On Dublin Street

Talk about a wake-up call.

My muscles sunk into the bed as Braden crawled up my body, his eyes smiling down at me as he braced himself above me. I could feel his hard on rub against my wet center. “Morning, babe.”

I caressed his waist, scoring my nails lightly across his skin in a way I knew he liked. “Morning to you, too. And what a happy morning it is.”

He laughed at my goofy grin and fell off me to lie at my side. I turned to check the clock but my eyes caught on the object on my desk. I bolted upright, staring at it, wondering if I was actually seeing right. I felt Braden at my back and his chin came down on my shoulder.

“Do you like it?”

A typewriter. A shiny, black, old-fashioned typewriter sat on my desk beside my laptop. It was beautiful. It was just like the one my mom had promised to buy me. Just like the one I’d told Braden my mom had promised to buy me. The one she didn’t buy me because she’d died before she could.

This was an amazing gift. A thoughtful, beautiful gift. And it was more than sex.

I felt the pressure on my chest before I could do anything to stop it, my brain fogging up like it too was too full. The tingles exploded across my skin as my heart galloped out of control.

“Jocelyn,” Braden’s worried voice penetrated the fog, and I reached for his hand to reassure him. “Breathe,” he murmured in my ear, his hand squeezing mine, his other on my hip, holding me into him.

I breathed in and out in rhythm, taking back control, letting my lungs open, my heart rate slow, my brain unfog itself. Exhausted, I leaned back into Braden’s chest.

After a minute or two, Braden spoke, “I know you don’t want to talk about why you’re taking these panic attacks, but… do they happen a lot?”

“Sometimes. More lately.”

He sighed and my body moved as his chest moved. “Maybe you should talk to someone about them?”

I pulled away from him, unable to look at him. “I already am.”

“You are?”

I nodded, hiding behind my hair. “A therapist.”

His voice was quiet. “You’re seeing a therapist?”

“Yeah.”

My hair was brushed back behind my ear, his fingers gliding along my jaw to turn my face to his. His eyes were kind, concerned. Understanding. “Good. I’m glad you’re talking to someone at least.”

You’re beautiful. “Thank you for my typewriter. It’s beautiful.”

Braden gave me an uneasy smile. “I didn’t mean to cause a panic attack.”

I kissed him quickly, reassuringly. “That’s my bullshit, don’t worry about it. I love it. It was really thoughtful.” And more. To push out the ‘more’, I gri

Just as my head descended Braden stopped me, grasping me by the upper arms to pull me back up. I frowned. I knew he wanted it. He was throbbing in my grip for it. “What?”

His expression had changed so quickly, his eyes dark, his features granite. “You go down on me because you want to, not because of the typewriter. It was just a gift, Jocelyn. Don’t go fucking it up in your head and twisting it into something else.”

I let this sink in and finally I nodded. “Okay.” I squeezed him a little harder and his nostrils flared. “Then I’m going down on you in return for you going down on me.”

Slowly, he let me go and rested back on his elbows. “That I can work with.”

***

“The book is coming along then?” Dr. Pritchard asked, seeming pleased.

I nodded. “I’m getting there.”

“And the panic attacks?”

“I’ve had a few.”

“When did those occur?”

I told her and when I finished she lifted her gaze and there was something in it I didn’t understand. “You told Braden you were seeing me?”

Oh hell, was that the wrong thing to do? It had just slipped out. I don’t know why… “Yeah, I did.” I pretended like I didn’t care.

“I think that’s good.”

Wait. What? “You do?”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think I do?”

I made a face. “Next question.”

***

I saw Braden nearly every day after that morning. We spent the next week hanging out. Ellie, Braden, Je

Monday night, Braden came over after he’d gone to the gym—we had memberships at different gyms for which I was thankful. I needed to focus when I was exercising—we’d hung out with Ellie, and Braden had stayed the night. Tuesday night I went on my first official required business di

“It’s too much,” Braden had explained after asking me to accompany him to the di

We met Thomas Prendergast and his wife Julie at Tigerlily. I wore a new dress and tried to be as charming as possible. Well, charming in the only way I know how. Thomas was older than Braden and much more serious, but he was friendly and clearly respected Braden. Julie was like her husband, sedate, quiet, but friendly. Friendly enough to ask personal questions. Personal questions Braden helped me deflect.

I rewarded him well for that later.

Overall, the di

Replete, I lay in the tangled sheets of his bed, staring at his ceiling. His bedroom was as contemporary as the rest of the duplex. Low, Japanese bed, wardrobes built into the walls so they didn’t take up space. An armchair in the corner by the window. Two bedside cabinets. Nothing else. He needed some pictures at least.

“Why don’t you talk about your family?”

My whole body tensed, the breath whooshing out of me at the question I was completely unprepared for. My head twisted on my pillow to stare at him incredulously. He wasn’t looking at me warily, like he was waiting on me freaking out. He just looked determined. I sucked in my breath and looked away. “I just don’t.”