Part 5
The door to his own suite had never looked more foreboding than it did right now. Angel stood outside it, still as a stone, storing up his nerve until he had enough to turn the handle and go in. The faint scent of vanilla wafted under the door and tickled his nose, and he knew instinctively that Cordelia’s own scent would mix with it and overpower him with sensations when he entered.
He took a deep, calming breath, letting the oxygen permeate his dead lungs and suffuse him with borrowed courage. Opening his eyes, it was a quick turn of the handle that allowed him to cross the threshold into the room.
Cordelia’s head whipped around when he opened the door, then closed it softly behind him. She was standing there in a fluffy white robe, a towel clutched in her hand and she looked almost startled for a moment as his eyes caught hers.
Suddenly, it hit him. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t stand around and let her touch him without imploding. He couldn’t touch her without loving her. He had to set up some emotional walls, and quickly. The only way to do that was to escape for a little while, so he did.
He smiled tightly at her, then it fell away as if the expression had never been there at all.
“I’m going to take a quick shower,” he said, looking away from her and striding across the room to the bathroom. “I’ll be out in a few minutes. I guess everything’s ready?” the last question was thrown over his shoulder as he entered the bathroom, almost as if he didn’t expect an answer.
“Yeah, it’s ready,” she said, shock at his hurried, nonchalant attitude making her voice neutral. Was he really so unaffected by this?
“Great!” he said, the false cheerfulness adding a veneer to his words. It struck her that he was covering for something, but she had no clue as to what. The only thing she knew was that he wasn’t being himself, and that brought her guard up as well.
Cordelia couldn’t have said later what changed while he was in the shower, but something did. It started with an errant thought that here she was, waxed, moisturized, and perfumed, way too dressed up for a ridiculous massage session with a friend, when he hadn’t even bothered to shower yet? What had he been doing, polishing his weapons?
It felt damn good to put her heated emotions somewhere other than where they’d been all afternoon.
Her eyes narrowed. The jerk! No time for her, no time to prepare for this, this . . . bawdy, ill-advised massage.
Her hands fisted at her sides. She was the one who’d taken the time to make this bearable. She was the one who’d found the candles, set up the table, and arranged the towels.
Her eyes flashed. Just like a man. No, just like a vampire. A self-absorbed, brooding, ill-mannered vampire who didn’t even acknowledge the hard work she’d put in to make this homework assignment less scary.
Her teeth clenched. Lusting after Angel of all people. Hah! Please. She had more taste than that. So what if he had a hard body. He didn’t really care about her, not if he ignored her and then expected her to do all the work.
Raising her eyebrows and setting her mouth in a straight, rigid line, Cordelia sat down on the edge of the bed facing the bathroom door, Crossed her legs and her arms, and waited.
And waited.
And waited!!
How long does scrubbing take? Or gelling, which he was undoubtedly doing. She rolled her eyes and blew at the bangs that had fallen in her face. He was such a prissy man. So concerned with his appearance when he couldn’t even see his reflection.
In the bathroom, Angel stood beneath the spray, stalling. For some unknown reason, his frustration and bottled-up desire had morphed into anger at Cordelia. From the moment he walked into this bathroom and shut the door, he’d begun to seethe at her, letting himself get more and more angry at her.
All of those candles! What the hell was she thinking? This isn’t some kind of brothel, or anything. it’s just a stupid massage! She didn’t have to make it all cozy and romantic.
The robe! Tied loosely like that, taunting him, gaping open just enough for him to see the skin between her breasts, knowing what was under there but knowing he wouldn’t be allowed to touch her except under the guise of a massage.
Her attitude! That look of surprise when he’d walked into the door. So coy. So obvious! Who did she think she was fooling? Ha! not him. Definitely not this vampire. This vampire wasn’t going to be swayed by her feminine manipulations.
Finally, the door swung open and he stood there, angry, worked into a frenzy of irritation at her. He was wrapped only in a towel, and that was slung low on his hips, hinting at what was waiting underneath. Tiny drops of water clung to his chest in an enticing way, glittering like little diamonds in the half-light.
Cordy swallowed, caught up in his beauty for a moment.
While she stared, he looked his fill. Her knee had separated the bottom half of her robe, pulling the ends apart so that they barely met in her midsection. Her delicately arched foot bounced as she kicked it in her impatience, her arms crossed under her breasts, thrusting them into prominence.
He swallowed, caught up in her beauty for a moment.
Then, in just a few words, he succeeded in bringing himself back to earth. And ruining whatever chance they had left for a civil, soul-baring evening.
“So? What are you just sitting there for? Let’s get this over with,” he said, his eyes darkened with remembered irritation. He walked over to the table and fluffed the towel that would serve as a makeshift pillow.
Oh, that was it, Cordelia thought, her eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?” she said, the anger in her voice barely controlled. “I have been waiting for you forever, and you ask what I’m waiting for?”
“Geez, Cordelia,” Angel shook his head. “Get over it. You wanna go first?” He knew he was pushing her, but she deserved it. They should’ve done this in the basement. In the smelly, cold basement where nothing was warm and cozy and romantic. Then maybe he wouldn’t want to touch her so badly. Maybe he wouldn’t be drowning in her scent. The scent that brought him peace and frustrated the hell out of him at the same time.
She nearly screamed with the sudden, irrational rage that flooded her over his attitude. She didn’t say anything, just stomped over to the table and laid down on her stomach.
“Turn around,” she said coldly, and he did as she asked. She took off her robe, then shifted a towel to lay across her ass so that she was covered, but her back and legs were bare.
“Okay, I’m ready,” she said reluctantly, and sensed Angel turn around. She laid her head to one side, bringing her arms up and crossing them, moving the towel-pillow out of the way and placing her head on her arms.
Angel selected an unscented massage oil as Cordelia lay there and fumed. He breathed deeply, trying to calm himself and push aside his frustration. He knew that if he touched her with all of these volatile emotions, his “extra credit” from earlier would take over his mind. He’d start imagining what it would be like to move aside that towel and touch her, to kiss her, to taste her. . . He closed his eyes and breathed in again, clearing his mind. Only then did he allow his hands to descend to her back.
Cordelia had her eyes squeezed tightly shut as she tried to control her anger. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want him to touch her. She didn’t want his hands on her, she didn’t want. . .
Oh, god, that felt so good. His hands were placing gentle pressure on either side of her spine, working upwards from the small of her back. She felt the massage oil pool in the hollow at the base of her spine, then his fingers dipping into it and working it into her tense muscles.
As pleasant as it was, the soothing massage did nothing to help them ignore the other half of their assignment. The part where Dr. Van Buren, the torture queen, insisted that they talk about their ex loves in great detail.
Angel grimaced as he realized how far from fun talking about his exes would be. His fingers kneaded a little harder as his nervousness grew.
“Let’s get this over with,” Angel said, his voice low and rumbling. It was obvious that he didn’t want to be here, and that in itself only served to fuel Cordelia’s anger at him.
“By all means,” she said haughtily, her voice muffled. “Get started. Heaven knows you have enough women in your past to last through fifty massages.”
He glared at her down-turned head and couldn’t stop the growl from rumbling through his chest.
She had enough sense to ignore the sound, even though it sent pleasurable shivers down her spine.
He gritted his teeth and continued. “You want chronological or order of importance?” he asked, stalling.
She raised an eyebrow in question, even though she knew he couldn’t see her. “Chronological, I guess. If we must.” Her sigh was pure irritation.
“Okay,” he said, sounding bored. “First love was Molly in Ireland. I was thirteen.”
As he worked his fingers over her back, working out knots and kinks she hadn’t known existed, he told her about Molly, his first love. About Jana and Rachel and Moira, and any number of looser and looser women that came after that. As he reminisced, his anger slowly began to dissipate, and his voice turned from a monotonous boredom to a sound resembling golden, thick honey.
Cordelia found herself being soothed by him, soothed by the sound of his voice. She was transported to his past, drawn in by his bald recollection of his errant youth. But instead of feeling repulsed by his licentious behavior, she found herself feeling sorry for young Liam. Because with every girl that he spoke of, every story he told, she saw more and more how lost he’d been, how he’d been searching for something outside of himself.
And then there was Darla.
“Were you attracted to her from the beginning?” Cordelia asked, now caught up in his story telling. Her irritation at him remained, keeping the desire his massage would have released tightly at bay. It simmered on the back burner of her mind, still boiling, but covered, for now.
“Oh, yeah,” Angel said, his eyes far away as he remembered. “I thought she was my salvation. Instead, she was my death.”
He was silent, his hands still upon her back as he relived that fateful night so many years ago and the recent events that had brought those painful memories so close to the surface. Remembering how he’d been so obsessed with her this fall only brought his anger at Cordelia rushing back to the surface, though. He remembered his earlier thoughts about how much he’d needed Cordelia and had been too stupid to see it. And here she was, soft and pliant beneath his hands, and it was too much.
Finally, he spoke. “Turn over,” he said gruffly, and turned away.
Cordelia sat up, then turned on her back and laid back down. She arranged the towel over her waist, then draped a smaller one across her breasts, leaving most of them, the tops and bottoms, exposed.
“Okay,” she said softly, and he turned back to her, pouring massage oil into his hands again and laying them on her right thigh. He seemed disinclined to speak again as his fingers worked the oil into her leg.
Cordelia wasn’t so patient. “And after Darla?”
“I was with Darla, and really only Darla, until Buffy. I had other women, other obsessions, like Dru, but I was devoted to Darla.”
He switched to the other leg.
“I can’t say that I ever really loved her, though. I was loyal, but she didn’t have me like Dru had Spike. I stayed with Darla because I hadn’t found anyone better. Then when I got my soul,” he paused, his hands hovering at her ankles. He moved to stand at the foot of the table, his thumbs lightly grazing the arches of her feet and sending tingles all the way up her spine.
“When I got my soul, it was like I’d been cast into the sunlight, given all of the pain and torture of burning, but wasn’t allowed to die. Darla detested me, and I realized I detested her. I tried to make it work, but I couldn’t. My soul wouldn’t let me. It would be another hundred years before I was able to find someone that I could care for so deeply again.”
He stopped, not wanting to go any further. He didn’t want to keep talking about Darla, because talking about her meant talking about his stupidity of late. And that inevitably led back to the enigmatic woman with him. What a cruel, vicious cycle.
But maybe his most recent love was a safe subject. He nearly laughed at that thought. Yeah, right. Buffy, a safe topic with Cordelia Chase? Ha!
“Buffy,” Cordelia whispered, unable to dislodge the lump in her throat as she anticipated his worship of her.
“Buffy,” Angel confirmed, setting his jaw and giving in to the inevitable. Might as well get it over with quickly. “She taught me to love again,” he said simply, his hands moving up to Cordelia’s torso, working the oil into her hips and her belly, brushing the undersides of her breasts with his palms. Angel was mesmerized for a moment, recognizing the impact he was having on her and hating himself for the responses of his own body at merely touching her skin.
God, this was torture.
Cordelia was similarly uncomfortable. As his hands stroked her, so close to so many erogenous zones, she responded despite her unwilling attitude. Under the towel, her body betrayed her, her breasts hardening and tightening at his touch.
“Buffy made me feel alive again. I’ll always love her for that,” Angel said, his hands stilling for a moment, only to resume again swiftly. God, why had he said that? It didn’t matter if it was true. He knew that Cordelia would take it the wrong way. She would think he was still obsessed with his ex-girlfriend, when slowly, the Slayer had worked her way out of his heart. Absently, he moved up to her shoulders and her upper chest in silence.
He didn’t say anything else, and neither did she. He finished working on her neck and shoulders, then stepped back.
“You’re done,” he said, an edge to his voice.
“Thanks,” she bit back, her eyes icy. “Your turn.”
Angel just stared at her for a moment, then laid down on the massage table on his stomach. In a sudden show of defiance, he didn’t bother covering himself up, just yanked off the towel and laid there in all of his hard muscled glory.
Cordy bit back a gasp as she was treated to the beautiful, uninterrupted planes of his back side. Her eyes lingered a little too long on his ass. She seethed at herself, then at him for flaunting himself that way.
As if Angel could feel her gaze, he said, “Stop ogling me, woman, and start massaging.” Inside, his pride swelled as he realized that his ploy had worked. He’d gotten her attention, all right.
“Woman?” she quoted indignantly, pouring oil into her hand and then vigorously rubbing his back. She massaged him in silence, her teeth clenched.
“Ah, there we go,” he sighed as she hit a tender spot on his back. “On to your exes. How about Wilson?”
“Wilson was not an ex. He wasn’t even close. Just a creep, but you already know that.” she paused for a moment at the bottom of his back and looked warily at the firm globes beneath. Uh-uh, not going to go there, she thought, skipping his ass and working on the backs of his thighs.
Angel smiled inwardly as she avoided his ass. Obviously, she was just as affected by his body as he had been by hers. She moved down his legs in silence, working her small fingers into the crevices of his ankles and feet, bringing blissful relaxation to his body at her touch.
“Turn over,” she said as she finished his feet.
“You missed a spot,” he said, laying still, smiling evilly where she couldn’t see him.
“No way,” she said, her face scrunched up in disgust. “I’m not touching your ass, Angel.”
“Aw, c’mon, Cordy. I mean its not like you want me, or anything,” he taunted. “’sides, isn’t this supposed to be a full body massage?” He knew he was provoking her, but he couldn’t help it.
“Uh-uh,” she said, her hair swinging. “And just what are you going to tell me on the front side? If I’m not touching your butt, I’m definitely not touching anything down there,” she said with disgust. Or she projected disgust anyway, and let the anticipation and longing be squelched inside.
“Fine,” he sighed reluctantly, smiling again when she whipped away as he flipped over and just lay there, not making any move to cover himself. Let her imagination do some calisthenics while she stood turned away from him.
“Put a towel on, Angel,” Cordelia said, irritated and knowing what he was up to. She heard a rustle, then peeked to check if he was sufficiently covered. She ignored the twinge of disappointment when she saw that he was.
“So I know about Wilson. Xander was the one before that?” Angel carefully kept the disgust out of his voice at the mention of the whelp who’d had the audacity to call him Deadboy. What Cordelia ever saw in him was beyond Angel.
“Yeah, Xander.” The fingertips digging so pleasantly into his shins and calves got a little rougher. “That was a mistake. Groping in broom closets isn’t exactly a great thing to add to my resume. I still can’t figure out why I liked him. He was totally in love with Buffy, not me. Or Willow, again, not me. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You must have cared for him a little bit,” Angel said, honestly intrigued by why she’d let the boy into her heart.
“Yeah, I did. It was weird. Most of the time he annoyed me and I was embarrassed to be with him. And then there were moments, snatches in time, where he’d be sweet and loving, and that’s what got me.” She moved up to his thighs, her small fingers working into his skin.
“And then he went and made out with Willow, and I got impaled by a rebar. End of story,” her massage had increased until it began to resemble torture.
“Cordelia, I know I’m tough, but you don’t have to try to gouge your fingers through my skin,” he said, and she whipped her eyes to him as if she’d forgotten that she was even touching him in the first place.
“Sorry,” she said absently, lightening her touch. Her fingers played over his stomach, rubbing his belly and sides, tracing the hard lines defining his six pack.
“And before Xander? Anyone else?”
“No one serious. I had a few dates, but no one I could claim I loved. The closest was probably Darrel, a football player who was older than me. But he died in a freak accident, then came back as a zombie that Buffy had to kill. Not exactly a great track record.”
He wisely kept his mouth shut.
At her own mention of Angel’s ex-girlfriend, his earlier words came back to haunt her. She made me feel alive again. I’ll always love her for that. His words echoed inside Cordelia’s brain, and the hope she hadn’t known existed was drowned by despair. He was still in love with Buffy, just as she’d thought.
And in the strong, glaring emotion of newfound jealousy, Cordelia fanned the flames of their barely stoked anger with each other.
“Speaking again of your violence loving ex, I never could figure out what you saw in Buffy, Angel,” she said, her voice neutral enough not to anger him, only irritate.
“It wasn’t your business then, Cordy,” he reminded her as she rubbed his upper chest and shoulders. He was back to being annoyed with her, what with that skimpy towel she had around her barely clinging to her chest. What was she trying to do, torture him? The little tease!
“Of course it was my business,” she said pettily, frowning as she grazed his nipples, ignoring the twitch his body inadvertently gave at the pleasant sensations. “The two of you in your ill-advised, star-crossed lover dramatic crap made it everyone’s business when you slept together.”
Okay, now she’d really crossed the line. He’d been in love with Buffy. In-love people had sex. How was that a crime?
“I didn’t even know about the curse, Cordelia, how was she supposed to?”
She just pfft’d.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, indignant.
“Did I say anything?” she asked innocently.
Oh, that did it. “You pfft’d. That’s saying something,” he said, glaring up at her.
“Well, it’s just that Buffy should’ve known that everything wouldn’t be perfect. Sex is bad. We all know that,” Cordy said.
“But it still wasn’t her fault,” Angel argued. “And I made her life hell after that.”
“You made all our lives hell, Angel. Even evil, you were obsessed with her,” she spat, her fingers digging into his neck and shoulders.
As she finished the massage, her anger took over her words, making her say things she shouldn’t have even thought, much less said. Jealousy had a funny way of making her talk too much.
“What’s so great about Buffy, anyway? All of you men are so in love with her. So she’s got supernatural strength, so what? She’s got passable looks, I’ll give her that, even if she’s got bad taste in clothes. But her blonde is from a bottle, and she tries too hard. All ‘poor me, my life is tragic’ all the time. Please.” Cordelia rolled her eyes, standing back from Angel and crossing her arms, the massage more than finished.
Angel sat up and glared at her. So he wasn’t in love with Buffy any more. So what? He didn’t have to sit here and let Cordelia malign her like that. Not when Cordelia herself was flaunting her body in front of him and wreaking havoc with his senses.
“You’re just jealous of her, Cordelia,” he said.
Boy, howdy, was that the wrong thing to say.
“Jealous?” Cordelia said, eyes flashing. “I am not jealous of that little twit. What the hell would I have to be jealous of?”
“Well, in high school, because all of the attention was on her when you wanted it to be on you.”
Ouch, that hurt. “Ha! Funny. I don’t think so! She may have had attention all the time, but that’s because she pouted if she didn’t get it. She thought she deserved to be the center of everything, and all of you catered to her every whim. It was pathetic.” She unfolded her arms and gestured aimlessly as she talked, one hand clutching at her towel. “And now? What exactly do I have to be jealous of now, huh? Enlighten me, o wise one,” she sneered.
“Now?” he shrugged. “Maybe because I still care about her,” he said, looking at her closely as he lied through his teeth. If Cordelia returned one iota of the feelings that were burgeoning in him, he wanted to know. Her next words dashed his hopes.
“Pfft! Please,” she scoffed. “Like I care about your long list of skanky ex girlfriends. You can have your little perverted fantasies about whoever you want, even if it’s someone like Buffy.”
“Buffy is not skanky, Cordelia, and you know it,” Angel admonished. “Besides, I think you are jealous. You’ve flirted with me before. I know you think I’m hot.”
Oh, he knew he was digging his own grave, but he had to hold his own in this. He had to control this conversation before it got completely out of hand.
“Please!” she said again, aghast. “That was years ago. Before I knew what you were,” she said, somehow making it sound like his vampirism was loathsome.
His need for control flew out the window as he was struck by what he perceived as her snobbery. Hadn’t he just been thinking that she accepted his demon? Accepted all of him? What a fool he’d been.
“Oh, so now you know what I am, and I’m not good enough?” he said.
“Oh, come on, Angel,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You and I are just friends, it couldn’t be anything more than that.” She shook her head at him as if he were a two year old child who was having trouble understanding why he couldn’t have ice cream at 9 a.m.
He felt like she’d slapped him, his barely acknowledged feelings squashed into nothing. “You’re right, it couldn’t be any more than that.” His lips were stiff as he said it, wanting it to be a lie.
Now she felt like she’d been slapped. She could reject him, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to stand around and let him reject her.
“Why not?” she asked. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Huh?” he said, confused. One minute she’s saying they can’t be more than friends, the next, she wants to know why he thinks so, too. “Didn’t you just say there couldn’t be anything between us?” He didn’t want to answer her question.
“Well, duh!” she said, frustrated. “Weren’t you listening? I just want to know why you think it wouldn’t work with us. Do you actually think I’m not good enough for you?” Her incredulity was obvious.
“Just forget it, Cordelia,” he said angrily. “I don’t want to go into this now.”
“You think I’m not good enough for you, and you want me to just forget about it?” she asked. She marched up to him and poked her finger into his chest, much like she had weeks before when they were fighting over the remote control.
“Please! you’re going to tell me what, in your twisted mind, you think is wrong with me, and you’re going to tell me now. Even if I wanted you, which I DON’T,” she insisted, her chin in the air, “I deserve to know.”
“Cordy—“ Angel pled, suddenly overwhelmed. “I said. Not. Now!” This conversation had gotten so out of control!
“Yes, now, damn it! What the hell kind of problem do you have with me?”
As she stood there in front of him, her eyes flashing, her chest heaving indignation, the lust he felt for her hit him in full force. His demon went wild, the scent and taste of her angry arousal in front of him consuming him as if he’d been thrown into a bonfire made entirely of her. His body reacted, hardening, his eyes dilated, his teeth clenched. He struggled for control, struggled to keep his demon leashed, tightly locked within.
Cordelia’s eyes grew wide as she watched the anger play on his face, his irises rimming with gold as he fought his demon and his volatile emotions. She was struck in that moment by just how beautiful he really was in all of his glory, in the full fledged onslaught of his demon. It didn’t matter that his face hadn’t changed. It didn’t matter that he still looked just as human as he had five minutes before. Because she knew, without a doubt, that it this moment, she was looking into the eyes of the whole Angel, the demon, the man and the soul, all vying for supremacy in this one perfect body.
In that moment, her own body recognized its mate in his, and she was overcome. Her body pulsed with his nearness, a drumbeat of desire that only intensified as the silence thickened around them. And in her own indignation over her loss of control, her anger at him grew. It grew so quickly, so intensely, that soon it consumed everything until her own eyes were dilated in both passion and anger.
Angel finally reined in his demon and spoke, his teeth clenched as he tried to remember the thread of their conversation. How did they get from Buffy to each other? He was so confused.
“I don’t know how the hell we got onto this stupid topic, but I will not stand here and let you tell me what to do, Cordy. It doesn’t come down to there being something wrong with you, or something wrong with me. The fact is, we wouldn’t work, and that’s it. We just wouldn’t.”
She felt like she’d been doused with cold water, his rejection stinging her like a whip’s cruel lash. “We just wouldn’t? What kind of lame ass reason is that, Angel?”
He shrugged, that one gesture dismissing her completely. “Face it, Cordy. We could screw our brains out and probably like it, but we aren’t meant to be together. We just aren’t. We can’t. We won’t. We never will be.”
He said it to mock fate. He said it to convince her. But most importantly, he said it to convince himself.
But Fate, Cordelia, and every part of his splintered personality knew that his answer was shit. It was further from the truth than any lie ever could be. But he wasn’t ready to acknowledge it. He could acknowledge that he wanted to sleep with her, wanted to take pleasure from her body, wanted to sink himself inside her until he forgot his own name, but he wouldn’t acknowledge that he needed her more than he already had. He couldn’t.
And neither could she. Not yet. There were too many obstacles to overcome in her own mind. There were too many signals to sort through, too many messages to work out. Her brain was telling her one thing, her body something else, and her heart something even different. She couldn’t figure out which way was up, and she felt like she’d drown if she didn’t escape soon.
But one thing did stand out at her. One reason to blame for his reluctance to be with her, which shouldn’t be so important to her in the first place, damn it!
“We never will be, huh? Because of Buffy. Because you can’t let go of her. Because you brood until you’re a shell of yourself and pine for a love that can never happen, and you say that I have problems?”
He didn’t even bother to correct her because he’d be there until next year if he did.
She shook her head. “Fine, Angel. Whatever,” she said, standing back and glaring at him. “Like I said, there’s no way I’d ever want to be with you, anyway, so what’s the point of talking about it? It’s not even a hypothetical.”
They stared at each other for a moment, so much said, yet so much left unsaid. They’d both said all the wrong things tonight, and it was too late to take any of them back. She finally broke the stare, walked over to her pile of clothes and gathered them in front of her like a shield.
“I’ll be here tomorrow at 4 p.m. to go to the session,” she said, then looked at him one last time with an unreadable expression as she walked out of the door.
He sank down onto the edge of the bed and stared at the door, feeling like she’d just walked out of his life. Quickly, before it could consume him, he tamped down the feeling and latched back on to his anger.
Lately, Cordelia made him so, so angry. Why she did was still a mystery. All of the animosity they’d had toward each other in the past couple of months, before Dr. Van Buren and her touchy feely homework, had turned from petty disagreements in to hurtful, mud-slinging shouting matches.
How had they ever let themselves get to this point?
He knew the answer was out there somewhere, but it had decided to hide from him. And tomorrow, with Dr. Van Buren, the hits were sure to just keep on coming.