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LIFE ON THE LEVEL
LIFE ON THE LEVEL
On the Verge #3
Zoraida Córdova
Releasing Feb 23rd, 2016
Diversion Books
River Thomas was born a wild card.
Her mother left before River hit puberty, and her alcoholic father raised her
to have the best poker face in the city, but when he dies unexpectedly, River's
already dangerous lifestyle spirals out of control. Six months sober, she
relapses, and the resulting bender ends with her on the run from a guy looking
to settle a score.
Her mother left before River hit puberty, and her alcoholic father raised her
to have the best poker face in the city, but when he dies unexpectedly, River's
already dangerous lifestyle spirals out of control. Six months sober, she
relapses, and the resulting bender ends with her on the run from a guy looking
to settle a score.
She wants to be better--needs to be
better--before she ends up like her dad. The road leads her to Sun Valley,
Montana, where she checks herself into a rehab center. But before her first
night, she decides to go for a last hurrah, and the beautiful stranger at the
bar is just what the doctor ordered.
better--before she ends up like her dad. The road leads her to Sun Valley,
Montana, where she checks herself into a rehab center. But before her first
night, she decides to go for a last hurrah, and the beautiful stranger at the
bar is just what the doctor ordered.
She leaves before sunrise, and
starts her ninety-day program, still thinking of his face. But her last hurrah
with the guy of her dreams is also a counselor and extremely off-limits.
starts her ninety-day program, still thinking of his face. But her last hurrah
with the guy of her dreams is also a counselor and extremely off-limits.
Their attraction is too strong to
ignore, and soon she finds herself gambling with the one thing she never
thought she would—her heart.
ignore, and soon she finds herself gambling with the one thing she never
thought she would—her heart.
Excerpt:
From Chapter 5
“I
have to go,” I say.
I
start to turn the doorknob. He practically jumps over his desk.
“Wait.”
“What?”
I snap.
He
shuts the door, then takes several steps away, drawing a line between our
personal spaces.
“River,
please, just hear me out.”
“Stop
saying my name!” Why am I angry? Why is he here?
“I
don’t know what else to call you.”
Flashback:
him, grabbing my face with his strong hands. You are so beautiful.
I
brush my hair out of my face, wishing I could do something about the heat on my
skin. “I don’t know. This is—this is not okay.”
He
looks at me for a bit. Now that I’m getting over the shock of our reunion, I
can get a better look at him with a sober brain. If beer goggles make uggos
more attractive, then imagine what it’s done to someone like him. In my mind, I
take into account that I lost the bet with myself. He’s not a cowboy. He’s a
counselor.
He’s
my counselor.
He
messes up his hair, making him look all the more adorably rumpled.
“I’m
just as shocked as you, River.”
“I’m
just going to go.” I feel like a trapped mouse. “This is just too weird. I
can’t be here.”
He
nods, then after another painful pause goes, “You’re right.”
“Okay.”
I dump my coffee in the trashcan and turn around.
He
starts to reach for me. I can feel his fingers graze my elbow. He thinks better
of it. Then his touch is gone.
“I
shouldn’t be your counselor. That doesn’t mean you should leave. You came here
to get help. I should’ve seen it when we met.”
“Why?”
I ask angrily. “Because I was a drunken mess throwing herself at you? You
didn’t seem to mind.”
“That’s
not fair.”
“Welcome
to this funny little thing called life.”
“I
should’ve seen it because you looked so sad. I could see myself—I mean, I
should’ve seen there was more to you. I don’t mean it in a bad way. I mean that
part of me didn’t want to ask because I just needed—“
“Needed
what?”
He
shoves his hands into his pockets.
Don’t look at his jeans.
“I
just needed to have you. I don’t do things like that normally.”
“And
I do? Because I’m some raging slut.” Well, I do do things like that normally. They just never blow up so
spectacularly in my face.
“Stop
deflecting.”
“Don’t
Psych 101 me.”
He
smirks.
“And
stop smirking.”
He
licks his lips, and that just makes everything so much worse. He crosses his
arms over his chest, leans against his desk. What a lucky fucking desk.
“Don’t
leave because of me, please. I’ll stay out of your way. I can be professional,
even if what happened between us isn’t a testament to that.”
I’m
suddenly cold. I rub the goose bumps from my arms.
“This
is like the let’s-be-friends speech,” I say.
He
pushes his tongue against his cheek, and I can tell he wants to say something
inappropriate. Maybe flirty.
“Not
used to that?”
I
shrug. “Won’t people ask questions about me switching counselors? Word on the
street is people are clamoring to be yours. I mean—your patients.”
He
smiles, and when he smiles I realize we can never be friends. Not if he keeps
looking at me that way.
“Are
the gossip mills getting to you already?”
“Something
like that.”
“Just—be
careful who you share things with here. Sometimes information is more valuable
than money or cigarettes.”
“I
don’t want to get kicked out. And I don’t want either of us to get in trouble.
Besides, we didn’t do anything wrong. We are two consenting adults. We met
before I checked in, and we’re not pursuing anything.”
“Right.”
“Exactly.”
“I
know.”
“Me
too.”
He
sighs. “I’ll speak to Helen this afternoon. Tell her you’d be better suited to
someone else.”
“Okay.”
Part of me, the part that’s committed to doing this, is congratulating herself.
This is so grown up. This is mature and reasonable. I don’t really need to be
here, do I?
The
other part—the girl who lost the bet on the man who was supposed to be a
rough-and-tumble cowboy—is itching for another shot. God, I wish I had that
flask right about now.
“This
is the best thing to do,” he says.
“For
you or for me?”
“For
both, I hope.”
“Are
you sure this is okay?”
“You’re
the first patient to get transferred out of my sessions.” He walks around his
desk and sits again. “Don’t worry, I can take a hint.”
“What
do you mean?”
“You
walked out on me, remember?”
I nod, and
let myself out. I walk away from him for the second time in two days.
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Zoraida Córdova was born in Ecuador and raised in Queens. She is the author of The
Vicious Deep Trilogy. She studied English Lit at Hunter College, and The
University of Montana before finding a home for herself in the (kinda)
glittering world of New York City’s nightlife. She prefers her cocktails
shaken, her bacon crispy, and her men with a side of chivalry.
Vicious Deep Trilogy. She studied English Lit at Hunter College, and The
University of Montana before finding a home for herself in the (kinda)
glittering world of New York City’s nightlife. She prefers her cocktails
shaken, her bacon crispy, and her men with a side of chivalry.
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