Disorders. “Looks like a great way to spend Friday nights,” I say as I gesture towards the Bible-size textbook.
Leila ignores me altogether. “Would you be more comfortable sitting?” she asks.
I slowly nod my head from side to side as I thumb through the book. “Not really. Would you?” I turn to face her, gripping the book tightly with my fingers. Her eyes dart to the book.
I pick up a slight tremor in her voice. Even though I’m supposed to be her client, I’m the one in charge. “No, it’s fine, Brady.”
Then again, it’s getting harder to concentrate when she keeps saying my name like that. I just wish I had a better handle on her. I was born to do three things better than any other dude on the planet…
Sing.
Play guitar.
And fuck women.
I don’t do hard-to-read.
I thumb through the dense book’s table of contents. “Which one are you?” I ask.
Leila sits up slightly in her chair. “Excuse me?”
I can’t hide my smirk. “In the book. Which mental disorder do you have? Isn’t it true that only people with serious issues themselves become psychiatrists or therapists or whatever?”
Leila’s gorgeous blue eyes narrow into a cold, icy glare. And what’s bugging me the most right now is that I can’t tell if want to fuck the angry Leila, the smart, uptight Leila, or the nervous, totally naive Leila.
Fuck it. How about all three of them?
“Everyone has issues, Brady. It’s whether or not we face them that separates us out.”
I let out a caustic chuckle and toss the book back on the shelf. “I take it you’ve faced yours then, right?”
She stares at me blankly. Leila runs her hand through her smooth, golden hair. And even though I know she’s stalling, I enjoy watching the strands of her hair fall over her hand and down her neck.
“My what?” she asks.
“Your issues.”
She presses her lips together, then looks over at a small silver clock that’s situated directly across from where she’s sitting. “We only have an hour, and I see here that you’ve been court mandated to complete six sessions.”
“Twelve?” I spout. “Rex told me three.”
“Nope, it’s six. Is that a problem?” Leila taps the tip of her pen on her thigh.
Yeah it’s a goddamn problem!
What I wouldn’t do to walk over to her, spread her legs wide, and show her exactly how I like to deal with my issues.
I watch as she studies her notes more carefully now. I try not to wonder how much she knows. I mean really, what do I give a shit what she knows or doesn’t know about what I’m doing here. Like I said, I just need to do my time, then I’m free and clear in time for the North American tour to kickoff at Madison Square Garden.
“So does my time here so far count towards my six sessions?”
“Actually, no. It doesn’t.”
“You’re totally joking, right?”
She smirks. “Actually, I’m totally not joking. I expect you to work if you’re going to be here. At the end of your final session I’m responsible for reporting back to the court,” she says.
I raise both of my brows. I’m not too thrilled with what she’s saying, but the way she puckers her lips and gets all serious when she talks has me a bit distracted. And the biggest problem is, I’m finding myself really wanting to taste that mouth of hers.
Maybe even more than I want to fuck her, at least right this second.
And that’s just not cool. Not in my book anyways. The fact that I’m even thinking about kissing her over fucking her is just downright disturbing.
“So basically my fate is resting your hands,” I say.
“I wouldn’t say that Seth.” She looks down at her clipboard once more.
I can’t hide my grin as I talk. “Do you happen to have any answers yourself, or do you just get all of them from that piece of cardboard you’re holding onto for dear life?”
Her knuckles turn white as she twirls a big batch of her luscious hair around the gold pen that she’s holding onto. “To be honest, I’m
Leila ignores me altogether. “Would you be more comfortable sitting?” she asks.
I slowly nod my head from side to side as I thumb through the book. “Not really. Would you?” I turn to face her, gripping the book tightly with my fingers. Her eyes dart to the book.
I pick up a slight tremor in her voice. Even though I’m supposed to be her client, I’m the one in charge. “No, it’s fine, Brady.”
Then again, it’s getting harder to concentrate when she keeps saying my name like that. I just wish I had a better handle on her. I was born to do three things better than any other dude on the planet…
Sing.
Play guitar.
And fuck women.
I don’t do hard-to-read.
I thumb through the dense book’s table of contents. “Which one are you?” I ask.
Leila sits up slightly in her chair. “Excuse me?”
I can’t hide my smirk. “In the book. Which mental disorder do you have? Isn’t it true that only people with serious issues themselves become psychiatrists or therapists or whatever?”
Leila’s gorgeous blue eyes narrow into a cold, icy glare. And what’s bugging me the most right now is that I can’t tell if want to fuck the angry Leila, the smart, uptight Leila, or the nervous, totally naive Leila.
Fuck it. How about all three of them?
“Everyone has issues, Brady. It’s whether or not we face them that separates us out.”
I let out a caustic chuckle and toss the book back on the shelf. “I take it you’ve faced yours then, right?”
She stares at me blankly. Leila runs her hand through her smooth, golden hair. And even though I know she’s stalling, I enjoy watching the strands of her hair fall over her hand and down her neck.
“My what?” she asks.
“Your issues.”
She presses her lips together, then looks over at a small silver clock that’s situated directly across from where she’s sitting. “We only have an hour, and I see here that you’ve been court mandated to complete six sessions.”
“Twelve?” I spout. “Rex told me three.”
“Nope, it’s six. Is that a problem?” Leila taps the tip of her pen on her thigh.
Yeah it’s a goddamn problem!
What I wouldn’t do to walk over to her, spread her legs wide, and show her exactly how I like to deal with my issues.
I watch as she studies her notes more carefully now. I try not to wonder how much she knows. I mean really, what do I give a shit what she knows or doesn’t know about what I’m doing here. Like I said, I just need to do my time, then I’m free and clear in time for the North American tour to kickoff at Madison Square Garden.
“So does my time here so far count towards my six sessions?”
“Actually, no. It doesn’t.”
“You’re totally joking, right?”
She smirks. “Actually, I’m totally not joking. I expect you to work if you’re going to be here. At the end of your final session I’m responsible for reporting back to the court,” she says.
I raise both of my brows. I’m not too thrilled with what she’s saying, but the way she puckers her lips and gets all serious when she talks has me a bit distracted. And the biggest problem is, I’m finding myself really wanting to taste that mouth of hers.
Maybe even more than I want to fuck her, at least right this second.
And that’s just not cool. Not in my book anyways. The fact that I’m even thinking about kissing her over fucking her is just downright disturbing.
“So basically my fate is resting your hands,” I say.
“I wouldn’t say that Seth.” She looks down at her clipboard once more.
I can’t hide my grin as I talk. “Do you happen to have any answers yourself, or do you just get all of them from that piece of cardboard you’re holding onto for dear life?”
Her knuckles turn white as she twirls a big batch of her luscious hair around the gold pen that she’s holding onto. “To be honest, I’m
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