Life on the Level by Zoraida Cordova Read Free Book Online Page B

feel connected when you say their names.”
    I laugh. “I’m sorry about earlier. I think I just freaked. It felt like too much. This place, and… you know. I’m still not sure I belong here.”
    “Because you’re not like the rest of the people you listened to today?”
    “Among other things. Don’t get all shrinky on me right now, please.”
    He laughs. “I don’t even know what to say to that. But all right. Tell me. What’s on your mind?”
    You, naked on top of me. You, kissing me like you would die if you didn’t. You. Just you.
    “I like the way you speak to people. I like that you make everyone feel comfortable. It’s important for me. I know I didn’t share the way others did.”
    “Take your time.”
    “I don’t think I know how.”
    “That’s okay, too.”
    I shake my head. I want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. “Why are you so… so ?”
    “So what?”
    I run my hands through my curls, tangling them even more than they already are. “I don’t know. Nice? Understanding? What’s wrong with you? There has to be some deep dark secret that you’re not telling anyone. No one is that perfect all the time.”
    He stares at me, lips slightly apart. The corners pull up on one side, revealing that dimple. I want to dive into that dimple and swim laps.
    “You think I’m perfect?”
    I flush with heat. “Shut up, like you don’t know everyone here wants you.”
    “River…” I watch his broad chest rise and fall. I have his torso—all of him, really—etched into my memory. He looks up at the ceiling, like he’ll find his answers in the wooden boards and the skylight.
    “Hutch…”
    “I’m far from perfect. Maybe it’s easy to think of me as perfect because I’m not a patient. Trust me, I’ve got my own skeletons.”
    “Real ones?”
    He barks a laugh. “I guess you’ll never know.”
    “That’s the thing, actually.” I don’t remember the last time I was this nervous talking to a guy. One time my dad’s friend likened me to a bull rider, grabbing life by the horns, but my daddy said no, I wasn’t the rider—I’m the bull, and the world is my china shop. But now my tongue is leaded, and I can’t decide where to stick my hands because my sweats don’t have pockets. Clothes should always have pockets. “I kind of—wanted to keep you as my counselor.”
    “I’m sorry,” he says. “I already spoke to Helen, and she thinks you’d make a great addition to Steven’s group.”
    “Damn, that was quick. You didn’t waste a second.”
    “River,” he whispers my name. He holds out his hands helplessly. He takes a step towards me. I reach out and place my hands in his. My hands graze his palms. These are the same palms that pinned me down in his bed. That caressed my face while he kissed me. Now, they’re pulling away from me. I look over my shoulder. Day one and I already feel reckless.
    “I thought we agreed it was necessary,” he says. “It wouldn’t be right. Anything else would distract you from what you came here to achieve. I’ll get in the way of your recovery.”
    “Relax,” I say, “I’m not doing it because of what you might think.”
    He frowns. “You don’t know what I think, River.”
    “I think I do, Hutch. I’m not some dewy-eyed schoolgirl. I’m not looking for round two if that’s what you’re getting at. I thought you might understand me better, but I guess I was wrong.”
    Someone walks past the door and swings it wide open. Patrick Taylor, or was it Taylor Patrick? Either way, my daddy always told me to be wary of a man with two first names. Since his name was Clark Thomas, he knew firsthand.
    “Oh hey, Hutch.” he says. “Sorry, I thought group was over.” He wheels a mop and bucket into the room.
    “We’re finished here,” Hutch says, and his jaw ripples as he bites down on his words. “Room’s all yours, Taylor.” His tone is friendly, cool, and even. But his eyes say differently. Whatever he was going to say