Stroke It (A Standalone Sports Romance) by Ivy Jordan

Author:Ivy Jordan [Jordan, Ivy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-12-22T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

QUINN

I sat clicking my pen in my chair and staring at the clock above the door. It was Friday, and slowly but surely, the clock showed that Sawyer’s appointment was over. When he missed Wednesday, I considered that maybe he’d just been exhausted. I didn’t even charge the missed appointment fee because I got the feeling it was his mother paying the bill, not him. I called her to let her know and counted on him showing up on Friday.

But Friday came and now his appointment time was over. I hadn’t gotten any kind of phone call to let me know that he wouldn’t be there. I thought back to Wednesday morning when he’d woken with that nightmare, and I got the feeling that that was what this was about. He felt embarrassed, or at least uncomfortable knowing that I’d seen that.

I needed to make things right with him. I had some appointments later in the day, but none of them were pressing and important. I decided that I needed to tend to this problem with Sawyer first, especially if he had friends in the area who had drugs. It was hugely unlikely that that was the case, but my mind was operating in full panic mode thinking about what he might be up to because of my reaction. We’d had such a nice night out, and I’d fallen asleep against him, and everything seemed to be going perfectly. When he woke up, I’d almost thought that he’d hurt himself. Part of what had gone on, why he’d left so quickly, had to do with my reaction, I was certain.

Had I reacted poorly? I’d been a bit afraid, sure, but I’d known what to do. I knew better than to try and hold him and shake him out of it. Maybe he’d wanted to be held, and I’d been cold and distant. I’d drive myself crazy trying to find out without talking to him. Appointments finally canceled, I picked up my purse, deciding to leave my papers at the office. I wouldn’t need them over the weekend, anyway.

I began to leave my office when, in the waiting area, I saw someone sitting down. I worried that it was one of my patients and that I was going to have to awkwardly explain to them that I couldn’t see them that day, but it was somebody else.

Stacy was skinny, especially when she wore baggy sweatpants and a loose sweatshirt. Her hair hung down flat and dull off her head, the brown in it matching the brown in her eyes. She had a pointed face with sharp, almost harsh features, made all the more harsh by her drug use; she’d grown skinnier as she’d grown older, the hollows of her cheeks a bit more pronounced. The only signs of youth she still had were the freckles on her cheeks, and the slight color that sometimes rose to them.

She looked nearly like a skeleton sitting in the chair, not because of her weight, but because of the vacant expression on her face.

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