“Oh.” Dr. Sparks pauses mid-scribble. “Something changed when you brought up Tori.”
Fuck.
This is exactly what I’m not supposed to be getting into.
“We talked about this last time. I’m a grown-ass man. I don’t need a damn babysitter.”
“Is this more about the rules? Or who’s enforcing them?”
Heat flames my face, my neck burning. Dr. Sparks just called me out.
“Um…the rules. Yeah. Definitely.” I punch up that last word, hammering the point.
“I notice our sessions keep coming back to Tori and the tension between the two of you.”
“How do you know there’s tension?”
She waves her hand through the air, as if she’s circling my face on a sketchpad or something.
“Your body language. The constant bouncing of your knee, the cracking of your knuckles. The tone of your voice when you say her name.”
I low-key want to melt into the sofa cushion right now. Disappear from her way-too-perceptive sight.
Instead, I straighten my shoulders. “I don’t say her name any special way.”
Dr. Sparks levels her gaze at me, conveying a silentuh-huh.
No way is she buying what I’m selling.
“Does it bother you that Tori challenges you?”
Hell yeah it does.
“What are you talking about? She doesn’t challenge me.”
“You admitted you don’t like being supervised, following rules. Specifically, rules enforced by her. Is that not challenging to you?”
Dammit.
Dr. Sparks has no idea exactly how challenged I am right now.
Trapped, I shrug. “I guess.”
“You’re used to being in control. Of the puck, of your life. With Tori, that control slips.”
Fuck me.
I stare at the blue-and-white area rug on the floor, unwilling to meet the therapist’s gaze.
Because she’s one hundred percent correct.
Tori makes me crazy.
I want to touch her, taste her, tease her until she’s screaming my name and begging for more.
Watch her unravel beneath me, gazing up at me through lowered lashes like she did in the elevator.
Wanting.
