My throat thickens as I nod. “I’m okay. It’s …” I sip my tea to give myself a reprieve. “Sometimes numbers kind of flip in my brain.”
His brilliant green eyes are steady on me. “You’re dyslexic?”
“No, that’s words. It’s numbers for me. A mild case of dyscalculia.” I let out a breath. “It only happens when I’m stressed or overtired. Then it’s like something in my brain just stalls or the numbers will flip. When I try to force it, the situation gets worse. Like today. I was tired and cold and angry at myself and …” I shrug, gripping my cup tighter.
“I’m glad I was there to let you in, then.” And that is the end of it. No pity. No asking questions I don’t have answers to.
John spreads currant jam on his toast, and we eat in silence for a few minutes. It isn’t strained exactly—I’m definitely feeling warm and cared for—but there’s a certain tension tugging between us. I have the feeling that John is bracing himself for something. He keeps shooting me hesitant looks before taking big bites of toast and munching on it as though his life depends on it.
Everybody messes up. I know this. I know he’s as human as the rest of us, even though it sometimes seems he lives above the rest of the world. I settle more comfortably into the couch, drink my tea, and eat my toast. He’ll talk when he’s ready. John isn’t the type to keep silent for long.
I’m proved right when he takes a long sip of his tea and then sets it down. He presses his shoulders into the couch pillows, bracing himself. “I’m sorry I walked away like that at the party.”
Not something I really want to talk about. Words that come to mind start with “embarrassing” and end with “rejection.”
“You bolted so fast, for a moment, I thought they were having the walls and ceiling removed,” I quip. I don’t know if I sound as carefree as I want. Probably not. I told him what I do for a living and he ran—right after he’d been smiling and leaning in as if he wanted to devour my mouth with his. Clearly, being a professional friend is a turnoff for him.
A wrinkle forms between his brows before smoothing. “A Megamind joke?” He smiles. “God, you’re adorable.”
“Like a wiggly puppy,” I say under my breath, then shake my head, pushing a bright expression.
But he hears me perfectly well and frowns. “It was rude of me. I don’t know how to explain other than I had a bout of temporary insanity.”
I find myself slipping back into old habits, wanting to smooth over our awkward patch. “No need to apologize. I had to get back to Richard anyway.”
He doesn’t appear convinced. “Had I known you were working, I wouldn’t have pulled you away. Getting you in trouble with a client is the last thing I’d want.”
I narrow my eyes at him because I can’t tell if he’s being genuine or giving me shade. He’s too tight and fidgety for me to get a good read on him. “Richard didn’t mind.”
He rests his feet on the coffee table. “What do you do with these friends? And I’m not hinting about sex, I swear to God,” he adds in a rush.
I husk out a laugh. “I didn’t think you were.” I run a hand through my damp hair. “We do anything they want. The only rules for me is that it isn’t something illegal and there is no sexual contact. Strictly platonic.”
He nods, intent and encouraging me to go on.
“And it isn’t only men who I go out with. I have plenty of women clients as well. You just happened to keep seeing me with the guys.” I shake my head ruefully. “As for what we do, I’ve gone shopping, out to eat, movies, attended weddings as pretend dates. Even a funeral once.”
His brows lift. “A funeral?”
“Yeah. A woman didn’t want to go to her mom’s funeral alone. She had no one close to her left and needed someone to hold her hand.”
His expression softens. “Stells, you really do kill me sometimes.”
“Why?” I ask in a weak voice. The memory of poor Mari’s pain lingers with the telling of it.
“You helped a total stranger get through one of the shittiest days of her life. Not many people would do that.”
“Don’t make it noble.” I glance away. “I didn’t want to be there. I hated every minute of it.”
“But you did it.”
“Only because I know how it feels to be alone. I couldn’t say no to her request.”
“And that,” he says, leaning forward, putting him in my line of sight, “makes all the difference. You did it anyway.”
“You trying to butter me up, Blackwood?”
He gives me a sidelong look. “Maybe.”
Okay, didn’t expect that. I curl my legs under me. “Why?”