Page 72 of Desire or Defense

He bends over and rests his elbows on his knees.

Taking my hand off of his arm, I move it to his broad, muscled back, moving it back and forth over the expanse of his shoulders. I hate that his parents were so awful.

“Is that why you don’t drink?” I ask.

He nods. “I don’t want to be anything like either of them.”

“You’re not,” I tell him honestly. Because he’s a genuinely good person. And I want him to believe that as much as I do.

I continue to rub his back, hoping to comfort him, but he starts shaking silently. I think he’s crying at first, then realize he’s laughing. It’s a humorless laugh, but definitely a laugh.

“You’re telling me how wonderful your parents are, meanwhile my Dad is literally a drug dealer.” He shakes his head, looking over at me. “You have to admit, it’s almost funny how mismatched we are.”

“I like you for you, and it has nothing to do with your parents. But I am sorry they suck so bad.”

He huffs out another laugh.

“My parents weren’t perfect, maybe they weren’t pimps or drug dealers, but they were far from perfect.”

“Did you just say pimps?”

“Uh, yeah.”

He snorts a laugh. “You know, my therapist would be jealous of you.”

“Why?”

“You’ve gotten me to talk about my parents more in one week than he has in over a month.” He turns his expression back to the screen again.

“I’m more than happy to listen.” I squeeze his hand. “But you should talk to him about your family. It would help. After losing my parents, I didn't stay in therapy as long as Noah, but in the few months I talked to a counselor, it helped a lot.”

“Is that how you’re able to stay so positive? Because of therapy?” he asks.

“Maybe, although I’m definitely not always positive. I do this weird thing, actually…”

“Yeah? What?”

I bite my bottom lip, feeling self-conscious. “Well, I think of three things I’m grateful for every day. And I try to focus on those three things.”

“Really? He asks, not judging me, but clearly surprised. “And it works?”

I sit up in my chair, angling myself to look at him. “Try it!”

“Nooooo….”

I nudge him with my hand. “Come on. Just three things. That’s it.”

He begrudgingly agrees, squinting as he thinks. “Andie’s lips. Andie’s legs…” He thinks some more. “And Andie’s belly button.”

I burst out laughing, thank goodness we’re alone in this theater. “You’re ridiculous.”

He opens his eyes, grinning wolfishly, then leans in and gives me a slow, tender kiss. When he settles back in his seat, I’m still fuzzy from the kiss.

“I think I want to stay in therapy. Technically, my month of counseling is done. But I’m going to talk to him about continuing," he whispers.

His words instantly clear the fog of the kiss and I look over at him. “I think that’s great.”

“So, you’re okay with dating an emotional basket case with daddy and mommy issues?” he asks, looking over at me with a smirk.