Shameless (The Therapist #2), стр. 38
“Wow,” Will says, laughing again before sipping his drink.
“What, you don’t believe me? You think I’m exaggerating? Because I'll show you how terrible it is. Well, I’ll probably have to hail an Uber because I’m pretty drunk, but once I get a ride, I’ll show you how shitty of a place it is. Don’t think I won't, Will with the magnificent beard and sexy cologne.”
Will laughs again. “Wow, okay. Then show me.”
“What?”
“Show me where you work. I’d love to see it, because I don’t think it can really be as bad as you say.”
I frown, pausing for a minute and hoping my brain will talk itself out of this, but all I feel is the alcohol flowing through me, and my inhibitions crashing to the floor.
“What about your girlfriend?” I ask.
“We’re on a break, remember? Haven’t you ever seen Friends?”
I smile like a kid on Christmas, because I fucking love that show.
“All right then,” I say, pulling out my phone to book an Uber. “Let’s go.”
Ten minutes later, Will pays both of our tabs, and the two of us walk out of the restaurant together.
Chapter Twenty-Five
~ Tessa ~
“See?”
Will walks into the clinic behind me, both of us on wobbly legs, and he takes in the sight of my place of employment and annoyance. When I see the room, it’s nothing more than a shapeless box where I’m judged, which is why I compared it to a courtroom. Judy Milton is the authoritative judge and my father and Missy are the onlookers in the Gallery, witnessing it all take place for their amusement, while I'm berated on the witness stand day after day.
While I wallow in the emotions I feel every time I step into this place, Will walks in and looks around. He doesn't look affected by being here at all, like he has no clue how terrible it is to work here for my mother. He shrugs before turning and smirking at me.
“What?” I ask, feeling annoyed.
“I don't see what's so bad about it, and I don’t think I smell any dog shit,” Will answers.
“Ugh, I should've known not to trust a stranger,” I reply as I lean over the counter and lay my face on it. The cold countertop feels good on my hot skin. “It’s a terrible place… wait. What's your name again?”
The room is silent for a beat before he speaks again.
“Wow, really?” he replies, just as his name snaps back into my mind.
“Will!” I bellow, popping my head off the counter. “I was just kidding. Of course I knew that.”
“Yeah, right. Anyway, Tessa—I didn't forget your name—if you see this place as being so horrible, maybe you should really consider working somewhere else. I know you don't want to hear that, but when I walked in here, it didn't feel like a shitty courtroom, or whatever you called it. So, maybe it’s just the way to you.”
“Oh, god. What, are you trying to be my therapist now? I already have one of those.”
“No, I’m not trying to be your therapist. I don't even know you,” Will replies, frowning. “I’m just saying you should leave a place if all you can associate it with is unhappiness. At the end of the day, you're going to do whatever you want. I just hope that whatever you choose makes you happy, because I get the feeling that maybe you're not.”
Combining whiskey sours with the words of a complete stranger has filled me with a rare combination of emotions. I’m sad, stressed out, and annoyed all at the same time. Will is right, Missy is right, and even Scott was right. Working here with my judgmental mother wreaks havoc on my state of mind. She destroys my confidence with her every word, which I’m starting to think is her main objective. I don't even know why I’m still listening to her at this point. I guess I’m just used to it, and I’ve been doing it my entire life. Some forms of brainwashing are nearly impossible to break away from.
I let out a cheerless sigh, which is followed by tears filling my eyes and sliding down my face. I know this is being spurred by the alcohol, but the tears that fall are real, nonetheless.
“Oh, wow,” Will stammers. “Hey, I wasn't trying to be mean or anything. I’m sorry. Please don't cry.”
I take a deep breath, trying to gain control of my rampant emotions. I’ve been down this road too many times. I have to fight it, even if the liquor is giving my mother's influences newfound strength.
By the time I’ve pulled myself together, Will is next to me, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. I feel a strong urge to lean over and cry into his chest, but I resist. Instead, I look up and see Will’s brown eyes looking down at me. Through all the bullshit, I’d forgotten how gorgeous he is. When I went to sit next to him, it certainly wasn't because I was looking for a shoulder to cry on. Now that he's close to me, I remember what I wanted when I first laid eyes on him.
“You okay?” Will asks, staring down at me.
“Umm, yeah,” I say. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
We look at each other, both of us stuck in a trance. Thoughts of what it’d be like to fuck Will flow through my mind like a dam has broken within me, and when I lift myself to my tippy toes to kiss him, I have no desire to restrain myself. For a moment, I think Will is going to push me away, but when I feel his tongue slide into my mouth and the strength of his hands pulling me closer, I know he wants it, too.
Our kisses are fueled by a strong combination of alcohol and lust. It doesn't matter that we’re in the dark lobby of the clinic, or that Will is only on a break from his girlfriend. We move like we