Page 67 of Gabriel
He considers me for a moment, mulling over how he wants to respond. I’m not sure the revelation that I go to therapy—albeit reluctantly—deserves this much consideration, so beingthe avoider that I am, I slip out from beneath his arm and head off for my next class.
As expected, Gabriel falls into step beside me, his longer stride slowing to keep pace with my shorter legs. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and takes back the lead.Boys.But, whatever. I can follow.
“Your next class is clear across campus,” I remind him, in case he’s forgotten. If he doesn’t go now, he’s going to be late. Not that I think cares. He has some film class, if I remember right. Gabe calls it napping 101 since most of the movies he’s seen already, so he uses the time to catch up on sleep.
“You never mentioned going to therapy before.”
Great, so this is going to be a thing. “I didn’t realize you’d have an issue with it.” Not that it matters. I give Gabriel a lot of leeway where he and I are concerned. It's mostly because I don’t care enough to fight with him about it, but I never got the memo stating I had to inform him about meetings and appointments. If I did, it would have made its way into the garbage. He might drag me out of the house and sucker me into peopling more than I would on my own, but he doesn’t get to dictate every minute of my life.
“I don’t. I think it’s great you’re seeing someone.”
“You do?” It doesn’t sound like he does.
Gabriel bobs his head, but the tension is still there around his eyes and mouth. “Sure. I’m guessing it helps?” He shrugs, coming to another stop, this time a few doors down from my next class. “It’s good you’re talking to someone.”
I’m hearing his words, but they don’t match the look on his face. “Why are you lying?”
Guilt flickers across his gaze, and his eyes widen. “I’m not lying.” Yes, he is. One hundred percent this man is lying. Gabriel isn’t that hard to read if you know what to look for, and thesepast weeks, I’ve spent close to every waking hour either with him or near him.
I know when he’s lying. But this is such an insignificant thing to lie about. He’s not a fan of therapists. What’s the big deal?
“You are. It’s weird. Why are you being weird?” Usually, I’m the one acting strange. Which makes his behavior extra weird, but also kind of nice for a change.
“It’s nothing. Come on. Let’s get you to class before you’re late.” I’m not the one who needs to worry about tardiness.
Gabriel’s fingers skim across the waist of my jeans before hooking through one of the belt loops and tugging me forward. My skin heats at the contact, but he doesn’t notice. It’s his turn now to play the avoiding game.
“Nothing, like when you pushed me to tell you what my appointment was for?”
“Fair point.”
A smile spreads across my face. I know. It’s good he realizes it. Just beside the door, Gabriel pulls me to a stop.
“I think I’m jealous.”
That surprises me. “Jealous that I go to therapy?” How does that make sense?
Gabriel creeps closer to me, a nervous look on his face. “Yes. No.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know.” Kicking at the floor, he purses his lips. He’s really worked up over this. Fascinating. This isn’t the sort of jealousy a girl is usually after, but I wonder if Gabriel’s ever even felt that sort of jealousy before? Doubtful. I don’t know a single girl at this school who’d turn him down. I give him a minute to work out the thoughts in his head. Jealousy over me going to therapy makes zero sense. But he’s welcome to my appointment if he wants it. I’d bet money Dr. Tabitha Walker would prefer his company to mine.
“It’s stupid but…” He curses under his breath and I reach out, drawing his face toward me until his forehead rests against mine.
“What’s going on?”
His chest heaves and he huffs out a loud breath. “It just bothers me that you, you know, talk to someone else.”
My brows pull together. “I’m not following.”
“You don’t talk to me.”
Yes, I do. “I’m talking to you right now.”
He rolls his eyes. “Not about—“ He looks around the hallway and lowers his voice. “—You know.”
Ah. I get it. But really, that’s what bothers him? A laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it. “I don’t talk to my therapist about any of that stuff, either.”
His eyes widen a fraction of an inch. “You don’t.” I don’t know if it’s disappointment or relief I hear in his voice.
“No. I don’t really talk at all.”
