“You asked for accuracy.”
“And that’s what you gave me. Thank you. I may just jerk off to that hot ass description when I fall asleep tonight.”
The thought of Cap getting his shit off to thoughts of my new therapist annoys the hell out of me. It’s just wrong.
“Shut up, Dutch.”
“Oh, so now I’m Dutch instead of Cap?” He laughs uncontrollably. “And why can’t I fantasize about your new counselor? You hate her, right?”
“Right. Exactly. Which is why the thought of you whacking off to thoughts of her is not cool. I don’t want to hear about it. Keep your fucked up fantasies to yourself. “
“Why exactly do you hate her?”
“She tried to dump me as her client right in front of me! The nerve of that woman.”
“I bet you had a hand in that.”
“I don’t like her.”
“Oh, so because you don’t like her, I can’t appreciate her either? Do you gotta like the inside of a woman to appreciate the outside nowadays?”
“Don’t be a dick.”
He chuckles again.
“If you seriously don’t think this woman is up to the challenge of helping you get back on the field, then why not try striking a deal with her? Maybe she can give you a glowing review of great mental health after three sessions instead of six.”
His idea is a good one, but something tells me that she’s the type who would never want to negotiate.
“Did I mention that I don’t think she likes me, either?”
“I can’t imagine that it’s because of the way you talked to her in that session, is it?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“She was late, you didn’t want to be there, and you’re a little rough around the edges, Dak. Sometimes the things you say should float inside of a thought bubble for a moment before you actually decide to say them.”
“And what about all the inappropriate shit that you say?”
“We’re not talking about me. I’m not the one mandated by the league to see a shrink for six weeks. I’m not the one whose career is on the line. And I’m not the one with a sweet little girl named Bella whose difficult mother is looking for any excuse to cut you completely off.”
I sigh heavily.
I hate it when Cap goes for the jugular.
“I hear you.”
“Talk to management. Maybe there’s a path to getting you back on the field faster, but in the meantime, be nicer to Miss slim waist and pretty face. At least for the next six weeks. You need this woman to like you. I’ve seen you do it, Dak. Women have always fallen all over themselves for you. Something about all that hair on your head, I guess.”
“Okay, I’ll be nicer. At least I’ll try.”
The two of us catch up on team gossip for a few more minutes before I ask him the question that’s been on my mind for the last week. The one I think he’s been waiting to hear.
“How’s McCall doing? Like, for real?”
“His camp is keeping details on his status really close to the vest. We only hear what the NFL wants us to hear. He’s being seen by the best doctors. Blah, blah, blah. He’s on the road to recovery. Keep him in your prayers. Yada, yada, yada.”
“So we know nothing.”
