Page 60 of Heartbeat

At the end of my session, I could feel Dr. Foster watching as Jonas and I disappeared from view. I took him to the coffee shop I used to go to around the corner. Not because there was a chance of bumping into Ethan there—for my last couple of sessions he was a no-show—but because they always played Bowie, and that was something Jonas would seriously appreciate. Sure enough, “Five Years” was playing in the background. We walked in, and he quickly went for the same booth I always went for, which was kind of a cool coincidence.

“What in the fuck is that?” he said loudly, getting the attention of the only four other costumers—a middle-aged couple and two teenage girls.

I’d taken off my—Ethan’s—jacket and unknowingly revealed the mark on my neck, which was pretty hard to miss.

“What?” I asked, sitting down across from him.

“That hickey. It’s massive.”

“Shut up.” I self-consciously held my hand to my neck as though to cover it up. “It’s not that big.”

“Not that big? That thing took some serious time. And effort. Good for you.”

The waiter came over. “Can I take your order?” He’d heard most of the conversation and, as such, was unable to not look at the hickey as well.

“White-chocolate mocha, please.” I turned to Jonas, who nodded, and I added, “Two.”

“I bet I know who did it,” Jonas said smugly as the waiter turned and left.

“I doubt you do.”

“The swimmer.”

“How the fuck can you know that?”

“You forget I’m good at this stuff. The guy could barely take his eyes off you.”

“That’s insane; you can’t possibly know he gave me the hickey simply because he was looking at me.”

“True. I can, however, make an educated guess and watch you get all defensive and confirm my initial suspicion.”

“Unbelievable.”

“So,” he said, smiling. “Spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill. We just hung out.”

“Tommy.”

“For a few hours.”

“Is it serious? Are you two dating or something?”

“Are you high? No, we’re not dating. We haven’t even had our first date yet.”

“Yet?”

“We’re going out tonight.”

“Holy shit, this is so awesome!” he said excitedly, just as the waiter came over with our coffee. “I want to meet him.”

“You just met him,” I reminded him, turning to the waiter. “Thanks.”

“Anything else?” the waiter asked.

“We’re good, thank you.”

“I met a friend of yours who happens to be a swimmer. I want to meet the guy who got Thomas Hart to go on a date after—what—two years?”

---