Rock My Heart (Luminescent Juliet #4) Read Free Page A

a minimum.
    As in none.
    I take a deep breath through my nose. Okay, I’m here
every Tuesday afternoon because I have issues. Tons of them. Most people do.
I’m just far, far better than most at hiding them. The root of my issues, the
real reason, the burden I live with every day, will never come out. Not in this group. Not in the future. Just not ever.
    Misha, the tattooed and pierced self-proclaimed
slut, stares at me from across the circle. Her spiked pink hair flutters as she
grasps the edges of her metal chair as if the tight grip holds her back from
attacking me. Her stare is intimidating. It speaks a wealth of silent words.
The strongest is dislike. Each week she stares with a hate that pinches her face.
Most times, since I’m fairly sure she hates every other female on the planet, I
feel sorry for her. But sometimes, if I’m in a rotten mood like today, I can’t
find the will to care, although I want to care.
    As usual, I avoid confrontation and appropriately
keep my face devoid of any emotion, cross my khaki clad legs, and glance away
to stare at the fake, dusty flowers on the shelf by the window before returning
my attention to our counselor.
    I’ve grown into this, a calculated personality that
fluctuates between emotionless, friendly, understanding, and sometimes
compliant. A premeditated chameleon of sorts. The instances of genuine reaction
are becoming far too rare, even for me.  
    When a knock sounds at the door, Jeff holds up a
finger and closes the binder on his lap. His green corduroys are a loud swish
in the silence as he moves across the room. He opens the door a crack and
commences on conversing with whoever is on the other side. Misha gives me the
devil glare, causing the diamond in her eyebrow to practically point at me.
Chad, the blond guy to her right, stares at her chest, which, as usual, is on
display. Jason, the guy next to me, picks at a fray in the knee of his jeans. I
hold in a sigh.
    This is such a waste of time.
    Jeff opens the door all the way and I’m shocked—one
of the few emotions I haven’t been able to control— like grasping the edges of
my chair and blinking in confusion at the person who walks in.
    No. No. No. This cannot be happening. I’m thrown
back in time. Five days ago. Once again waking with a
pounding headache and a mortification that had me blushing in my own bed.
    Tall and lean, Gabe strolls across the room, his
freshly shaven face is hard lines devoid of emotion, his black boots stomp on
the office carpet, and his russet, sun-streaked hair brushes his jaw.
    Oh, crap. The embarrassing memory of my drunk ditziness along with touching his lips has me mortified all
over again. I’m trying to control the hot flush of my cheeks as the rest of my
group mates stare wide eyed and slack mouthed at Gabe while Jeff makes room for
another chair.
    Once Jeff gets the chair situated, he puts a hand on
the newcomer’s shoulder. “I’d like everyone to meet the newest member of our
group, Gabe.”
    Misha purrs a hello. Chad gives Gabe the stink eye.
Jason waves without looking up. And I sit frozen, still stunned. I agreed to
this group because it was discreet being almost thirty minutes from campus and
in another township. I blink at Gabe. Was is the key word.
    He barely looks at any of us as he deposits his
whipcord lean body in the chair between Jeff and Misha .
    Calm. Internal hum. Calm. Internal hum. Calm.
    I. Will. Not. Freak. Out.
    “We were discussing the importance of goals, Gabe,”
Jeff says, sitting and opening his binder.
    Deep breath.
    Sadly, we weren’t discussing anything. Jeff had
simply been droning.   More important than
Jeff‘s illusions though,is the
sudden burst of the real world into what was my own private dimension of hell.
    Jeff smiles warmly at Gabe. “We’ll get back to goals
at the end of the session. I don’t want to pressure you, however if you’d like
to start by sharing something about yourself, the floor is yours first.”
    Cocking his