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“Yeah?” I look up again, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?” He smirks.

Oh god. I’m fifteen again, asking Scott Smith to the Sadie Hawkins dance. Spoiler alert: he said no because he was going with Penny Simmons.

I must pause for too long because he takes my face in his hands and whispers against my lips, “Took you long enough, Killer. I’ve been telling everyone you’re my girlfriend for weeks.”

“Who’s everyone?”

“You know, Luca, my therapist, Jenny at Squeeze the Day. She asked for an invitation to the wedding, by the way.”

“The wedding?”

“Oh yes, did I say I was calling you my girlfriend? I meant fiancée.”

“Austin!” I push away teasingly, but my heart is beating against my chest, screaming, “YES! YES! YES!”Calm down he hasn’t actually asked you.

“I’m kidding...kind of. I told you, I’m just waiting for you to catch up.” He drops a kiss on my nose.

I laugh, pushing my hands into his solid chest until he gives way and slumps back onto the couch.

We sit quietly for a minute, and I fail to hide my smile. “So, do you still see this therapist?”

He coughs and looks down; the tops of his ears redden.

“I didn’t mean to pry. I was just surprised when you told me about him...or her?”

“No, it’s not that.” He sighs, rubbing his eyes with the tips of his fingers.

“It’s just that I think you might know him. He’s quite famous, actually.”

I don’t know any famous psychologists. Except Freud.

“What’s his name?”

“Dr. Alfie Adams.”

“Oh my god . . . Dr. Angel Adams?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, Killer, Dr. Angel Adams. Which, by the way, is a nickname he despises.”

“Okay, okay, if ever I meetAlfie, I’ll be sure to use his given name,” I tease.

“Anyway”—he gives me a pointed look—“I call him when I need him, but I have a standing appointment once a week.”

Dr. Angel—celebrated psychologist and TV presenter. He helps people on a famous daytime TV show once a week. He’s like a qualified agony aunt although I’m not sure I’d ever say that to him. And let’s face it, he’s absolutely gorgeous. Sharp jawline and dark eyes, he’s serious and broody. He looks like he’s ready to roll his eyes every time a viewer calls in with a problem, but he’s professional and courteous and, honestly, gives great advice.

“I can tell by the pause in our conversation that youare getting dreamy eyes for Dr. Angel.” He laughs, honking my nose again.

As much as I try not to, I feel my cheeks redden.

“He really isn’t as handsome in real life. And despite being excellent at his job, he’s really a boring bastard.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, and I’m much better looking.” He winks.

I laugh, throwing my head back. “No doubt in my mind, old man. Alfie, who?” I reach up on my tiptoes to kiss his lips. He palms my ass to assist my reach. Such a gentleman. Can’t say I’d get that treatment from Dr. Angel. He’d more likely get me a step stool.