Temptation [h.s.] ✔

Chapter 44.

        How the fuck did I forget my shoes?

        Yet another deep breath happens. Instead of mulling over and reading into this stupid oversight of mine, I run on tiptoes toward the house and ring the bell. 

        "The door!"

        "Who is it? We're not expecting anyone!"

        "I don't know, dear. Just get it!"

        "Just get it, like I'm a flamin' slave," I hear my mother mutter as she opens the door. "Liv!" Her eyes light up when she sees me.

        "Hi, Mom." I try a smile.

        "Where are your shoes?"

        I look at my wet feet and shrug lamely. "At home. I kind of forgot to put them on."

        Her eyes rise up my body slowly. "Forgot? How does one forget their shoes?"

        "When one's mind is otherwise occupied," I reply. "Can I come in or not?"

        She opens the door wide. "Liv's here!" she calls then leans in. "You know Marchant is here. You know, your father's therapist friend."

        I swallow my groan. Of course he'd be here, and of course she'd shout my arrival before she told me about him. She's obviously—correctly—figured out that my forgetting my shoes has to do with my little issue.

        "Liv!" Marchant stands, looking much different than he did the last time I saw him. He's not old—maybe late thirties—but there's a light hint of silver at his crown and lines around his eyes.  "How lovely to see you. You look wonderful."

        Apart from no shoes.

        "It's great to see you, too." I smile. I like the guy. I do. I'd just like him a whole lot more if he weren't a brain analyzer.

        "What about me?" Dad asks. "Isn't it nice to see me?"

        "Always." I kiss his cheek and hug him.

        His arms around my body are warm and comforting. It's a grounding feeling I need right now.

        My heart is skipping several beats each minute from being in Marchant's presence. And not because he's fairly good-looking, but because I can feel him studying me and looking right through me.

        I take a tentative seat next to Dad and listen in as they continue their conversation. Salmon fishing plans, bingo at the local hall, the farmer's market this weekend... They glaze over topic after topic, even mentioning the NFL draft before Mom whisks Dad away for his medication.

        Now, alone, Marchant's focus is solely on me. "How are you, Liv?"

        "I'm good," I reply.

        "So good you forgot your shoes?"

        "It happens to the best of us. You should ask my grandmother."

        A smile curves his lips. "Your mom mentioned you're seeing someone."

        "That's right."

        "And how's that going?"

        I sit up straight and stare into his eyes. "I'm not here for an impromptu therapy session, March. I'm not eighteen anymore. I have a handle on my addiction."