Kaylie stood and reached for his hand.

She was gorgeous, willing, and certainly able, but if he went home with her, he'd be starting at square one. Blake imagined her naked body beneath him, the taste of her on his lips, and his desire intensified. He looked in the mirror again as he stood up. Same guy, different day.

He closed his eyes for a second, then turned to Kaylie and said, "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'm going to pa.s.s." s.h.i.t. Can I really do this?

Kaylie's jaw dropped open. "Excuse me?" She turned her head sideways, placing her ear closer to his mouth, like she hadn't heard him right.

"I'm sorry. You're gorgeous, you're great to talk to, but honestly, I'm dealing with some s.h.i.t right now, and this," he moved his hand between them, "this won't help it any."

"What the h.e.l.l is wrong with you?" Her cheeks flushed with anger.

"I have no idea." Blake turned back toward the bar. "But I'm trying to figure that out."

"You have issues, Blake. Jesus Christ. You need a shrink or something. First you turn me down the other night, and now you lead me on and-"

His heart ached when he saw the liquid anger in her squinted eyes. "It's not you, okay? It's me. I just can't do this anymore."

"My sister's a shrink. She can probably help you with your bulls.h.i.t issues." Kaylie laughed.

Blake saw through her laugh to her hurt. "I'm sorry. You're right. I do have bulls.h.i.t issues. Oh, and I already have a shrink."

"Yeah, well, Danica is probably ten times better." She grabbed her coat from the back of her stool and stomped out of the bar.

Danica? Her sister? Blake's pulse raced like he'd just dodged a bullet.

Chapter Sixteen.

Pounding on the front door drew Danica's attention from the files she'd been reviewing.

"Danica!"

Kaylie. Danica opened the door and Kaylie flew past her in a rage. "I don't know what the h.e.l.l is up with that guy, but Jesus Christ, if he keeps doing what he's doing, I'm gonna be the one on your couch."

Danica watched her sister storm around the room and flop onto the couch, sending her files to the floor. "Who did what this time?" She picked up the files and set them on the coffee table in front of Kaylie.

"Blake. The jerk. Remember him, from the bar?" Kaylie's face was red and her eyes were gla.s.sy. The way she slouched on the couch in her wrinkled miniskirt, she looked like a sullen teenager wronged by the quarterback.

"Blake? As in Blake Carter? AcroSki? That jerk?" What the h.e.l.l?

"Yeah, that jerk. I saw him at Bar None." She turned scornful eyes on Danica. "Thanks for that, by the way. If you hadn't stood me up, I probably wouldn't be having such a s.h.i.tty night."

Danica picked up the files and placed Blake's on the bottom of the stack, then set them on the dining room table and sat next to Kaylie.

She let out a long sigh. "Let me guess. He was at the bar, but he went home with someone else?" I knew today would set him back.

"Yes. No. s.h.i.t. He didn't go home with someone else." Kaylie covered her face and screamed into her palms. When she brought her hands away, her anger had turned to disappointment. "He acted like he wanted to go home with me, and-"

"Wait." Danica stopped her. "What happened to Chad, or Chaz, or whatever his name was? Didn't you just get back from a weekend away with him?"

"Don't judge me, okay?"

Danica sat back against the pillows, reminding herself that Kaylie was her sister, not her client. "Fine. Go on."

"Chaz and I had a good time, but since I was going to meet you anyway, I went in for a drink. He was there, and...Jesus, well, you saw him. You really expect me to turn away from him?"

You bet your a.s.s, I do. He's my client, even if he is challenging my ability to stay on the professional side of things.

She didn't give Danica time to answer. "Anyway, we were getting up to leave, and he said some bulls.h.i.t about how he couldn't do it."

"Did he say why?" What are you up to, Blake Carter?

"He just lost his business partner-he died, if you can believe that."

"I can."

"And he said he doesn't know how to talk to the guy's wife."

Really? Danica made a mental note to explore Blake's discomfort with Dave's wife. She looked at the file and thought about telling Kaylie that Blake had become her client. That would end things right there. He'd be off the table immediately. Kaylie didn't date guys who had anything to do with therapists. She a.s.sumed anyone who needed therapy was severely broken and weak. If only she knew how therapy could help her with her man-juggling habits-and that Blake was seeking help for the very same reasons. But she could not reveal that he was a client. Danica respected her client's confidentiality, and Blake was no different, even if Kaylie had been hurt by him.

"Sounds like he's got a lot to deal with right now. Besides, why do you want someone other than Chad?"

"Chaz."

"Chaz," Danica repeated. Chaz could be Rick, Steve, Dean, or Carl, for all she cared. She didn't invest too much energy into Kaylie's men. They came and went faster than the wind changed direction.

Kaylie kicked her UGGs up onto the coffee table. Danica reached over and took her sister's boots off of her feet, then set them on the floor.

"Thanks," Kaylie said in her best little-girl voice. "Do you think it's me?" she asked.

"You? No. You said yourself that he's got stuff going on in his life, and it sounds like heavy stuff. I would steer clear of him." She had to get her off of the Blake track. He would do nothing but hurt her in the long run. Danica thought about that for a second, then decided that Kaylie was equally as capable of hurting him, especially in his current state. She'd seen men go through the great realization before: They weren't the man they thought they were; they drank too much, played around too much, ate too much, hated women, hated their mothers, hated life. She had a long way to go with Blake before she would understand his real issues, but there was one thing she did know. Breaking through and revealing his faults the way he had was painful for him, and now she also saw that it had had a tremendous impact. What he did with that knowledge over the next few weeks would prove whether he was capable of changing his behavior. More important, whether he really wanted to change. Turning away from Barbie-doll Kaylie was a step in the right direction.

"What on earth are you wearing?" Kaylie asked with a laugh.

Danica looked down at her flowing jacket. "What? I like it. I took Mich.e.l.le to the Village this weekend, and it made me realize that I dress like an old lady."

"It took a trip to the Village for you to realize that? You mean my constant reminding did nothing to tip you off?" She smiled and kicked her stockinged foot in Danica's direction.

"Do you like it?" she asked tentatively.

Kaylie a.s.sessed Danica's outfit. "Yeah, I do, even if it doesn't really match your slacks."

"What do you mean? Black matches everything." She looked down at her slacks.

"Usually that's true, but that jacket belongs with jeans and UGGs, not slacks and heels. You look like Cloris Leachman, or Maude, or one of those women."

"Really?" No wonder Blake had been looking at her that way. And there she was, feeling so confident in just another old-lady outfit.

Kaylie took Danica's hand and dragged her toward the stairs. "Come on, sis. I've been dying to give you a makeover for years." Kaylie ran up the stairs like a teenager ready to trade secrets.

Danica followed behind, sighing along the way.

Upstairs, in Danica's room, Kaylie pa.s.sed the bed and said, "No Twizzlers?"

"A whole drawer full, unfortunately," Danica joked.

Kaylie rummaged through Danica's closet, pulling shirts and blouses down and tossing them at her. "Put these on the bed."

Danica sifted through the mismatched jackets, jeans, leggings, and shirts. She sat on the bed and watched Kaylie move from the closet to the dresser, weeding through Danica's jewelry and laying out necklaces and earrings across the top. She pulled open Danica's top drawer.

"Hey, no need to go in there," Danica said.

"Are you kidding me?" Kaylie dug through Danica's lingerie, withdrawing the laciest-and the most uncomfortable-bras and panties that Danica owned.

Danica watched, shaking her head.

"Never in your life have you let me help you with this," Kaylie said with her back to Danica.

"Well, maybe change is good."

Kaylie turned around. "Yeah, maybe it is." She came and sat down next to Danica. They both faced the mirror above the dresser. "Why do I do it?"

Danica tilted her head. "Because you love clothes and I have a very tenuous relationship with them."

"No, I don't mean that. I mean with guys. Chaz is so nice. He's really good to me, and he's definitely hot. So, why do I, you know, try to get other guys when I'm happy?"

Danica knew better than to answer.

"Come on. You're a therapist. Can't you help me?" Kaylie pleaded.

They stared at each other through their reflections. Danica leaned her head on Kaylie's. "You don't want my help, Kaylie."

"Maybe you're right," Kaylie said. "But I get it, you know? I know you think there's something wrong with what I'm doing."

"I don't judge you. I love you," Danica answered.

"Thank G.o.d someone does." Kaylie jumped up and began putting together outfits.

Danica's heart broke with the realization she so often had-that everyone carries baggage. Some people's was just lighter than others'.

Chapter Seventeen.

Blake sat in his car in front of the funeral home, watching a drizzle of freezing rain cut through the dense fog. People filed into the low, brick building, heads down, umbrellas perched like shields. Nothing could shield Blake from the sting of the hours to come. Loneliness settled in around him. He'd be the only person walking in alone, which up until that very moment had never bothered him. He took pride in the way he could own an entrance. His looks and his confidence had served him well, but now there was nothing he'd like more than to be invisible.

When his cell phone rang, he stared at the number. Danica Snow. He picked it up, his voice tethered by sadness. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Blake?"

"Yes, hi, Danica...um...Dr. Snow?" What an idiot. What was the protocol?

"Danica is fine. I'm looking over my schedule for next week and realized that you hadn't confirmed our Monday appointment. Rather than fill that slot, I thought I'd see if you were planning on coming in." The professionalism in her voice left no room for a.s.sumptions about her phone call.

"Yes, please."

"Okay. Would you like me to hold every Monday? Same time?"

Blake realized his disregard for her schedule and pulled himself out of his discomfort enough to apologize.

"It's not a problem this time, but if you could either set a day and time or let me know by Wednesday each week for the following week, that would be helpful."

Blake sighed. He'd f.u.c.ked up again. When was he going to get his act together? "I'm sorry, Danica. Yes, please, every Monday would be great. Do you have time now, to talk, I mean?"

An uncomfortable silence pa.s.sed between them, and Blake took the hint. "I don't mean personally. I'm outside of Dave's funeral. It's starting in ten minutes, and I'm not sure how...what to do. I'm uncomfortable."

"I can spare ten minutes. I'll just add the time to your next bill."

There it was. All business. "Thank you." Suddenly, Blake didn't feel so alone.

"Do you have a friend with you?" Danica asked. "Someone to walk in with?"

"Nope. Just me."

"Okay, well, remember, you are doing this because Dave was a friend, so this is not really about you. You are doing this for closure, but really, funerals are for showing support to the family."

"I never thought of it like that."

"I know. Most people are too absorbed with their own feelings or discomfort to look beyond, to the loved ones who were left behind."

Blake pictured Danica sitting behind her desk, pen in hand, her eyes full of compa.s.sion.

"Sally and Rusty will be happy you are there. You were his business partner, his friend. Even if you are grappling with that friendship, they need you there. You should be there, to honor and remember Dave."

Blake looked out the window at a young couple walking in. The man had his arm around the woman's shoulders, pressing her tight against him underneath the umbrella. He wondered if they felt as uncomfortable as he did. "Right. What does that mean exactly? What do I do? I'm not good at these things. I'm better in a bar." He mustered a little laugh.