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I’m still not sure I can agree with that part. So, I just let his words linger in the hot summer air. “You do look good, though. I can tell you’re in a better place.”
“I have to thank my therapist too, I guess. Though I wouldn’t call her an angel. She’s a little meaner.”
I chuckle. “That means she’s good for you.” She’s the one woman he can’t charm.
“Yeah.” He lightens. “She’s helping me get to know myself better. Turns out, when you spend years drinking and fucking and adrenaline-chasing, it doesn’t leave much room for self-awareness.”
“Go figure,” I say with a shrug, smiling. Though, I know exactly what he means. My counselor helped me reach the same conclusion…when you run and numb, you can’t work on yourself. You have to be courageous enough to change. To stare your monsters in the eyes and stir up some major dust in your life.
Jake believes I was the catalyst for said dust storm. His dust storm.
“Go figure.” He echoes, and looks to me again. “Did you know not everyone has butlers?”
I feign shock. “No. How horrible!”
“I know. And even do their own laundry? I was horrified to learn that.”
“Some people have to scrub their toilets and make their own food.”
“I didn’t sleep for three days.”
I can’t help but laugh. “So,” I say, sobering. Ever defaulting back to a journalist, even though my new job is in Corporate Communications. “Would you say you’re ‘self-aware’ now?” I add, “Off the record.”
A playful glint flares in his eyes. “I’m getting there.”
I lean back, letting my feet fall back to the pavement. I sharply cross my legs. “Then tell me the good, the bad, and the ugly.”
“What?”
“Start with the good. What are the good things about yourself?”
He hesitates. “I, um…”
“The good things.” I feel the need to elaborate, so he doesn’t take the easy way out. “That doesn’t have anything to do with looks or charm or how good you are in bed.”
My cheeks heat when I say it. The words completely bypassed my brain.
He eyes me with that half-cocked smile, but he still doesn’t know what to say.
“Jake Mitchell. Don’t tell me you don’t know how to promote yourself. I’ve seen you do it on every flatscreen across the city.”
“That’s different. That’s for the cameras.”
“And? You should be able to do the same with me.”
He groans as if to say, Do I have to?
I quirk my eyebrow. When has he ever had a problem with this? Maybe the counseling sessions are working…
“Okay, fine. You win. I’m protective, I guess.”
“You are,” I correct. “I’ve seen it in action.”
“I’m protective. And giving.”
I let him have that one, though that could also be filed under how good he is in bed.
“And compassionate.”
