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“See what you did there?” Willow asks, pointing with one French-manicured nail. My brow wrinkles in confusion. “You thought about him when I asked his name. You looked to the side, accessed your memory bank, and smiled. That smile was a subconscious reaction.”
“I’m not sure I understand your point.”
Totally untrue. I’m positive I don’t understand her point.
She smiles. “Your mind has classified Blake as a good memory, a pleasant experience. Your subconscious has already decided he’s safe.”
“Then why did I freak out when I thought he might kiss me?”
Willow studies me. “Do you panic with any male touch?”
I nod. “Everyone except Mark. I don’t panic with him.”
“Tell me about Mark.”
How do I explain our relationship to someone who likely won’t understand?
“Mark is the person I’m closest to. We grew up together, joined the Army together, were in the same platoon for several years before – you know. He led the mission to rescue me. He literally saved my life. He was badly injured earlier this year and spent months in a military hospital. Now he’s home with me, recovering. He’s just – he’s my person, and I’m his.”
“You said you grew up together. Are you related?”
“Not by blood. After his dad committed suicide, my parents became his guardians.”
“So you lived in the same house?”
“He moved in with us when he was fifteen.”
“So you’re best friends?” Willow clarifies.
“Yes.”
I watch her face. I recognize her skeptical look. She believes Mark and I are more than friends. I’ve never understood why people find it so hard to believe honest, platonic friendships can’t exist between men and women.
She tilts her head. “You’re able to be affectionate with Mark?”
I nod.
“If he were to suddenly hug you, would you panic?”
I make a face. “No.”
“If he were to kiss you, how would you react?”
I narrow my gaze. “I’m comfortable with Mark. We know each other inside and out. We trust each other. We’ve been best friends for almost twenty-five years. He helped me survive the worst period of my life, and I’m helping him through his. We’re close. We’re affectionate. We hug, we kiss each other’s cheeks, we lean on each other when we watch movies. But there’s nothing sexual or romantic about our relationship.”
Sensing my annoyance, Willow shifts the subject. “How well do you know Blake?”
“Not well,” I admit. “He’s an acquaintance. But Tom knows him pretty well, and he’d have said something if going out with Blake was a bad idea.”
“Tom is the other male friend you mentioned?”
“Yes. He works with me, and he’s very protective of me.”
“You became friends after your trauma?”
I nod.
“And you spend time with him?”
