Appealed Read Free

it.”
    â€œAre you judging me, Waldo?”
    Yeah—I just get a kick out of saying his name.
    â€œDo you want me to judge you, Brent?”
    â€œDo you think I should want you to judge me?”
    I’ve been in therapy since I was ten years old—I can go around and around like this all day.
    â€œI think you’re using this dream to avoid discussing how you use sex to avoid intimacy.”
    â€œNo—it’s just messing with my head. I want to know what it means.”
    Bounce, catch, turn
    Waldo sighs. Giving up and giving in. “Dreams are a reflection of our own subconscious. The expression of feelings and desires our conscious mind doesn’t want to acknowledge. It doesn’t matter what the dream means—only what it means to you . What’s your interpretation?”
    My first thought is my subconscious is telling me I need a vacation. Somewhere warm and tropical, with umbrella drinks and hot women in small bikinis.
    Or even better—no bikinis.
    But that’s too simple. The dream was different. It seemed . . . important.
    â€œI think it means I’m looking for something.”
    Waldo puts his glasses back on. “And?”
    â€œAnd when I find it, I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep it.”
    He nods. Like a proud papa. “I think you’re right.”
    Bounce, catch, turn.
    This is why therapy rocks. With those four approving words, I feel a sense of empowerment—solid self-awareness and competency. I may not know what’s coming around the bend—but I sure as shit will be able to handle it when it gets here.
    â€œNow . . . back to your intimacy issues.”
    I make a complaining sound in the back of my throat—grumbling like a kid who’s been made to sit at the table to do his homework. I settle on the couch, resting one arm across the back. “Fine. Hit me, sempai.”
    He suppresses a smile and glances at his notes. “You mentioned Tatianna was coming to town last week. Did you see her?”
    Tatianna is an old friend. In the biblical sense. She’s also a real live princess. If Disney ever decides to go naughty, Tatianna could be their muse. She’s a couple of dozen relatives away from the throne but her blood is as blue as it gets. And if there’s one thing royals know how to do, it’s party.
    â€œWe got together, yes.”
    â€œAnd how did that go?”
    I stretch my arms over my head, cracking my neck. “She came. She left.”
    We both came actually. In the bed, the kitchen, the hot tub in the backyard. It was a nice visit.
    Waldo nods. “You said Tatianna is engaged now?”
    â€œThat’s right. The next time she comes to the States she’ll have Duchess in front of her name.”
    The last real duty of today’s nobility is to make sure the fortune stays in the family—by producing little heirs and heiresses who can inherit it. Which, sadly, means no more fun times for me and Tatianna.
    â€œYour business partner, Mr. Becker, he’s engaged also?”
    â€œYep, three months out and counting. He hasn’t officially lost his mind, but he’s damn close.”
    Few things in this world are funnier than watching Jake Becker—a big mountain of a guy—being forced to contemplate flower arrangements for the table centerpieces in his upcoming nuptials.
    â€œAnd your other partners, Mr. Shaw and Ms. Santos, they’re expecting their first child soon?”
    I nod again. “Yes, a boy. Little Becker Mason Santos Shaw.”
    That’s the name of our law firm—where we’re all partners, criminal defense attorneys. I think it’s only fitting the first child born to our firm be named after it. Haven’t convinced Stanton and Sofia yet, but I’m working on it.
    Though now that I think about it—I wonder if they’d be more open to Waldo?
    â€œHow do you feel about that, Brent? That so many