Letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, I respond, "Listen, I know that you’re the therapist for the Wimberley team, and I was hoping you wouldn't mind giving me a little advice."
She chuckles, and the sound of paper being shuffled around comes in through my stereo. “Now, you know that I'm not technically a therapist, right? They decided that a criminal profiler with a couple of therapy courses under her hat was close enough, so please keep that in mind."
Even so, I bet she’s pretty good. Or at least I trust her to be discreet.
“If it’s close enough for your team, it’s close enough for me. As long as you're comfortable with it."
"Sure,” she says with a smile in her voice. “Especially if it has anything to do with that hot little number from the Marshals’ office. Ronan, was it?”
I smack the back of my head against the headrest a couple of times. "Fuck. Am I that obvious?"
Jesus, the guys are going to give me such a hard time.
"A little, though I am very good at my job."
I curse as I roll toward I-35, finally passing the lane hog.
"Well?" she asks, reminding me that I’ve got to actually say something.
"I practically begged DB to not put him on the team. But he did anyway."
"So, what—you have history with this guy?"
“Yeah. Ancient history.”
“Tell me more.”
She has a lilting voice with a slight Tex-Mex accent, and something about that soothes me. I let out another trapped breath, trying to organize my thoughts.
"We were supposed to be fuck buddies. About a year into it, he started to develop feelings, and we had an awkward encounter. I ended up running out of there like my ass was on fire."
She hums, and then there’s a sound like maybe she’s tapping her pen against the desk. “You were fuck buddies for a year? Was he on your rotation, or was this exclusive?"
I grip the steering wheel, debating whether or not I should tell her the truth.
Fuck it, why not.
"Not at first, but after a while…yes."
"You were exclusive with him, or he was exclusive with you?"
I run my hand up and down my face, frustrated by a stoplight. Pac-Man rolls to a stop next to me. “Both."
"So you were both exclusive fuck buddies for a year?" she asks, her voice skeptical.
"Yes," I say, cringing at my answer.
"And…was he the only one who developed feelings?"
I don't know if she’s actually good at this therapy shit, or if she’s just one hell of a profiler.
"Maybe not."
“Maybe not,” she says, repeating my answer back to me as though that might help me hear how dumb it sounds.
On that front, it’s pretty effective.
“Fine. No. He wasn’t the only one.”
