“Not sure yet,” I say. “I think it’s one of those things where I can maybe handle the chirping better if I know why it affects me?”
“And the rage part?”
“We haven’t gotten that far yet. She said something about looking into anger interventions.”
“Like anger management?” he asks.
“I guess so.”
Kelsier nods, and we increase the treadmills to a light jog.
“I looked her up on the university’s website,” Kelsier says. “She’s pretty. I thought you said she was frumpy looking?”
“She was dressed that way the first time I saw her, but she looked nice last night.” I shrug. “I suppose she was cute.”
I think back to my meeting with the doc. I couldn’t help noticing her legs in her yoga pants. I normally go for really slim women, but there was a shapeliness to the doc’s thighs, a roundness, that appealed to me. Like they’d be something to hold onto when…
I shake the thought away. Clearly my body is trying to tell me it’s been too long since I’ve had sex if I’m thinking of the doc that way.
Kelsier chuckles. “We’ll get you hot-for-teach yet. You should bring her in to meet the team.”
“And why the fuck would I do that?”
“Maybe she can figure out more pieces of the puzzle if she sees all the knuckleheads you work with,” he suggests. “Plus, I want to meet her.”
“I can’t bring her here. No one is supposed to know I’m seeing her.”
Kelsier scoffs. “Did you think you were going to keep that a secret? The whole team knows already.”
“What?” I glare at him. “What the fuck, Kels!”
He holds up his hands. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t tell anyone.”
“Then how the fuck does everyone know already?”
“Cote’s sister goes to the university and saw you come out of Dr. Mackey’s office the other day,” Ryan Petruck calls from two treadmills down. He’s a 6’6” defenseman we call “Mack” because he’s built like a Mack Truck, and getting hit by him feels much the same.
“Fuck,” I say.
“Cote kept it off the group chat,” Mack goes on, “but it made the rounds anyway. When coach overheard, he swore us all to secrecy. Anyone who blabs outside the team gets benched for two games.”
“And no one bothered to tell me everyone knew?” I ask indignantly.
“Nah,” Mack says as he continues to lumber on the treadmill. The poor machine strains under his solid weight. He was a competitive lifter in his high school days before he decided to focus on hockey.
“We’ve all got bets on how long it takes you to fuck her, by the way,” Mack adds. “Kels is right. She’s cute.”
I frown. “Jesus Christ, Mack. She’s not a bunny. She’s a professor.”
“So?” Mack says. “You don’t think some of those puck bunnies have big, impressive jobs?”
“I’m not interested in her,” I say.
Mack looks at me like I just said Wayne Gretzky is overrated. “Dude, if you don’t want her, bring her by and let the rest of us try our luck.”
An unexpected twinge of something plucks in my chest at the thought of introducing the doc to the team. She’s pretty enough, but I’m not attracted to her. I mean, there was the way she bit her lip when she stopped to think, but…
I shake my head. I need to cut those thoughts off right now. Dr. Mackey is my…therapist? My psychologist? My…trash talk guru?
