Complicated Girl (Baker Street Romance #2)(3)
Author: Mimi Strong

Feather leads the group like a true professional, offering some comments and asking the group for thoughts before moving to the next person.

Someone raises his hand, and everyone turns with interest.

I turn as well, and for an instant, the chair under me disappears and I feel like I’m falling.

There’s a new guy, and he’s hottt. That’s HOTTT with three T’s.

First of all, he’s wearing a suit. It’s 8:15 on a hot Tuesday night in August, we’re at a community center that’s showing its budget cuts, and the guy is dressed for… I don’t know, the opera? He’s got that fancy pants look to him. Good breeding. Like generations of his ancestors selected their partners based on a points system. I think racehorses are bred that way.

His hair is dark, but not black. He’s around thirty, and if his hairline is receding, it’s at a rate of one follicle per year. His brown eyes look sharp and inquisitive. He glances at me, then looks away almost immediately, as though he figured me out in a microsecond. As I stare at his perfectly-square, thoroughbred-horse-like jawline, I long for him to flick his attention back over to me and linger.

Instead, he says to our group’s coach, “How does this whole thing work? How many sessions does it take for people to fix their problems?”

I hear a collective gasp from the whole group. I can’t help but smirk. Feather tucks her pale, perfectly straight hair behind her ear and licks her lips. She always does that before she rips someone a new butthole.

As she collects her ammunition of words, her pretty earrings swing gently. People always give her feather-themed jewelry, because of her unusual name.

Feather says, with authority, “Andrew—”

“Drew,” he says, cutting her off. He turns on the grin to soften his rudeness. Damn it, the smile works. His teeth are bright and perfect.

“Drew, I’d like to tell you how many sessions it takes before a person solves their problems, but first, you tell me: How many ties should a man own?”

He blinks and pulls his head back, seemingly caught off guard by Feather’s question. His smile becomes a genuine one, a dimple forming in the cheek visible to me.

“As many as he wants,” Drew says. He looks down at his own tie, a simple blue pinstripe. He frowns at the tie, as if seeing it for the first time.

“Exactly,” Feather says.

He keeps looking at the tie, all his seriousness gone.

“I don’t even like this tie,” he says, laughing.

Oh, be still my beating heart. A good-looking man, laughing at himself? Marry me, New Guy Named Drew. Sweep me up in your thoroughbred-horse arms and carry me off to make sweet, sweet—

“Forget the tie,” Feather says. “If you need help with your style, you can schedule one of my assistants for one-on-one personal shopping. Why don’t you share a few words about why you’re here?”

“If I give it up now, I’ll have nothing left for next week,” he says, chuckling.

Feather nods, makes a note in her little notebook, and turns to the person seated next to the librarian, a white-haired lady who’s been part of the group since long before I started. “Let’s hear from you, Abbie. Have you been making progress talking to your sister about your mother’s reluctance to move into a home?”

With the sigh of someone who’s been waiting to be asked, the woman starts talking about her family drama. Well, I shouldn’t say drama. That word implies that someones problem’s aren’t real. Feather doesn’t like us to say drama.

I put on my best I’m-listening expression and try to pay attention to Abbie. I’m distracted by Drew, though. He’s also paying attention to Abbie. His well-bred dark brown eyebrows push together in concern. He’s also slowly loosening and removing his tie.

Wow.

Paying attention to a woman talking about her problems, AND undressing at the same time? Be still my… everything. I think I’ve just discovered the equivalent of  p**n ography for women, and it’s this.

I want to sit on Drew’s lap, cradle his head in my hands, and lick every square inch of his face.

What’s happening to me? Licking his face? Is this because I didn’t eat dinner, and I can smell the light sweetness wafting over from the cinnamon buns? Why are my boobs feeling so sensitive? This room is warm, but I swear my ni**les are hard right now.

For the next hour, I do my best to keep my face pointed at whoever is speaking. My eyes, however, keep darting over to explore every visible part of Drew.

I’m getting the same feelings I get watching Patrick Swayze movies, by which I mean I’m getting some very intimate sensations. Yearning sensations.

Suddenly, it’s my turn to talk. All eyes are on me, including Drew’s.

“I went on a date and it was really bad,” I blurt out.

Everybody is very still. I definitely have their attention, and Drew’s. I want him to like me, and this is my only chance. We get a lot of people who come to the group once and never come back. We call them sightseers. Drew seems like one of those people.

Everyone is waiting, so I keep talking about my awkward date. “The guy was totally rude. Everything happened so fast. One minute we were ordering pizza, and then he was saying he wouldn’t hire me to sweep his floors.”

Drew straightens up in his chair, looking outraged. “Was this during an interview?”

“No. I thought it was a date.”

Drew looks even more outraged than I feel. “Do I need to kick his ass? Just say the word, and I’ll take care of this jerk.”

A flush of warmth like I’ve never experienced before washes over me. “He didn’t threaten me. He was just… mean. He said mean things.”

Drew’s jaw gets even more rugged and sexy as he grits his teeth. “Just say the word, and I’ll give him a little chat.”

I get so warm, I’m in danger of melting into a puddle of goo.

Around the group’s circle, everyone starts talking at once, and Feather has to clap her hands to get everyone’s attention.

She finally gets the group calm, and then we go through and share reactions. Some people tell me I was brave to put myself out there on a date, and I should keep trying.

I barely hear a word that anyone else is saying. Every time I look over at Drew, he’s looking back at me. I’m still thinking about sitting on his lap and licking his whole face.

I don’t know why I’m suddenly such a freak. This kind of instant crush and weird face-licking fetish has never happened to me before, I swear.