Page 29 of Done with You

Between finding out Oona was Rayma’s sister, that they were going to be staying under the same roof, and seeing his brother after so long, Aiden was a little overwhelmed.

Why couldn’t anger management have sponsors like AA?

Because now would be the perfect time to call a sponsor.

Not that he was angry, but he was just … struggling to cope with everything that had been thrown at him. Maybe he didn’t need a sponsor, but just some better coping tools.

The thought of having a lack of coping tools sent a flash of red-hot anger coursing through him. If he had a therapist, he’d fucking have tools. But the woman with the beauty mark under her eye and great legs turned him away. She refused to treat him because he’d seen all of her tattoos … once.

He pissed, washed his hands, and then splashed some cold water on his face.

He could do this.

This week was not about him. It was about Jordan and Rayma. Jordan had extended an olive branch to Aiden with the hopes of rebuilding their relationship. This week was about that. About family and two people who loved each other coming together.

He needed to get over his own shit, get over Oona and be there for Jordan.

He opened the bathroom door, only to literally bump into Oona as he stepped out.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, the shock in her voice dousing the anger he’d felt toward her a moment ago. She had linens and pillows piled in her arms and couldn’t see where she was going.

He cleared his throat.

“Just toss the stuff on the couch, Oons. I’ll make up Aiden’s bed later,” Rayma said, emerging from her and Jordan’s bedroom.

Jordan settled them in the living room, which was painted in soft beige and brown. The sectional was a dark brown leather, and a black La-Z-Boy sat invitingly in the corner.

Plates, napkins, pizza, sparkling water, and wine were out for everyone, as well as some cut up veggies and dip.

“My baby knows how to put out a spread,” Rayma said with a hint of sarcasm as she took a seat at one end of the longest part of the sectional. Jordan took the La-Z-Boy, which left Aiden and Oona to sit closest to each other on the other side of the couch. “So, Oons, how was your show last week? You said you were going to send me pictures, but you never did.”

Aiden could tell Oona really wanted to look his way, but she was resisting the urge so forcefully, that a cord in her neck popped out. She reached for a slice of pizza and a plate, which forced her to lean closer to him, her elbow brushing his knee, before sitting back against the couch, and turning her focus away from Aiden completely. “Yeah, sorry. I have some, our photographer took some great ones. I just haven’t gone onto my Google Drive and downloaded them yet.”

“Oona does pole dancing and burlesque,” Rayma said to Aiden. “It’s so freaking hot, right, Oons?”

“It’s uh … it’s fun,” Oona replied, taking a bite of her pizza.

“Sounds fun,” Aiden said. “You have to have a lot of upper body strength for that, I hear.”

“I’m just taking beginner pole classes, and so is Pasha,” Rayma added. “But we only go like once a week, so we’re nowhere near as strong as Oona.” Her eyes glittered with pride as she smiled at her big sister. “And the burlesque is just hot. I mean, the pole dancing is hot, too. But that chafes your thighs and is really hard work. The burlesque is just sexy.”

“I feel like that would really work your inner thighs from all the squats,” Jordan added. “At least from the short clips of the videos Rayma shoves into my face and makes me watch.” He took a sip from his beer and winked at Rayma when she stuck her tongue out at him.

“It’s a lot of squatting and stuff, yeah,” Oona said. All Aiden could see of her at the moment was her profile, but that was enough. A sexy pink flush crept up from her neck into her cheeks and even her ears, the more they talked about pole and burlesque. Clearly, she hated the attention on her, which sat so weird with him, considering she performed on stage with barely any clothes on in front of dozens of people.

Then again, that was Luna Love on stage, not Dr. Oona Young.

Maybe she really did have a split personality.

Was that safe for a therapist?

What if the patient suddenly found themselves being treated by Luna and not Oona? Was Luna also licensed to practice therapy? How did that all work?

He’d taken a few training courses in mental health and how to deal with people and situations concerning mental breakdowns and stuff. But it’d been more about risk management and deescalating a dangerous situation, not diagnosing someone’s disorder, or how to deal with specific disorders.

“So I want to hear about the wedding,” Oona said, reaching for the glass of wine that Jordan had set down for her. She put the glass to her lips, but her throat didn’t move. She didn’t actually take a sip.

Did her family not know she didn’t drink?

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