Page 34 of The KING Review

Why?

The dots flicker in and out of existence, like she’s writing and changing her mind half a dozen times. Then a voice note pops up in the thread. I hesitate before hitting play, knowing this might decimate me.

“Because you’re amazing,” Neve says on a laugh. Her voice is a little breathless, a lot sincere, and all the way incredulous that I might not believe what she’s saying. “It actually bums me out that you don’t see yourself the way I do, but maybe that’s a good thing? Arrogance is a turn-off. But really, you have no idea how attractive you are, do you? And I’m not just talking about physically—which, by the way, you seriously are. I want to climb you like a tree, but… I mean all of you. It’s everything.” She pauses for a moment, like she’s spinning the words through in her head. “How do you not know that?”

The silence hangs for a second, then the recording ends with a click.

I press the back of my hand to my mouth, laughing quietly into my skin because the truth is, I can’t remember the last time anyone said anything like that to me. I’m not sure anybody has ever spoken about me like that.

It’s kind of a downer to think about it, actually.

Instead, I think about her. I think about her seeing me that way.

I want to believe she’s telling the truth. That I could ever be that person for her—or anyone, but especially for her—even for a second.

Amazing.

I listen to the voice note again, wondering if I should say any of what’s in my head, if I’d even know how to articulate it, or if the right move is to keep my mouth shut and just be grateful for the validation. I’m not built for gratitude. I want it in technicolor—I want to break it down, inspect every part, figure out why it’s happening to me, and how I can keep it close for as long as possible.

It’s fucking pathetic.

Me:

I wish I could see myself that way. I guess I’ve got more to unpack at therapy.

Neve’s reply is almost instant, and I take comfort in the fact that she’s spawn-camping our message thread the same way I am.

Don’t:

real therapy or our pretend-but-real therapy sessions?

(ngl I think I prefer the latter)

I snort, air rushing out of me so fast I almost choke on it.

Me:

Both.

Don’t:

wow, multitasking, I see you

you’re a therapist’s dream aren’t you, doctor kink

My mouth pops open.

She doesn’t try to cover it—I don’t expect her to. This is Neve Hart, after all. The woman who greeted me as ‘Professor Daddy Grant King’ in front of her sister and soon-to-be brother-in-law.

Don’t:

wowwww oh my god

sorry, guess I had something else on my mind

Freud would have a field day huh

The laugh that rumbles up is all chest, warm and a little mean. I tap the screen, smirking despite myself.