“You know Butters and I have more in common than you’d think,” she says.
“Oh, really?”
“We both like long walks in the park and analyzing NFL players.”
I can’t believe I just heard playful words out of my therapist’s mouth, and I can see a glint in her eyes after she says them. It was just a joke; I know. It had to be. But it’s enough to send my heart pounding as hard as my feet had been just minutes ago.
I take a step closer to her, unable to ignore the infuriating push and pull happening between us.
“I hope Butters doesn’t make you as frustrated as I do.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” she shoots back, her grin matching mine. “She’s much better behaved.”
Now my dick is exceptionally hard.
If this was any other woman, we’d be on our way to somewhere more private where we could continue this little game of…whatever this is behind closed doors. That’s how it’s always been for me and the opposite sex.
Easy.
But this isn’t just any woman, and nothing about this is easy.
This is my therapist. My shrink. The one human being in the world who will decide whether my season continues this year. No matter how attracted I am to Katrina Banks, I cannot allow my dick to do all the thinking for me. It’s vital that I remember that my future is in her hands. So just when Butters distracts her by tugging on her leash, I take a step back, creating that needed boundary between us.
“See you in the office on Monday, Doc.”
“Still not a doctor.” She smiles.
Damn, she’s sexy.
I bet tonight I fuck her in my dreams with nothing but a stethoscope on.
As I turn back to continue my run, with Meek Mill rapping in my ears and Katrina Banks on my mind, something inside me forces me to stop and turn my head back around.
I need to take one last look.
I just need to be sure of something.
She’ll probably be halfway down the street by now or somewhere in the dog park with Butters, but she isn’t.
Just as I suspected, or rather hoped.
She turned back to take a last look of me too.
katrina
I liftthe hood of my Ucal Berkeley sweatshirt up on my head because of the chill in the morning air that still irks my California soul. I’m taking Butters on our usual quick morning walk while chatting with my sister because I’m unable to keep the news about my latest client to myself. For whatever reason, he’s the one client I need to talk about with someone.
“So let me get this straight, your new client is thee Dakota Warner?”
“You’ve heard of him?” I ask in disbelief.
“The whole world has heard of him, Trina.”
“Why must you exaggerate everything? You’re only saying that because you have a husband who watches sports every waking minute.”
“No, I’m saying it because I follow celebrity gossip like every other overworked and underappreciated mom does. It’s unusual for a defensive player to have his kind of notoriety, but he’s not the average player. Especially because he was in a wicked relationship with that cute singer from American Idol a year ago. Remember? The girl we liked with the red bob haircut.”
Yes, I remember her well. She was ridiculously gorgeous and could sing her ass off. It figures he would date someone as genetically blessed as himself. Pretty people always seem to find each other.
