“Dating his daughter,” Chanise said, crossing her arms.

“Dating his daughter. Right. So should I say that?”

“Well...no, I guess not.” Chanise frowned.

“So what should I say? I mean, I don't really want to lie to him. But if you think we shouldn't tell him we're dating until after I'm already seeing a different counselor, then we need to tell him something.”

“Could you just tell him you feel like your sessions would go better with someone else?” Chanise asked.

“I don't want to insult him. I mean, he's been really good to me. And he's a real cool guy. Plus, I kind of want to stay on his good side.” He gave Chanise a bashful grin. “I mean, I want him to still like me when he finds out I'm...dating his daughter.”

Chanise sighed. She leaned her elbow on the table and propped her chin in her hand. “This is kind of a messy situation. If he gets the wrong idea about us before we get a chance to tell him the right way, it might not go well. He's a bit overprotective.”

“Lots of dads are like that.”

“Yeah, but I think it's a bit more than that. My dad has always been the one to think about people's motivations. Psychoanalyzing them and all that. He used to interrogate the guys I wanted to date in high school, and if he thought they were just horny little teenage boys with no future, he wouldn't approve.”

“He didn't let you date them?”

“Well, no,” Chanise said. “He always let me make my own decisions. But he would make it quite clear when he didn't approve of someone. And I always had a hard time dating someone my father didn't approve of.”

“Well, I really hope he approves of me.”

Chanise smiled at Jake and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I'm sure he will. We just need to figure out the right way to approach this.”

They discussed it for a bit longer, but they were unable to come up with a good way to broach the subject with Chanise's father. They decided to discuss it more, later since Chanise was running late to pick up her daughter.

She drove back to her father's house to pick up Deena. When she got there, her father took her into another room and asked. “So, how are things with this young gentleman of yours?”

“Good,” Chanise said. Her chest started to feel a bit tight. She wasn't sure how to talk about Jake with her father without revealing his identity.

“Did you have a nice time?” He put his hands in his pockets and raised his chin, studying her face.

Chanise started to sweat a little. She knew this look. It was the look her father got when he started analyzing her, trying to gauge her reactions to things. “We had a good time, yes. I'm going to be seeing him again.”

“Good, good.” Her father waited for a moment, watching her face. His foot tapped impatiently on the ground. “So, Chanise, is there anything you want to tell me?”

Chanise held her breath, trying to figure out if her father already knew what was going on, or had some reason to suspect. Had he seen Jake the other day at the office, when they were fooling around? Had she done or said something to give it away. “What do you mean?”

Her father gestured into the living room, where Deena was watching a video. “Well, your daughter told me all about how you and her had dinner with your young man the other day. She was all excited about going into Philly and going up in the tall building.”

Chanise pressed her lips together in a thin line. She hadn't thought that Deena would blab about Jake to her Grandpa. Though she should have expected it. The child always did speak her mind.

“She said you were dating the man she saw on TV,” her father said. “I was curious about that, and I asked her who. She told me it was one of my patients. Jake Stone.”

Chanise nervously rubbed her hands on her pants. “Yes. Yes, that's right. I was going to tell you, Dad, but...”

“But you knew I'd be upset to know you were fooling around with one of my patients behind my back. Do you have any idea the position this puts me in? Especially considering Jake's situation with his coach. If they find out there's a conflict of interest, you understand what could happen to him?”

Chanise hung her head. “Yes, I know. I was talking to Jake about it today. We wanted to tell you. He was going to ask to be transferred to another counselor.”

“Hmm.” Her father crossed his arms, studying her. “And you thought it better not to tell me about this? Even though it could affect my career and my reputation?”

“It's not like that, Dad. I wanted to tell you. But I wasn't sure it would even work out. If it was just going to turn out to be a onetime thing, we didn't think it would be worth bringing up.”

“A onetime thing.” Her father frowned. “So, you're saying it's not a onetime thing? Are you getting serious with this boy?”

“Maybe,” Chanise said.

“Maybe?”

“We're not sure yet. But we want to keep seeing each other.”

Her father rubbed his chin, studying her. I really would have appreciated being informed about this before you got involved with Jake. You're a grown woman, and what you do with your life is your own business, but when it involves one of my patients, it becomes a part of my affairs. I'm going to have to stop counseling Jake immediately.”

“What about his coach?” Chanise asked. “If he doesn't meet his mandatory number of sessions...”

“I'll make some calls tomorrow,” he said. “I'm sure one of my colleagues will be able to take him in. There'll be some extra paperwork involved since we need to submit reports to Jake's coach, proving that he has been attending his sessions.”

“I'll help out with the paperwork,” Chanise said.

“No,” her father said. “I'd rather you didn't.”

“Dad, it's my job.”

“I don't want to do anything that could lead to my practice being compromised. That means you need to stay away from this. I'll handle the paperwork, and I'll get Jake transferred to another counselor.”

“All right.” Chanise chewed on her lip for a moment. “Dad, are you mad at me? You know I wasn't trying to do anything behind your back.”

He frowned at her, not saying anything for a long moment. “I'm not angry with you, Chanise. But I am disappointed. I thought you were more responsible than this.”

“I guess I deserve that.”

Chanise got Deena ready to go, then drove her home. As soon as she got home, she called Jake and explained what had happened. He seemed both worried and relieved when he found out that her father knew about them.

“He said he'd take care of the transfer?” Jake asked over the phone.

“That's what he said. But you'll have to talk to him about that yourself. He said he doesn't want me involved with any of the paperwork. I think he's afraid of getting in trouble, or having his reputation affected if any of his colleagues finds out that his daughter is dating one of his patients.”

“Well, at least it's in the open now,” Jake said. “We won't need to hide anymore.”

“I suppose so.”

“Are you okay?”

“I guess. I'm still a bit frazzled. I wasn't expecting Dad to find out like this.”

“But it's going to be okay now. There's nothing to worry about.”

“I hope you're right.”

But even after she got off the phone with Jake, Chanise's worries wouldn't disappear. She didn't know what was going to happen, or whether there would be trouble or drama caused by the situation. The one thing she did know was that she'd made a mess of things with her father, and she would need to smooth things over as soon as she figured out how.

* * *

A few days passed without much incident. Chanise's father refused to talk about Jake while they were at the office, and he wouldn't tell her anything about the new counselor he had recommended for Jake. He said he was trying to maintain confidentiality since it was inappropriate for him to reveal a patient's information to anyone else. Though on some level, Chanise felt like her father was simply pushing her away, at least until the situation passed and the emotions settled down.

On Thursday, Chanise had a slow day, since Jake's appointment had been canceled, and there weren't usually many other patients on a Thursday. Her father ended up closing the office early since there were no appointments after two o'clock that day. Chanise gathered her things and got ready to go home; trying to decide what she might do with her extra time off.

She left the office and crossed the parking lot to her car. But halfway there, she was interrupted by a young blonde woman who approached and shoved a microphone into her face.

“Excuse me, Ms. Johnson? Is it true that you've become romantically involved with Jake Stone during his NFL suspension? Do you have any comment on the report that his suspension might be extended due to inappropriate circumstances surrounding his mandatory psychological leave?”

“What?” Chanise stared at the woman, dumbfounded. A cameraman stood off to one side, pointing his camera right at Chanise. “Who are you? What are you talking about?”

“Veronica Newton, Channel 5 News,” the woman said. “Can we get a comment from you regarding your relationship with Mr. Stone? Is it true that you're his therapist's daughter?”

“What? Who? No...” Chanise shook her head, looking between the woman and the cameraman. “Excuse me, I have to go.”

She pushed past the woman and got into her car. The reporter kept yelling questions at her the entire time, and the cameraman kept on recording her until she pulled out of the parking lot.

Chanise drove with both hands clutching the steering wheel. Her entire body was shaking. She had never been confronted like that before, especially not in front of a TV camera. She felt like she was going to be sick. It felt like her privacy, and her relationship with Jake had been violated.

She only drove a few blocks before she had to pull over to the side of the road to compose herself. She took a few deep breaths, trying to calm her nerves. Then she pulled out her phone to call Jake and see what was going on.

She paused before she dialed the phone. Something the reporter woman had said had only just sunk in. She had said something about Jake's suspension being extended.

Chanise opened the web browser on her phone and Googled Jake's name. Immediately, a news report came up with the headline, “Suspended Quarterback Faces Possible Trouble after Sex Scandal.”

“Sex Scandal?” she said aloud, staring at her phone in shock. She started shaking; trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

She read through the article, then read it again to make sure she hadn't misread anything. The article described her relationship with Jake, or at least an abridged version of it. She had no idea where the writer of the article had gotten their information, but it talked about how Jake had gotten involved in an “affair” with his therapist's daughter, and it went on to list some basic information about her: her name, her occupation, the fact that she was a widow. The article even listed the college she had graduated from, and it described her as a “widow and single mother.” Along with the article was a picture of her. It took her a moment to recognize it as her Facebook profile photo.

After the intrusive details about her personal life, the writer continued to say that there were allegations that the “affair” was a conflict of interest in Jake's mandatory therapy and that NFL officials were investigating to see whether this constituted cause for his suspension to be extended. The writer also reiterated the details of the fight that had led to Jake's suspension in the first place.

As soon as she finished with the article, Chanise called Jake. He didn't answer the phone, so she left a voicemail. “Jake, it's Chanise. I just read about what's happening. A reporter tried to get to me in the parking lot at work. Please call me back. I need to know what's going on. Are you in trouble? Call me, baby.”

She drove the rest of the way to the daycare, looking over her shoulder the entire time. Anytime she saw a car that seemed to be following her, she worried that it was another reporter, trying to invade her life. Though each time, the car eventually pulled away, and she realized she was just being paranoid. Though it was hard not to be, considering everything that was going on.

She was in tears from the stress by the time she picked up her daughter. While she was buckling Deena into her car seat, Deena asked, “Momma, what's wrong?”

“Nothing, baby,” Chanise said. “It's nothing you need to worry about.”

“Why are you crying?” Deena looked up at her, her own eyes starting to tear up.

Chanise took a deep breath to calm herself and she wiped away her tears. She didn't want to upset her daughter by crying in front of her. “I just had a bad day, baby girl. But it's okay. We get to go home now.”

Chanise had trouble focusing on anything after she got home. She ended up making Deena peanut butter and jelly for dinner, just because she couldn't focus on cooking anything more complicated. It wasn't until later in the night that she finally got a call from Jake.

“Jake?” she asked, heading into the other room so Deena wouldn't overhear the conversation. “Are you okay? What's going on?”

“It's complicated, babe,” Jake said. “Might be too much to talk about over the phone.”

“Jake, I need to know what's going on. There were reporters camped outside my office today. I'm scared that they're going to come stalk me at my home.”

“Don't worry about that. I'll take care of everything.”

“But what's going on?” Chanise asked. “Are you still being suspended?”

“I can't talk about it over the phone. Can I come over?”

Chanise chewed on her lip. With all the drama that was being stirred up, she wasn't sure if having Jake come over, and possibly having a reporter follow him to her home, was a good idea. But she was worried about him, and she wanted to see him. “Okay. You can't stay too late. I've got to get Deena to bed soon.”

“I'll be right over,” Jake said.

When Jake came over, Deena rushed up to him and wrapped her arms around his legs. “Hi, Jake!” she said.

“Hey, kiddo.” He reached down and patted her head. “How've you been?”

“I'm good. Momma's been crying.”

Jake looked up at Deena with concern on his face. “How’s she now?”

“I'm fine,” Chanise said. “I just had a long day, that's all. Deena, Momma, and Jake have some stuff to talk about. Will you be okay with your books for a while?”

Deena let out a dramatic sigh. “I guess so.”

“We'll spend some time together after Jake and I talk,” Deena said. “I promise.”

“Okay.” Deena trudged into the living room and sat in her rocking chair, sorting through her storybooks.

Chanise took Jake back into the bedroom. They sat on the bed together, side by side. Chanise took both of Jake's hands in hers and squeezed them tight. “Is everything going to be okay?” she asked. “Are you in a lot of trouble?”

“Not really, I don't think.”

“Not really it won't be okay, or not really you're not in trouble?”

Jake chuckled. “The second one. I don't think I'm in too much trouble. There's just going to be an investigation is all. They'll need to interview your dad. As long as he tells them that he didn't know we were dating and that I really was keeping up with my sessions, it'll be fine. Plus I already told my coach that I transferred to a new counselor. So I think this will blow over.”

“Oh thank God.” Chanise leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Jake, pulling him tight against her. “I've been so worried all day. I thought I had messed up your career.”

“No, I'm the one who did that,” Jake said. “When I got into that fight. It was a stupid mistake. I should never have done it.”

“But you're paying your dues now,” Chanise said. “We all make mistakes. And I don't believe you ever really meant to hurt anyone.”

“I didn't. I was just having a hard time dealing with things. And tensions can get pretty high on the team, especially during the playoffs. Lots of the guys have almost gotten into fights before. You get that much testosterone all pumping in one room and it's kind of inevitable.”

Chanise laughed, shaking her head. “I can only imagine.”

She kissed him, and just when she was about to pull back, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her deeper into the kiss. Jake held her tight for a long, sensual moment, and then started lowering her back onto the bed.

Chanise tensed, glancing at the closed door. “Deena is in the living room.”

Jake smirked. “We'll just have to be quiet.”

She smacked his chest. “Jake! You're terrible.”

He chuckled, climbing on top of her and using his knees to spread her legs. “It's okay, babe. She won't know what we're doing.”

Chanise wanted to protest, but Jake started kissing her neck, then trailing kisses down her chest. She lost her voice, unable to find the words to protest. She knew it was risky to do this with her daughter in the other room, but she wanted it.

She whimpered when Jake started unbuttoning her blouse. “Are you sure you can be quiet?”

Jake leaned back, pulling off his shirt, and then unbuttoning his pants. “Trust me, babe.”

She closed her eyes and lay back while he pulled off her pants. He climbed on top of her and started rubbing his hardness against her. She moaned, burying her face against his neck to stifle the sounds. She wanted to cry out, wanted to beg him to fuck her, but she needed to keep quiet. Somehow, it made the experience all the more thrilling and dangerous, like that afternoon down at the office.

She pulled Jake tighter against her. His moans sounded so loud in her ears. She whispered to him, “Quiet, baby. Quiet.”

He reached down and grabbed her hips, thrusting deeper and harder. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling herself up to meet him with each thrust. Her hands slid into his silky hair and she held him close. He planted soft kisses against her caramel skin, kissing her face, her neck, and her shoulders. Each little kiss sent shivers through her body.

Chanise started to tense, feeling the rush overpowering her. She glanced at the door, certain that she had heard Deena calling to her, but it was too late to stop now. She whispered into Jake's ear, “Come on, baby. Give it to me. Hurry.”

Jake didn't need any more encouragement than that. He grunted and thrust hard against her, letting out a moan loud enough to be heard through the closed door. Chanise clung to him for a few moments, sweating and trembling. Then she got up and hurried to the door, pressing her ear against it.

Jake followed her to the door. He put his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. “It's fine, babe. She didn't hear anything.”

Chanise let out a sigh of relief, touching a hand to her chest. Then she turned and smacked Jake on the arm, though she was grinning the whole time. “You horn dog,” she whispered.

“What can I say?” he said, grinning. “I can't get enough of you.”

* * *

The next day at work, Chanise received an alarming phone call. She was in the middle of wrapping up the next week's schedule when the phone rang. When she answered it, an unfamiliar man asked for her by name.

“Yes, this is Chanise Johnson,” she said, already starting to worry.

“This is Robert Phillips, with the NFL investigatory committee for Jake Stone. I was wondering if I would be able to set up a meeting with you and Dr. Johnson.”

Chanise's hands started to tremble. “What...what about?”

“Well, I'm sure you're aware of Mr. Stone's suspension and the conditions of his reinstatement to the team?”

“Yes, I am.”

“In order for us to verify that Mr. Stone did indeed go through the mandatory counseling sessions he was required to attend, we need to come down there and ask you a few questions. To make sure that everything was on the up and up.”

“All right,” Chanise said, her voice trembling. “But you should know, Jake and I, our relationship, it really had nothing to do with—”

“Ms. Johnson,” Robert said, “it's really best if we discuss this matter in person. I need to get an official statement from you, and from Dr. Johnson. And I'll need to take a look at your records.”

“All right. I mean, I'll have to clear this with my father...”

“Of course. How about we set up an appointment for next week?”

“Okay. I guess that would be fine.”

She was on the phone with Mr. Phillips for a few more minutes, working out the details. Then she had to call her father in to talk with him and confirm everything. They set up a meeting for Monday morning, in between her father's counseling sessions. Mr. Phillips said he would come down to the office to speak with them directly, but he assured them that the meeting wouldn't take long.

Chanise was a nervous wreck all weekend. She called up Jake to tell him about the meeting. He assured her over and over again that it would be fine, that it was simply the league's way of going through all of the proper procedures. But not matter how much he tried to reassure her, she couldn't fight the tension that had built up inside of her. She was so scared that she would do something wrong, or say something wrong, and that it would end up costing Jake his career.

When Monday morning finally came around, Chanise couldn't focus on any of her work. She just sat at her desk, staring at the computer screen, unable to get anything done. When a man carrying a briefcase finally walked through the waiting room door, she let out a sigh of relief. At least, she told herself, the waiting was finally over.

Her father greeted Mr. Phillips in the waiting room, and then led him back to his office. Chanise joined them, taking one of the chairs in front of her father's desk, while Mr. Phillips took out the other. He pulled a small tablet computer from his briefcase and set it up on the desk with a foldable keyboard. They went through all of their introductions, and he asked them for personal details that he needed for the report, including their names, home addresses, and phone numbers.

“Okay,” Robert said, once the initial questions were over. “I just need to ask a few questions to clarify everything we've already been told by Mr. Stone. Just to confirm that your story matches his.”

Chanise started to feel nervous again. She hoped that Jake had kept his story to the simple truth. He certainly hadn't told her she needed to say anything other than exactly what happened.

“Dr. Johnson,” Robert said. “Can you tell me when exactly you learned of the relationship between your daughter and Mr. Stone.”

“It was a week ago Sunday,” Dr. Johnson said. “My granddaughter told me about it, and I confronted my daughter about it right away. I told her right then that I wouldn't be able to be Jake's counselor anymore.”

“And you had no idea that anything was going on before that.”

“None. I wouldn't have approved of it if I had known.”

“And when did you terminate your professional relationship with Mr. Stone?”

“The very next day,” Dr. Johnson said. “I called him up and explained that I wouldn't be able to be his counselor anymore, and I referred him to a colleague of mine, Dr. Nguyen.”

“And do you have copies of all of your records of the time Mr. Stone was your patient?”

Dr. Johnson pulled out a folder and handed it to Robert. “That's everything. Appointments, sign-in sheets, receipts for his insurance company, all the standard paperwork.”

Chanise let out a small sigh of relief that she had forced Jake to keep signing in. It seemed like such a small thing, but it was possible that it would make all the difference.

Robert flipped through the pages in the folder and then tucked it into his briefcase. “All right. And Ms. Johnson. Can you tell me, in your own words, how your relationship with Mr. Stone started?”

“All right.” She took a deep breath to steady herself. “We first met when he started coming in for his appointments. At first, we just talked. And he flirted with me a lot.”

“It was Mr. Stone who initiated romantic contact with you?”

“If that's what you want to call it,” Chanise said. “I just call it being hit on.”

“Were his advances unwanted?”

Chanise frowned. “That's not what I said.”

“I just want to make sure we have the details right.”

“Look, he flirted with me, and at first, I didn't think I should get involved with him because he was a patient. But then we decided to go out for coffee.”

“How long had he been coming here by that point?” Robert asked.

“A few weeks.”

“At any point, did Mr. Stone try to use his relationship with you to compromise your integrity?”

“What?” Chanise asked, a shocked look on his face. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, did he try to get you to alter any records, anything like that?”

“Don't be ridiculous!” Chanise crossed her arms. “Our relationship had nothing to do with his counseling sessions. Nothing at all. He just liked me. We liked each other. So we had coffee. Then dinner. Then things started to get serious.”

“And were you aware of the conflict of interest?”

“Yes,” Chanise said. “He and I talked about it, and we knew he was going to need to switch counselors. We were planning on telling my father anyway, if he hadn't found out.”

“All right.” Robert typed a few notes into his tablet, and then skimmed through his list of questions. “I just have one last question. And thank you for your patience with this. I understand this is a difficult situation, and you must not like having your personal life probed in this way.”

“No, I really don't,” Chanise said, frowning at him.

“I'm really sorry about that,” Robert said. “I hope you understand I'm just doing my job.”

“She understands,” Dr. Johnson said. “What was your question?”

“In your personal opinion,” he asked, “do you believe that Mr. Stone had any other motivations in initiating a relationship with you, beyond romance?”

“What does that mean?” Chanise asked.

“It means. Do you think he was considering his career or his suspension, or thinking that getting close to you would help him cheat his way past the mandatory counseling sessions? That he might be able to use you to alter the paperwork, or to say that he had attended sessions when he hadn't?”

“No,” Chanise said. “No, absolutely not. The only thing on his mind was me. Was us. He was attracted to me, and that was it. He didn't want to use me. I'm certain of that.”

“Thank you, Ms. Johnson.” Robert typed in a few more notes, and then he folded the keyboard, closing his tablet. “I appreciate your help and your directness. I'm sorry again if these questions were in any way upsetting to you. But we had to investigate this fully.”

He got up to leave. Chanise rose to her feet as well. “So, is that it? Is Jake going to be allowed to play again?”

“I can't say,” Robert said. “My job is only to investigate the situation and file a report. Mr. Stone will be informed if and when the suspension is lifted.”

“Thank you, Mr. Phillips,” Dr. Johnson said. “I'll see you out.”

Chanise sat back down while her father led the investigator out of the office. When her father returned, he sat across from Chanise. “I don't think there's anything to worry about,” he said. “Though I certainly hope that next time, you think things through more before you do something like this.”

Chanise shrugged, giving her father a bashful smile. “I know, Dad. But I couldn't help it.”

“You feel that strongly for him?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

He reached over and patted her on the knee. “Well, then. You make sure to keep a hold of him then. No use getting into such a mess over a man if you let him get away.”

* * *

A few weeks passed without any word about Jake's suspension. Jake and Chanise continued seeing each other each week, and they even had dinner one night with Chanise's father, making Chanise feel like maybe her dad actually approved of the relationship. Some nights, Jake came over to Chanise's apartment and spent time with her and Deena. He even brought some Pixar videos with him when he visited so that they could all do a movie night together with something Deena would enjoy. Other nights, Deena spent the night with her Grandpa so that Jake and Chanise could get some much-needed alone time together.

One night, when Chanise arrived at Jake's place for a private dinner date, he greeted her at the door with a bottle of champagne in his hand. “Great news, babe,” he said, popping the cork. Foam poured out of the tip of the bottle, spilling all over the hardwood floors.

Chanise stepped back to avoid getting any champagne on her dress. “Careful with that, sweetie,” she said.

“Oops.” Jake set the champagne bottle down on the coffee table, then ran into the kitchen to get some towels. He came back and knelt down, sopping up the champagne. “But like I was saying, great news.”

“Is it about your suspension?”

Jake looked up at her and grinned. “I just got the official notice today. I'm off suspension. I'll be able to start playing again by mid-season.”

“Oh, that's wonderful.”

Jake rose to his feet and she gave him a hug, squeezing him tight. “I'm sorry about almost getting you into more trouble,” Chanise said.

“Nah, it's okay,” Jake said. He tossed the towel into the kitchen, barely getting it to land on the kitchen table. “I was the one who went after you, even when I knew it could get me into trouble. I knew what I was doing.”

He poured the champagne and they sat on the couch together, sharing a toast. “So, what now?” Chanise asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you've got your career back,” Chanise said. “But what about the rest of it? What about us?”

“What about us?” Jake asked. “I mean, I thought everything was going great.”

“Is that enough for you?” She frowned at him, toying with the stem of her champagne glass. “Just to be dating, and having things going great?”

“Do you want something more?” Jake set down his champagne glass, giving her a serious look.

“Eventually, yes. I'm not asking you for a proposal. But I want to know where this relationship is heading. I've got my daughter to consider.”

“And Deena's great,” Jake said. “I love her. She's an awesome kid.”

“She's a kid who needs stability in her life. I need to make sure I can provide that for her.”

“Well, I've been thinking about that,” Jake said.

“You have?” Chanise's eyebrows rose.

“Yeah, sort of. I mean, about us, and all. I've been thinking that maybe I should look into getting a place outside the city. I mean, living in the city is great and all. It's an amazing view.” He gestured to the floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the city. “But it's not really the best place for settling down or anything. Not that I'm ready to settle down yet, exactly. Just, you know, I want to get myself into that place. Where I'm ready to.”

“So you want to move?” Chanise frowned, not sure where he was going with this.

“Yeah. And I was thinking.” He took her hands in his, looking deep into her eyes. “I was thinking, maybe if I move, maybe you could move, too. With me, I mean. Move in with me.”

Chanise froze, her hands trembling. “Are you serious? Is that what you want?”

“Yeah. And then down the line, who knows.” He smirked, giving a little shrug. “It's the first step, though. I mean, I've never lived with a woman before. Hell, I've never had a relationship last this long before. So I want to do it right.”

Chanise was stunned. She stared at him, not sure what to say.

“So,” Jake asked, a hesitant look on his face. “What do you think?”

Chanise smiled. “I think yes. Definitely yes.”

A TASTE OF LOVE

"Please?"

Nicole Peart hated begging. She especially hated begging from Mark Tremain, and the smug satisfaction across his face when she did. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and all that: she needed a job, and his restaurant was hiring. Line cooks—hardly the glamorous chef positions she’d been hoping to snag when she went to culinary school and spent two years learning to fillet a fish with one smooth sweep and how to julienne a carrot into perfect matchsticks. She’d spent hours studying the chemistry of sugar and there were things that she could do with food that had her instructors drooling, and they promised to write her glowing recommendations to whatever restaurant she wanted to work in.

There was just one thing that had gone wrong with her plans to move to New York and find a job as some kind of chef—her mother had gotten sick, and it had always been just the two of them. So she stayed, and moved back to their house, learned to prepare medications and treatments with the same efficacy that she deboned a steak with. But money had always been short between them, and the last round of treatments had wiped out the last of her mother’s savings—Nicole was now the one in charge of paying the mortgage and keeping the lights on. It was now week three, and the problem with small-town America was that there were only so many jobs to be had.

"I don't know," Mark said now, the smirk crossing his face again. She fought back the urge to smack him. She wondered what she'd been smoking when she'd agreed to date him in the first place. He was good-looking, with that rugged brooding look that Marlon Brando had perfected, but his features were finer, more delicate. His accent was some kind of African accent that had the ability to shoot itself straight into the primitive reptilian brain, and even now she had to suppress the little urge to make googly eyes at him. It was why she’d consented to a second date with him, even after the first date had ended with her in tears because he’d insulted the wait staff and servers at the restaurant to the point where it embarrassed her, until she agreed to let him loosen her strapless dress to the point where it was this close to falling off of her—she knew the waiter got an eyeful of her tits, at any rate. That was the name of the game with him. He'd taken immense pleasure at nearly-exposing her in public, teasing strangers with the never-fulfilled promise of a glimpse of pussy or her breasts. The second time it happened she dropped him right then and there, but that didn't mean that he'd forgotten--or forgiven. "Are you wearing anything underneath that skirt?" he asked.

She felt her face go red. She was pretty when she blushed, everybody said that—she had large brown eyes and a small nose that could only be described as “cute”—but with Mark it was a liability, because he would take advantage of her. Her dark brown hair, which she’d straightened and pulled back into a bun, felt as if it was curling out of it its hold. “Is this part of the interview?” she asked. She stared at him from the opposite side of the desk, her legs crossed, wondering what her own price was. Fingers? Actual sex with him? She wasn’t wearing anything underneath, because she knew he’d make her show him before he’d even consider bringing her into the kitchen—the line had been crossed the moment she’d applied for the job at his restaurant-and-hotel. It was just a matter of limiting the damage.

“Just making conversation.”

"If you want to fuck me, just say so and get it over with," she said. He’d always had something for her body, petite but fierce, curvy but strong.

It was Bad Feminism 101, agreeing to sleep with a man in exchange for a job. And she knew that if the cooking staff ever found out about it she might be fired anyway, though the fact that she was still “just” a line cook would probably go a long way to mollify them. Other students could afford to travel to cities like New York to find jobs, but she was stuck in the suburban nightmare of small-town America, where there was only one restaurant big enough to need multiple chefs.

He came around the desk and planted his feet in front of her. She gulped, but she knew what he wanted her to do: she pulled her shoulders back, bringing her chest forward. He coughed. She began to unbutton her blouse. When that was finished she let him brush the silky fabric off her shoulders.

"No bra," he said, cupping her breast as if he were gauging an orange. "You know how to get me."

"What can I say?" she asked, gasping as he pushed his finger into her nipple. "I need the job."

"You liked it, don't lie to me."

"I need the job," she said, gritting her teeth. Both nipples, now--and it hurt, pure pain, no pleasure. He’d always had a thing for her breasts—they were on the large side, her nipples darker and contrasting more with her olive skin than most people expected.

"I'm hurt," he said, pouting. "After everything I did for you."

She kept her mouth shut, wondering if the job was really worth this. But his was literally the only place in town hiring at a wage that she and her mother could live on. "Suck my cock," he said. "On your knees," he added, pointing at the floor.

She felt her face burning, but she got on her hands and knees. He pulled her skirt up over her ass, and beckoned her to follow him over to the full-length window. It wasn't a high rise but it was four stories above the street, and it was the middle of the workday, and as she took him in his mouth she tried to tell herself that nobody would be looking, and if they did look her hair was down, at least--they wouldn't recognize her.

His cock was out already, meeting her when she pulled herself up. It was disappointingly normal—she couldn’t help but feel that a man with a personality as ugly as his ought to be a little deformed. He pulled her jaw open with his hands, and she felt the soft, fleshy tip tickle her gag reflex, and smelled the musky animal scent of him—and it took everything she had not to throw up right then and there—to stay there, her eyes watering at least as much from shame as from the difficulty she had in breathing.

"You're so pretty when you're crying," Mark said, as he wiped away her tears with his thumb. "There we go. Yes, just like that, with your tongue—go round, yes—God—yes—you have the job--"

***

As a child Nicole was convinced that her mother had some kind of ability to see into her mind and read her thoughts. The fact that she had always been a terrible liar had somehow never crossed her mind until she was seventeen. So when she came home that evening—having secured the job, at the very least—she still felt as if her mother somehow knew what she’d done, even though she knew it was inconceivable that her mother, housebound with the crippling pain of bone cancer, could have any idea about what she’d done to get the job.

She’d signed the contract with the Aviary and that was that. She started the next day. There was nothing more to be said, nothing more to be done. After she pulled her clothes back on they’d signed the papers, and he shook her hand and dismissed her as if she was just a delivery person. She cried all the way home to her mother’s house, and realized that the worst part had only just begun: there was no way she could tell her mother about this.

It was some kind of bone cancer, slow-growing but definitely metastatic. There was nothing the doctors could do except “keep her comfortable”, and even before Nicole opened the door she could smell the heavy, musky scent of the pot clinging to the air: Jordan, their weed dealer, was here. He was tall and lanky, with brown hair that stuck out at all angles, who dressed like a scarecrow, which made it hard for her to figure out how old he was. Her friend Leslie had been the one to put him in touch with them—pot was still illegal in their state, and in the three months that had elapsed since her mother’s diagnosis he’d proven himself to be friendly, kind, and trustworthy. He was sitting at the dining room table with her mother, a series of baggies laid out in on the table in front of them, with a stack of bills at one end of the line.

“Hey there,” he said, when she stepped through the door. “Is everything all right?”

“Great,” she said, forcing a smile. “I finally got that job.”

Her mother nodded sleepily. “That’s nice, dear.”

“I gave her a hit of Sandman’s Sleeper,” Jordan said. “On the house.”

“Thanks,” Nicole said. She nodded at the bills. “Is that enough?” The prices fluctuated every time he came by. She chose blissful ignorance when it came to how he set the prices; she never had the impression that he was screwing them, at least, which was more than she could say for Mark. She set her bag down and helped her mother over to the couch.

Jordan nodded. “I’ve got another batch of Pinky’s Pleasure curing now,” he said. “I should be able to deliver it in a week if you think it’d help.”

She shrugged. “That’s all the cash we have,” she said. “I won’t get paid until next week, and God knows if it’ll be enough.”

“Jesus,” Jordan said. “Is there anything I can do?”

She shook her head. “Not unless you can afford to give your product away for free,” she said, smiling wryly.

“Sorry,” Jordan said.

She shrugged and showed him to the door. He was a good guy, but it was basic economics: he needed to make money as much as she did. We all have to pay our own piper, she thought, as she watched him leave. The feeling of Mark’s hands on her body, the taste of him in her mouth, suppressed by Jordan’s presence, came back to her. The house was silent, and there was nothing between her soul and the memory of what had happened that afternoon, and after she closed and locked the door—after she made sure her mother was truly, deeply asleep—she slumped to the floor and let the hot waves of shame and pain wash over her. The tears came, slowly at first, but the repressive silence worked its way inside her head, like a knife, and she cried now—but silently.

The things we do for love. It’d always been a banal platitude. This was the first time that she’d truly realized what it meant.

One week later, Nicole came to the conclusion that it was either her or the job, but it couldn't be both. The job paid--that was all that could be said for it. Mark never set foot in the kitchen, but she could feel his influence with the guy who ran the kitchen, a guy (why did it always have to be a guy?) named Reginald Fiori, who refused to let her do anything more complicated than cutting vegetables--even when the kitchen was falling behind and needed another cook to help get the entrees out on time, even when she could time eggs and fry bread and toast garlic all at once, when the guy couldn’t multitask to save his life.

But she hadn't taken two years of classes and learned the difference between a mince and a mirepoix just to spend her life deseeding avocadoes and chopping onions into a coarse dice. She knew her shit, damn it. It was sexism, plain and simple, and even the other cooks in the kitchen knew it. But Reginald was Mark's friend, and he wasn't going anywhere, not even after the head chef, a beefy guy named Drew, with muscles the size of bowling balls and sleeve tats, spoke to Mark about making her the sous. "I tried," Drew said, and coughed up a loogey--he was a chain-smoker of at least thirty years, and while he claimed to be using a patch these days, he still lit up on every break, and it was beginning to show. "Mark's the only pony in this one-horse town, though, so if he wants to dish it, we have to eat it."

By the end of the second week Nicole was going crazy; one of the line cooks, a guy with a shaved head and more pictures on him than a children’s book, had a coke dealer and even she ended up taking a hit or two so that she could finish her shift without collapsing--coffee didn't begin to cut through this kind of exhaustion. She'd known that line cooks were underappreciated and overworked--and Reginald ran his kitchen worse than most so that the overwork was doubled and the underappreciation was tripled. But she couldn't have anticipated that it would be this bad. And so, on her one day off she called her friend Leslie Wiles and begged her to make a moment and rescue her from the insanity of her workweek. "If I don't have someone to stop me from finishing a bottle of tequila right now I'm going to drink myself to death before the day is over," Nicole said.

Leslie, being the best friend in the world, merely asked her to wait until she could get there before she started.

Leslie owned her own tattoo studio. She worked under the name Clash and while most of her work was simple, cliched motifs that pandered to the sensibilities of most of her clients, she specialized in creating portraits and three-dimensional work so realistic that people sometimes threw up looking at it. They'd met by accident: a few years ago Nicole had come into her studio one drunken night, together with a kid named Brian. She couldn't remember why she and Brian had gotten drunk, much less why they thought that getting tattoos was a good idea, but they'd ended up together--Leslie was just closing up and while she didn't tattoo them she did bring out a bottle of vodka and that was that. Nicole still heard from Brian from time to time--he was doing work for NASA these days--but she and Leslie still got together almost every week to bitch about work and clients. Or in Nicole's case, school and the job she'd worked to offset the costs.

"So, is it incompetence, assholery, or both?" Leslie asked as she pulled out a pair of tequila glasses. They were sitting at her mother's kitchen table, with the dainty floral wallpaper, lace curtains, and quaintly-worn country-style furniture that her mother favored. Nicole at least looked relatively normal in her jeans and t-shirt. Leslie, wearing black leather and kohl, her hair spiked and dyed blue, might as well have been an alien.

"Both," Nicole said. "I don't know if I can stand a third week."

"That bad?"

"The owner is Mark."

"Sheee-it."

There wasn't much more that needed to be said after that. Leslie had been the one privy to the nightmare that was the one-and-a-half dates with Mark. They tossed back their respective glasses of tequila in silence, slamming the glasses to the table with a firm “bang”.

“Maybe you could do private work,” said Leslie, after a moment.

“What?”

“Well, you know—go to a bunch of rich people’s houses and make a bunch of food for them.”

Is the tequila that strong? Nicole didn’t feel that drunk. “That’s a thing?”

Leslie shrugged. “Rich people outsource everything, dontcha know? Anyway, it probably beats making second-rate guacamole for eight hours a day.”

“It is so second-rate,” Nicole grumbled. That was the thing with the Aviary: for all that it pretended to be fancy, serving pommes frites instead of French fries, it was neither very good, nor very original, but in their town it was what counted as high-class dining, and most people didn’t know enough to know that they should be demanding better.

“I’m sure there’s some website out there,” Leslie said, grinning. “Come on.” She pulled Nicole over to the little side table that Nicole used as her desk—these days an elaborate desk wasn’t needed, with everything stored in the cloud and what-not. Leslie turned on Nicole’s laptop and opened up the browser, and typed in “Private chef services” to the search bar.

What came up was a bunch of erotic services. “Oh fuck no,” Nicole said. For a moment the memories of what Mark had made her do to earn the privilege of working like a dog in his kitchen threatened to overwhelm her. “I ain’t doing that shit.”

“Let’s refine the search,” said Nicole cheerfully, adding “cooking” to the list of search terms. “There we go. See?”

It was a website called “Tastemakers”, and it looked promising: no mention of erotic services, just a simple, straight-up cooking service you could sign up for. “Look,” said Leslie. “They do background checks of their clients and their chefs. Less chance of skeevy business. Do you have a nice picture?”

“Hey, I never said I’d do this,” Nicole protested.

“You’re fucking doing this,” Leslie said. “Because I’m not going to come by every week just to get drunk with you. I have other friends who need my alcoholic services, too, you know, and only one liver between you all. Now, what kind of food do you like to cook?”

***

Three days passed before Nicole got the chance to open her email. Her mother had some kind of crisis that landed her in the county hospital for a day, so between shifts there was a lot of driving and very little sleeping. By the time Nicole was able to bring her mother home again she could swear that her mother had lost another ten pounds somehow. “Don’t worry,” her mother said, “I’m fine.”

It was a lie, of course. Nicole could see her body falling apart in front of her eyes—in the blood that ended up in the toilet instead of urine, in the increasing number of foods that she could no longer handle. But all Nicole could say was, “Of course you are,” and keep tending to her as best she could. She was aware that it was a kind of denial—but telling her mother “At least” was still easier than saying “You can’t”. Nicole found herself seriously contemplating a trial with methamphetamines—Gerson, the kitchen’s coke connection, probably knew someone who dealt meth, too. It wouldn’t be too hard to get some and stay awake for days.

Early one morning, after she finished filing the insurance claims, her email alerted to twenty-six new messages, most of them from Tastemakers. A shot of excitement went through her—this could be her ticket out of this exhausting, grinding life. She opened the first one: an email from a mother who wanted someone to prepare “healthy, vegetarian, gluten-free, dairy-free, kid-friendly foods for my family of five, and one child won’t eat anything squishy, so no tomatoes, mushrooms, eggs (unless they’re hard-boiled)…”

Nicole deleted it.

There were emails that she was certain were trolls, because there was no way a human could exist on the restrictions that they had: people who wanted grain-free, fat-free, vegan diets (she was tempted to write back, “lettuce”) and people on all-liquid diets who needed organic juices enhanced with things like spirulina, which she actually had to look up. Delete, delete, delete.

And then there were the assortment of emails from men who clearly had every interest in sex and none at all in food. Just how many ways are there to say, “I want to eat your pussy?” She had some seven messages like this—she flagged them all. There was one email that gave her pause for a moment—the guy was clearly treating Tastemakers like a dating website, saying, “I’m a sensitive, caring man who’d love nothing more than to spend a little time with you in the kitchen,” going on to add how he was looking for a long-term thing and how he thought their tastes meshed with each other. He was probably right—but a new relationship didn’t pay the bills, and that was what she signed up for.

Delete, delete, delete.

At long last there was a message from a man by the name of GoodFood who wrote that he liked fine food and good wine, would she like to come over and cook for him? And the money he promised her was nearly double what she’d asked for—which was already double what she was getting paid from Mark. His profile picture was that of a man standing in a doorway, back-lit so that he was silhouette, but there was no question that his suit was impeccably tailored.

“I can be there in two days,” she wrote back. That was her day off. At least she’d be doing work that she liked.

A message was returned almost instantaneously: “Good. Let me know what you need to make a three-course dinner, butter chicken and lemon rice, ratatouille, onion-and-anchovy pie, and General Tso chicken (for storing to eat later), and three healthy and portable lunches.”

Jesus, she thought. This guy is not kidding.

“Give me about a hour,” she wrote back.

Thank God for the Internet, she thought as she fervently looked up recipes for everything. She knew, generally, how to make everything—it was a question of spice and proportion and flavor profiles that varied. And as for healthy, portable, and flavorful lunches, well, that was what Pinterest was for. She found some delicious Middle-Eastern foods that would taste good and keep for a few days. Based on the foods he was requesting he had a diverse and varied palate—he would appreciate something bright and bold, tangy and crispy. Creating the perfect recipe was as much about complementing textures as it was about melding flavors, something most cooks couldn’t appreciate, and as her imagination ran riot she found herself wanting to make more, do more.

Stick with the job at hand, she reminded herself. If he wanted someone to tell him what he wanted he’d be paying for a dominatrix, not a cook.

She sent him the list of ingredients she needed. It was long, and at first she paled when she wrote out everything she needed—but then she reasoned that a man who was willing to pay her four times what she was making as a minimum-wage slave probably wasn’t hurting for money to get the ingredients. And his profile said that he wanted good food—it didn’t say anything about being on a budget. Just for kicks she added her list of wine recommendations to pair with the foods. She’d nailed the wine part of her culinary school; she might as well use her hard-won knowledge somehow, right?

The reply was a few minutes in coming this time: “Very good. Everything will be ready. Address will be forthcoming.”

When she turned off the computer, Nicole found herself breathing a sigh of relief. This job could be her ticket out of the minimum-wage drudgery. At the very least, she could cook again.

That night, she found herself sharpening her knives with glee.

Work the next day was a breeze. It was amazing how tolerable Reginald’s bumbling incompetence was when she knew she had a way out. She ended up taking over Reginald’s job, on top of doing the prep work that she had to do, because even when she was distracted with line work she still managed to get the dishes out on time and hot. She even said, “To hell with it,” and re-made the second-rate guacamole so that it was creamy and fresh and delicious, setting up the line so that it could be made quickly, and to order.

It went over so well that they ran out of avocados before the night was over. Drew gave her a nod of approval, and during the after-closing meal, the staff toasted her and ignored Reginald’s protests. It’d been a great service, and Drew sighed and said, “I wish you didn’t have a day off tomorrow.” Reginald almost fired Drew on the spot, but the rest of the crew started applauding and when the tips were factored in they all made nearly double their wages.

Tough shit.

The address that Mr. GoodFood had given her was a good thirty-minute drive, so she started off early the next morning, after making sure her mother was comfortable. “I wish you could stay home,” her mother said. The weakness of her grasp startled Nicole but she tried not to let it show. “I’ve got to pay Jordan somehow,” Nicole said, smiling.

“You’re so sweet,” her mother had said.

“You’re my mother,” Nicole had said.

The nausea, the vomiting, the listlessness—her mother was getting worse, there was no two ways about it. As she drove along she had to wonder how much longer her mother had. One month, maybe two? The last few weeks were the hardest—that was what the doctors had told her, when the pot stopped working, and there was no relief from the relentless progress of the cancer as it destroyed the body one cell at a time. Death by a thousand cuts—and the worst part was that the body would keep fighting for as long as it was able to. The body didn’t know how to give up, even if the mind did.

The GPS unit pinged, jarring her out of her sadness. “In 300 feet, turn left.”

Where the fuck am I? She was now in farm country—you could go fifteen minutes without seeing a single house, just corn or soybeans on all sides. Her gut began to stir, mildly alarmed: if Mr. GoodFood was some kind of serial killer there would be no hope for her.

The things we do for money, she thought, swallowing. The little arrow on her GPS was still following the pink path, though, so she kept driving.

There were trees on either side of the road, screening her view, but as she followed the turn she saw the house, rising out of the hill. It was a gray slate house with black shingles—and solar panels, she noticed—and white shutters, with a wraparound porch that had a quaint porch swing in one corner. There was a standalone garage off to one side of the house, and a shed behind it. Mr. GoodFood was standing on the porch, drinking from the glass, watching her as she pulled up to the house. He was wearing a sweater and worn jeans. He had startling, ice-blue eyes, neat blond hair, and square jaw looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t remember where she’d seen his face before. He could have been one of the extras on Law & Order—he was certainly handsome enough for it—but she didn’t think acting paid well enough to own a house like this one.

“Miss Peart,” he said, as she got out of her car.

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” she said. “I don’t know your name.”

He blinked, as if he were surprised that there were people out there who didn’t know who he was. A lump of fear stuck in her throat: had she managed to offend him already? “Then you can keep calling me Mr. GoodFood,” he said, after a moment. “Mr. Good, actually—it sounds less ridiculous.”

“Mr. Good it is,” she said, smiling nervously as she exhaled a sigh of relief. Not fired yet. She got her cutting boards and knifes from the trunk and followed him inside.

“Did you really study at Billingsgate?” he asked.

“I did,” she said, sensing a test. “They invite Michel Roux Jr. to give a talk every year. He’s the reason why I spent three months understanding sugar.”

He didn’t smile so much as show his teeth. She wondered if she’d said something offensive again “So why are you on Tastemaker?” he asked. “I’d imagine that a graduate of Billingsgate would have no problem finding a place in New York.”

The insinuation was clear: that she’d failed. She debated telling him about her mother—but then again, he didn’t seem like a family man. She could imagine him saying, “Well, why don’t you just let her die then?” just as easily as saying something canned but appropriately sympathetic, and neither of those were what she needed to hear right now. She muttered something noncommittal about family. “So,” she said, brightly. “Where’s everything?”

He said, “Follow me.” The inside of the house looked like something out of Country Living. The living room was done in painted wood furniture and seafoam green—and all of it looked impressively expensive. Nothing out of the IKEA catalogue here. There were actual pressed flowers framed in the walls. Nicole began to wonder if he actually lived here, or if he just rented a model house. There weren’t any pictures of family members on the walls. You’ve got a chance, he’s probably still single.

Wait, what? Stop. You’re not here to get laid.

But you could be.

She found herself blushing and tried to think about something else—anything else—to get her mind off of him. He did have a very nice body—the sweater and jeans hid everything but the way he moved left little to the imagination. It was a good thing that she was behind him.

“This is the kitchen,” he said, opening a door. The space opened into a beautifully light and airy kitchen. There were no cabinets on the walls, everything was on open shelves. “It’s pretty self-explanatory,” he said, after a moment. The pots and pans hung from hooks all along the wall above the stove. “Baking utilities in here,” he said, opening one set of drawers, showing a series of Pyrex baking dishes, muffin tins, and cake tins nested inside each other. “Mise en place containers are here,” he said, showing her another drawer, full of bowls of various sizes. “Spatulas and other cooking utensils are here.” There was another drawer inside that one, where a series of spatulas, tasting spoons, wire whisks, graters, thermometers, and everything a cook would need were sitting neatly. “Electronic things are here,” he added, opening a door to reveal a food processor, a blender, a stand mixer. Everything was professional grade—she felt her heart skip a beat as she saw the Kenwood logo. Heaven.

“You know a lot about cooking,” she said, as she pulled on her apron.

“I know a lot about food,” he corrected her, scowling critically. She wondered what she’d said that was so wrong. There go your chances of a nice tip. “Is everything clear?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “I hope—”

“Then I’ll leave you to it,” he said, abruptly. “I have to go take care of a few things in the city. Make sure dinner is ready at six.”

For a moment she thought he was kidding. She was a perfect stranger, in his beautiful house—and he was just going to leave her? “One last thing—the wines are in the base of the vitrine closet, along with the service.”

She nodded, still speechless with surprise. She watched him pull out of the driveway and drive off.

Well, at least we know he’s not a serial killer. That was all that could be said for him. She didn’t have to like him to cook for him, though—as long as he paid.

***

It was a good thing that he wanted a lot of food: it kept her hands busy and the seven things she had going at once kept her mind too occupied to think about her mother. She felt it again—the pure joy of a job well-done as the sauces came together in that perfect blend of silkiness and flavor, the meat came out perfectly browned with that delicious crust. Most people thought of cooking as grunt-work, repetitive and boring and dull, but she’d always been fascinated by the transformation of food into art. The ratatouille held its shape when she turned it out, beautifully showcasing the layered vegetables and their colors. The lunches she’d prepared were wholesome, filling, jars of layered salads and tangy dressings, thin crackers layered with shredded chicken breast mixed with a homemade tampenade of dried tomatoes, olive oil, and lemon zest. Everything was neatly packed away in glass containers that she put in the refrigerator, making sure to plate them beautifully. All told, once everything was frozen, there were enough meals for two weeks—which was right around the time when she’d have to get her mother more pot.

He came back at six, as he’d said he would, but she was so engrossed in finishing the preparations for the dinner that when he appeared in the kitchen she nearly jumped. “Sorry,” she gasped, setting down the pan she was holding. “You startled me. I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

He just cocked his head and looked at her with a funny expression. “It’s my house. I can wait as long as I want to. Is everything ready?” he asked.

“It is,” she said, nodding—she needed to nuke the first course but there was enough time for that. But she could feel the seed of nervousness that had been planted that morning sprouting like wildfire again. He stood, watching her, and after a minute she finally couldn’t take his cold stare. Was he angry? Or did he want to say something?

“Show me,” he said.

It took a moment for her to realize that he wanted her to show him to his seat. “Right,” she said, sliding the glass of consommé in to the microwave. “Right this way,” she said, thanking God that she’d had the foresight to set the table: he had some very nice china and silverware, and she’d found some silver candlesticks and white candles in the vitrine closet. She pulled out the chair and he sat down.

He nodded, satisfied. “Just a minute,” she said, and went back to get the first course. For dinner that night she’d made him a consommé to start with, a dark rich broth garnished with a few green rings of spring onion on top. She tried to keep her hands from shaking as she presented him with the glass. “Are you nervous?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“Is it good?”

She should have expected this odd, abrupt line of questioning by now, but the way he asked her still set her on edge. “I hope you like it,” she said.

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“I—” she began, but her nerves got the better of her and she backed out of the room.

She heard him sigh and murmur, “I’ve been looking forward to his all day.”

She didn’t want to be the annoying personal chef who stands in the corner waiting for a verdict, but she couldn’t help throwing a backwards glance at him as she headed back into the kitchen. A smile played about his lips as he drank down the contents of the glass slowly, his eyes closed, the better to savor the rich meatiness of the broth.

Well, he’s a connoisseur, at least, she thought. She’d already figured that he was rich—a person didn’t own a house this big and gorgeous without a substantial fortune, though she was surprised that his car was a standard, run-of-the-mill black Honda Civic. But her time at Billingsgate had taught her that money didn’t mean a thing when it came to appreciation, so she was glad that he at least seemed to appreciate that the broth had been concentating for 8 hours on the stove. She plated the seared scallop on a bed of chicory lettuce, dressed with a lemon-dill sauce, and served with a coil of homemade linguini tossed in butter infused with just a touch of garlic and rosemary.

When she stepped out to serve the main course and collect the glass, she thought at first that he’d fallen asleep—his eyes were closed, and he was sitting very still. She set the plate down on the table and silently leaned over to collect his empty glass. His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. “That was an experience,” he said, but she almost didn’t hear his words through the deafening roar in her ears as her mind took her back to that disastrous job interview with Mark. Her knees buckled—she collapsed against him, her breath coming in short gasps.

Damn it, she thought, swallowing and trying to force herself back to her feet. But her body remembered, even if her mind remained blissfully divorced from it.

He got up and helped her to her feet, gently. “Is something the matter?”

There was something different in his voice. He almost sounded like he cared—as if he were actually capable of caring for someone else as a human being. Her mind felt like a bulb that was on the verge of burning out, working only in fits and starts, as she tried to understand where this sudden concern was coming from.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.”

“No,” she agreed. “That was bad.”

There was a moment of awkward silence between them. Finally he sat down again, and she set the plate down in front of him. He picked up his knife and fork and cut into the pearly white flesh of the scallop. She backed out of the room, leaving him just as he put a neat wedge of it into his mouth. His eyes rolled back in his head as he chewed and smiled. She hoped that was enough to make up for the misstep.

It wasn’t your fault. Touching wasn’t part of the deal.

After she served him dessert he came into the kitchen while she was putting the last of the dishes into the dishwasher. She’d cleaned up all of the other pots and pans, and returned everything back to their place—she’d always worked mise en place so the final cleanup never did take too long, something that she’d started drilling into the staff at the Aviary. How the kitchen had ever managed to survive as long as it had was beyond her!

“You’re very good,” he said, watching her from the entrance. He held a glass of red wine in his hand, swirling it.

“Thank you,” she said, closing the dishwasher and starting it. This was the part where he’d give her the money—she hoped.

“It was five-hundred, right?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Here,” he said, reaching into the pocket of his jeans. He pulled out a fat envelope. “There’s a little extra for a job well-done.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking it.

It felt ask if there was something more he wanted to say, but he just stared at her with those cold blue eyes of his and after a moment she scurried out, not knowing what else to do. Didn’t people usually say, “Can you come back?” and then make another appointment? Was he lying when he praised her cooking? Did she really seem that delicate that she couldn’t handle the truth?

Tears welled up in her eyes as she drove home. Maybe she had fucked this up, after all. Maybe he was lying to her—that he hated her cooking. Maybe she was lying to herself—she’d never be anything more than a line cook pulling ten and twelve-hour shifts seventy dollars a day.

By the time she got home her mother had turned off the light and gone to bed, apparently. The house was dark. She opened the envelope Mr. Good had given her—it would be nice to have a number to tell her mother when she came in to break the news—and began counting.

There was a thousand dollars in it.

For a moment she thought that she’d miscounted, but no: there were ten Franklins in it. So he did like her cooking—he wasn’t lying. Her hands were shaking again as she put the envelope in her purse, from the relief this time. She’d made more than ten times what she’d normally make in a day. If this kept up she could probably quit at the Aviary. Serves ‘em right.

She couldn’t wait to tell her mother, but the moment she set foot in her house she realized that there was something wrong. The silence was too much—the stillness was overwhelming. There was something odd about the fact that there was nothing out of place, and as she went through the house, and up the stairs, she realized that there was something very, very wrong. She was on the verge of screaming for her mother when she saw her—lying in bed, her face slack—dead.

Strangely, she didn’t panic. She didn’t even cry. Her body moved into her mother’s bedroom and drew the blanket up to her chin. She found a note on the nightstand.

“Nicole, I love you. I know I don’t have much time left. I don’t want to be the one holding you back from your dreams. The things you do for me are the things that no daughter should ever do for her mother. I’m so proud of you. You’ll do well. Let me go. I’ll be at peace soon. No more pain.”

What am I supposed to do with this?

Nicole sank to the floor, the despair of loss overwhelming the triumph of achievement. Her mother, in such great despair that she’d taken her own life somehow—and all she could think of was something as crass as making money? I’m such an awful daughter. She wanted to cry, but she couldn’t—it would’ve all been crocodile tears at this point, because she wouldn’t have been crying for her mother, but for herself. “I’m sorry, Mom,” she whispered.

The silence was the only answer she got.

Before and after the funeral, Nicole felt nothing—she moved through her days on the line like a zombie, chopping stuff and arranging it and then sending it on down the line. When her fellow cooks didn’t work mise en place, she couldn’t summon up the anger to correct them; when Reginald floundered at the peak dinner service, she just watched him from across the kitchen, her eyes dead do the world. Drew took her aside. “What’s the matter?” asked Drew. “My mother died,” she’d answered.

“Whoa. That’s tough.”

But was it? Was it really that hard when she felt nothing? Her mother, whisked from her by an accidental overdose of pain medications (so ruled the medical examiner, on account of the pain she must have been in—Nicole had kept the note to herself), had gone so quickly that the grief of her loss still hadn’t caught up to her yet. In the meantime, the funeral happened—Nicole was sure she was the one to make the arrangements and pick out the flowers and send out the funeral notices, but she didn’t feel as if she were the one controlling it all—and she went back on the line and that was that. She noticed people giving her space, and she knew that that was what she was supposed to take, even if that wasn’t what she needed. Even Mark was a bit less smug on the rare occasions that they ran into each other in the parking lot. He even said, “Sorry.”

But what did she need? She didn’t know. She went to work, came home, made Hamburger Helper or baloney on white bread, slept, and went to work. One day followed the other, but she barely noticed, until she was out of bread. Once she showed up at work and Drew, surprised, told her to go home. “It’s your day off,” he told her.

She checked her calendar and realized that it was, in fact, her day off. It’d been a long time since she’d looked at her phone, she realized. The first few days after her mother’s death, she’d gotten so many condolences that she shut off her phone and refused to touch her computer. After those first few days it’d simply never occurred to her to turn it back on. She’d missed 164 calls.

Nicole turned around and went home. Leslie had come by in her absence and left another casserole dish on the front step, with a little hand-drawn card. She picked it up and scraped the contents into the trash, washed out the baking dish, and added it to the pile of Pyrex growing on her counter. In the days since the funeral she’d eaten little more than cereal and apples—it wasn’t a matter of skill, it was the fact that she couldn’t care enough to do it. She’d lost her last moments with her mother, because she wanted to make money—because she wanted to be happy.

The oppressive silence in the house was a balm to her soul. She thought, not for the first time, about drinking the entire contents of the liquor closet, but the fact that it required getting a glass and then finding the bottle seemed to be too much work. She couldn’t manage it, slipping into a restless sleep on the sofa instead.

She awoke to the sound of someone knocking at the door. What? It’d been three weeks since her mother died and ten days since the funeral—the well-wishers had long since stopped coming. She considered staying on the couch until her shift tomorrow, but then the banging became more insistent, and then she remembered that her car was out front. She couldn’t deny that she wasn’t home.

Nicole sighed but she dragged herself off the sofa and over to the door. It was probably Leslie, come to collect her baking dishes. She flung open the door, saying, “They’re on the counter, go help yourself.”

“What’s on the counter?”

It was Mr. Good. For a moment Nicole was shocked out of her stupor. He handed her a box of chocolates. “I was told you were going through a hard time,” he said. “I would have brought flowers but I think it’s a little late for that.”

“Thank you,” she said, hollowly. He was looking at her expectantly, and she realized that he still expected her to follow the script of politeness. Really? But then she found that her manners were coming back to her. Invite him in, make tea. “Would you like to come in?”

“Yes,” he said. “I don’t mean to impose, but I’m very busy and I wanted to define our business relationship.”

He sat down on her chair, uninvited—Nicole bristled but decided that there were worse things he could do. Besides, he’d paid her double the amount they’d agreed upon last time. She needed the money, there were no two ways about that. There were other bills to pay, even if she hadn’t quite gotten around to doing them just yet.

“Tea?” she asked.

“Only if you make it the English way,” he said. “I can’t stand the way Americans make tea.”