Page 123 of The Most Perfect Wrong

My brain stalls. Jesus Christ. It’s not like I’m ogling him, but damn—those abs could give Ryan’s a run for their money. Trying not to stare, I force my eyes anywhere but on him.

“Um…” I scramble for something—anything—to focus on. The wall. Perfect. “Good morning,” I mumble, sipping my coffee like it’s a lifeline.

The discomfort is overwhelming, an awkward cocktail of mortification and uncertainty. I don’t know this man, not really, but here I am, standing in his kitchen after last night’s debacle.

“I’m just going to take this upstairs,” I add quickly, clutching my mug. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

“You’re not in my hair at all.” He gestures to the stools at the counter. “In fact, I’d love the company.”

“Really?” I grimace.

He nods.

Oh, my hell. I’ve got to get over this. Sliding onto a stool, I grip my coffee cup and blurt, “I’m just going to rip the bandaid off. I’m so sorry about last night. I’m mortified. I’m just some random girl who’s all but moved into your home, then handcuffed your friend to the railing. Compromising positions doesn’t even begin to cover it. Seriously, I’m so sorry.”

Leo’s lips twitch, his expression softening as he steps away from the counter. “You’ve nothing to apologize for, love,” he says, his tone easy and warm. “Honestly, I was more amusedthan anything. And as for the compromising positions—let’s just say I’m glad to see my friend being so well taken care of.” The smile he flashes is both teasing and disarming. “I’m happy for you both. Really.”

I let out a breath, the weight of my embarrassment lifting—slightly.

“Gah!” I bury my head in my hands, laughing despite myself. When I look back up at him, I shake my head. “Thank you. You don’t even know how stupid I felt. I barely slept.”

“I can only imagine what was going through your head,” he says with a soft laugh, moving to the espresso machine.

“What are you doing up this early?” I ask, cradling my coffee.

He glances over while pulling a shot. “I always wake up this early. I like to work out and have some quiet before the girls wake up.”

“I get that,” I say, nodding. “Ryan mentioned you guys were in Utah. How was that?”

Leo leans back against the counter, folding his arms, his mug cradled in one hand. “It was good. We bought a place there a couple years ago. Vivian’s family lives nearby, so we spend the holidays there—skiing, catching up with friends. It’s a nice change of pace.”

I nod, Leo’s casual demeanor makes it surprisingly easy to talk to him. But then I remember he’s a therapist—this is what he does, talks to people—and I can’t help wondering what he must be thinking about the whole reason I’m here.

“Listen, Cooper…” His tone is gentle. “I hope you don’t mind—Ryan’s filled me in on some of the things you’ve been going through.” He grins, the corners of his mouth lifting in a way that feels reassuring rather than prying. “Actually, he’s been filling me in on you for months now. He’s got a bit of a thing for you, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

I laugh softly, the tension easing as I smile into my cup. “Yeah… I’ve noticed.”

“Well, I just want you to know that you’re welcome here. Anytime. Vivian and I are happy to have you—even after Ryan moves out next week, if you need a place to land.”

“Thank you. That means lot.”

“Of course.” He pauses, then hesitates, a flicker of caution crossing his face. “How are you doing… with everything?” He gestures vaguely, as if trying to encompass all of it. “And no pressure to talk to me—you can tell me to fuck off if you’d prefer.”

“I’m okay.” I manage a soft smile, even as my voice wavers. “Just trying to process it all…” Dammit. Tears prick the corners of my eyes, and I struggle to get the words out. “You know?”

Leo nods, his expression warm and understanding. He steps closer to the island, leaning forward on his elbows. “I can only imagine how hard all of this is for you. Look, I’ve met with a lot of couples over the years. Many, unfortunately, in situations like yours. I know leaving wasn’t easy—took a lot of courage. And damn, I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

I nod, choked up, and afraid I’ll cry if I try to speak.

He continues. “If you ever need someone to talk to, I have a friend, Meredith. She specializes in this kind of therapy. I really think she could be great for you.”

I give him a small smile, just enough to acknowledge the gesture. I don’t want therapy—not now, anyway—but I appreciate his thoughtfulness.

“Plus,” he adds with a grin. “She’s kick-ass, and I think you’d get along brilliantly with her.”

I swallow hard, forcing back the tears threatening to spill. “Thanks, Leo. I’ll think about it.”

Before he can say anything else, we’re interrupted.

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