"Are you now?" He asked in amusement since he'd considered doing the same thing on more than one occasion.
"Yep. Gonna cut the motherfucker's balls off," Soraya confirmed and made a snipping motion with her fingers that had both men grimacing. Then she grabbed the empty bottle in front of her and announced, "I love this wine, Graham. I want a case of it."
"Whatever you want, baby," her doting husband patiently agreed.
Bastion recognized the label as vintage from his private stock and said dryly, "At twelve thousand a bottle I'd suggest sipping them."
Soraya's eyes rounded as she turned to Callie to accuse, "You let me drink a twelve-thousand-dollar bottle of wine?"
"Nope. I let you drink two of 'em," the designer said with a shrug and a hiccup.
"I drank over twenty thousand dollars," Soraya moaned and turned an interesting shade of green. "Hope it tastes as good coming up as it did going down."
"Party's over, ladies," Graham said decisively and gently lifted his intoxicated wife to her feet, his arm locking protectively around her waist.
"There was a party?" Soraya queried in confusion.
"I guess we missed it," Callie said nonchalantly and rested her chin in her palm.
"Graham, you have to start behaving like a stuck-up suit again so you can become a member," the woman insisted as she leaned heavily against her husband. "I like this place."
"I'll take it under advisement," he agreed blandly and gave Bastion a nod of thanks before leading her away.
Bastion slid into the booth beside Callie and asked, "What brought this foray into drunken debauchery on?"
"He sent me roses, Bad. White roses. With purple tips," she explained in a slurred tone and the use of her childhood pet name for him assured Bastion just how vulnerable she was feeling. "The same ones he sent me before. Why would he do that if he doesn't remember me?"
Other than the fact that he was a first-rate bastard, Bastion had never been able to figure out what possessed Hammersmith to do the dumb as fuck things he did. "Bad coincidence?" He suggested and slid a comforting arm around her shoulders.
Callie laid her head on his chest and confessed, "Why does it still hurt so much Bastion?"
"The heart wants what the heart wants," he said sagely, speaking from experience, but Callie didn't hear. A soft snore assured him that she had fallen asleep. Bastion placed a kiss on top of her head and whispered, "It hurts because you still love him, kiddo. That's the only reason I haven't killed the bastard yet."
CHAPTER THREE
Ford
"If I understand correctly," Dr. Richard Wilkes intoned after Ford had explained his problem. "You believe that you're obsessed with this woman because you find her sexually attractive."
"No," Ford corrected impatiently. "I'm obsessed with fucking her."
"Are they not the same thing?"
"Not even close," he denied and slouched lower in the ridiculously comfortable beanbag chair. The crazy doc's office hadn't changed a bit since his first visit a decade ago, right down to the beaded curtains covering the windows instead of drapes. It was still circa 1960s from the wood-paneled walls to the green shag rug.
"Explain the difference to me."
"Sexual attraction is nothing compared to this. I dream about fucking this woman while I sleep. Fantasize about it when I'm awake," he elaborated as his gaze roved over the collection of vintage and modern Matchbox cars that filled an entire wall of shelving. "I don't know any other way to explain it other than I'm obsessed with fucking her."
"So, you believe that you're fixated on the intercourse and not the woman."
"Yes," Ford agreed as his gaze returned to the shrink seated across from him on a matching beanbag.
Wilkes hadn't changed much either in the intervening years. An old hippie with long grey hair and John Lennon glasses, he could easily be mistaken for Dr. Okun from the movie Independence Day. The good doctor was still a dichotomy. His rapier sharp intellect and precise articulation were at odds with his bohemian style.
His attire of choice was a loose linen tunic unbuttoned to mid-chest, chinos, an assortment of beaded leather necklaces and bracelets, and of course, Birkenstock sandals with socks. Stylish, he was not, but Ford wasn't paying the man's exorbitant fees for fashion advice. Eccentric or not, Wilkes was still the best damn shrink around.
"Interesting. Have you ever obsessed about another woman?"
"No."
"When did it begin?"
"When I met her a year ago."
"Have you had intercourse with other women since then?"
"No."
If the admission that an infamous playboy like Ford had been celibate for a year surprised the good doctor, he didn't let it show. The man merely asked, "Why not?"
"Tried a couple of times. Couldn't go through with it," he admitted. The woman he'd been dating was as curvaceous as a mountain road, but from the moment he'd laid eyes on Callie, she'd left him cold. So had everyone else he'd dated in the interim. "It just felt wrong to fuck a woman while wishing she was someone else."
"Have you had intercourse with... I don't believe you mentioned her name."
Ford was hesitant to reveal her identity. It was one thing to discuss an anonymous person with the doctor, but mentioning Callie by name felt like a violation of sorts. His protective instincts had him replying, "Nor do I intend to."
"We have to call her something."
"Feathers," he suggested as a wicked smile curved his lips. "We'll call her Feathers."
"Your smile suggests there is a reason for that moniker."
"Because she's a sexy as fuck peacock."
There was a prolonged silence before the doctor responded. "Ford, are you telling me that you want to have intercourse with a bird?"
"Fuck no," he denied emphatically. "She was wearing a peacock costume the first time I saw her."
"Getting back on topic," the doctor began and pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers. "Have you had intercourse with Feathers?"
"I wish," he complained and stretched his legs out to cross them at the ankles. "I'm hoping that when I do the obsession will end."
"Interesting," the doctor said again. "Why do you think it would?"
"I'm banking on the get-it-out-of-your-system theory."
"What if that doesn't work?"
"Why wouldn't it?"
"I don't believe that intercourse is the source of your obsession," the doctor opined. "I believe it is Feathers."
"What makes you think that?" He demanded and sat up straight.
"If it was just intercourse then the dreams and fantasies could be about anyone, but you stated that Feathers is the only woman in them, the only woman you desire," he imparted. "You need to determine what it is about this woman that makes her special enough to warrant your obsession."
"How the hell am I supposed to do that?"
"How well do you know her?" He asked instead of answering, which was typical and annoying as fuck.