Page 104 of Dreamscape Therapies

Shane settles back into his chair, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “So?”

“We met when I started seeing him for dream therapy.”

Shane nods solemnly. “Yes, for the ex, right?”

I look at Shane again, and despite myself, I smile. There’s something almost sweet about how unapologetic he is about it. He isn’t trying to intimidate me. He isn’t suspicious. He just genuinely wants to know me.

I nod. “Technically.”

Then he asks, “So which one of you made the first move?”

Jay groans while I chuckle at his intrusive question, and the conversation keeps flowing.

By the time we finish dinner, I’ve completely lost track of how many glasses of wine Jay has had. Shane, apparently, has no such problem. He’s still sitting across from us looking perfectly composed, while Jay has become increasingly relaxed beside me. His arm is draped across the back of my chair, his fingers occasionally brushing my shoulder, and every few minutes he leans over to whisper something in my ear that has absolutely nothing to do with whatever Shane and I are talking about.

I’m starting to think Shane finds the whole thing adorable.

“He’s drunk,” he finally says, watching Jay drain the last of his wine with an amused smile.

Jay immediately looks across the table, offended. “I’m not drunk. You’re drunk.”

Shane gives him the patient look of someone who has heard this argument many times before. “Right. Of course I am.”

“I am not,” Jay insists, though the slight slur in his words does absolutely nothing to support his case. He sets his empty glass down with exaggerated care, then looks at Shane with sudden, sentimental seriousness. “I’m really glad you came.”

Shane’s expression softens. “Me too.”

“No, I mean it.” Jay turns toward him, his words growing increasingly enthusiastic as he struggles to form them. “I’m really glad you finally got to meet my mate.”

He giggles.

Actually giggles.

“Meet my mate,” he repeats, apparently fascinated by the alliteration. “I bet you can’t say that ten times fast. Meet my mate. Meet my mate. Mee mah mate. Me ma—”

A hiccup cuts him off.

I bite my lip, desperately trying not to laugh.

Shane doesn’t even bother hiding his grin. “How old are you again?”

Jay squints at him as though this is a complicated question. “Twenty-six.”

“Uh-huh.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m old enough to know when the party is over.”

Shane pushes his chair back and stands, wiping his mouth with his napkin. I start to shift in my seat, thinking I should probably help clear the table, but Jay immediately tightens his arm around me and makes a miserable noise.

“Nooo. I don’t wanna get up.”

“You don't have to,” I tell him, trying not to laugh.

“I’m comfortable.”

“I noticed.”