I ignore the flex of his forearm as he pulls the cork out, swallow my fluttering heartbeat, and say, “Only psychopaths eat pizza with forks.” Before hanging Kevin’s leash on the rack by the door.
“Fantastic. I’m just trying to meet the standard,” he replies, adjusting the forks next to the plates.
“Oh, but not exceed it?’
He makes a tsk sound with his tongue against his teeth—almost a laugh. “Should therapists really make jokes about a mental diagnosis?”
I roll my eyes as I slide onto the bar stool. “I’m off the clock and I had a horrendous afternoon.”
He glances at me as he pours me a glass of red wine, the right side of his mouth curling up just so. It makes me want to kiss hislips like I’ve done a hundred times before. It’s taking everything in me to show some restraint.
“Want to tell me about it?” he asks.
“It turns out I’ve been sleeping with my patient’s uncle.” I stare at him, and he winces slightly.
Wine glass in hand, he moves around to the bar stools where I sit. I’m struck by how easily he maneuvers in my kitchen. I almost forget I hardly know him—which should make this boundary I’m about to set easier to follow through with. But it doesn’t.
“It could be worse, right?” he says, opening the box, revealing a deep dish pizza with tomato sauce burying the mozzarella, sausages, and peppers. My stomach growls and I’m dying to take a bite and pretend this is normal but I just can’t.
I hear Dr. Flanigan’s voice in my head:Be smart.
Being a professional adult is the absolute worst.
“Wait. I just have to say this so we’re not being weird and cryptic while we eat pizza,” I say as he begins to put a slice on my plate. “I can’t date you. Your niece is my patient.”
“I swear I didn’t know she saw you. I knew she saw someone, but she never really talks about it. And my sister is very private about it—”
I hold up a hand. “You can’t—I can’t talk about her or any of her stuff.”
He nods. “Right. HIPAA and all that.”
I blow out through my lips. “It’s more than that, JP.”
He waits for me to continue. “Is it illegal?”
“No, not illegal but it is an ethical issue.” I gesture between us. “We shouldn’t see each other anymore. And I know that sounds dramatic because it hasn’t even been a month, but I have to set the boundary now before we cross a line. If I see her in a context—say, family gatherings or birthday parties—then it creates an entirely inappropriate dynamic. She sees me becauseI’m unbiased, not because I know all the ins and outs of your family.”
His mouth twists and my gaze catches the freckle on his bottom lip. “We just started dating. I haven’t even brought you home to meet my mom, and quite frankly, that’s a bit presumptuous.”
He’s being facetious, and I roll my eyes. “Well, if you’re never going to take me home then we should stop dating right now anyway. I don’t do messy relationships. You know that.”
“I thought you didn’t want anything serious,” he counters, and my frustration grows.
“Ah, yes, because casually sleeping with my patient’s uncle is so much better.”
“So, you’re serious?”
“Dr. Flanigan heard us in the waiting room,” I say.
“And that is...”
“The owner of the clinic and the woman overseeing my clinical hours for my PhD. She isn’t going to rat me out—at least, I don’t think—but she could.”
He waves a confused hand in the air. “I’m not following.”
I sigh. “Dual relationships are messy at best and unethical at worst. It’s my job to honor my patients and not put them in an inappropriate situation.”
“But Jules, I like you. Let’s figure something out.”
