My heels click a steady rhythm against the light colored wooden planks beneath me as I make my way down the narrow hall to my assistant's desk. Straining her neck, I watch as she peers intently over the half wall divider, all her attention is completely focused on the small room just beyond the other side.

"TORI!" I give a loud audible whisper, her name hissing through my lips and I giggle slightly as she jumps almost stumbling out of her wingback desk chair. Breathing deeply she turns to face me slowly as if I was pulling her away from something she desperately wasn’t ready to give up yet. "What's so interesting?" I question quietly searching into the waiting room. And there he sat, a lone figure in the lobby of my practice slumped in a chair. His fingers mindlessly tapping out an unknown beat on the armrest, his head swayed to the silent music that played from somewhere within.

"Wait... that's him, my 4:00?" Turning to Tori I flip through the sign-in sheet trying to rediscover his name, there it is, written in large fluid swirls, beautiful…  i, dotted with a heart… well that’s a bit immature.

"Isn't he cute?" Tucking stray strands of ebony behind an ear, her dark almond eyes look up to me again, this time a flirtatious smile flashes. She thinks everyone's cute... always on the hunt, a slight case of hypersexuality stemming from a need to be accepted by her peers.

    Turning my attention to the lobby once more I take him in, trying to see him the way she does. His black hair was shorter but still managed to be a shaggy mess. Not so much through neglect, but in a confident nonchalance. The smooth flawless caramel of his skin said that he was young, he couldn't possibly be more than 20, but the shortly trimmed mustache resting just above his full pink lips made him look a little older, maybe 22 or 23. Eyes gently closed his body still writhes to the song he’s playing in silence. Suddenly as his movements intensify his arms reach out for an amazing drum solo. I can’t help but let a huff of laughter and this small sound completely breaks his concentration, eyes fluttering open... he’s back to reality. The once euphoric look as he lost himself within an inner harmony, was replaced by a little smile tucked into the corner of his mouth as his gaze met mine. Shuffling his hand nervously through his already fussed hair, he leans back casually and refocuses his attention out the window that leads to the street below.

“Well isn’t he?” Tori reaffirmed, bringing me back to my own reality. She acted as if my opinion of him would somehow make it fact.

“He’s… different.”  I feel a small smile begins to curl and I know it’s the exact reflection of the one he just gave me.

“You’re a damn liar.” She scoffs lowly so her voice won’t carry into the next room.

“He’s not my type.” I wave my hands in the air as if the mere thought of finding him attractive was contagious.

Rolling in her chair to face me fully, she cocks her head aggressively as if my personal business was about to be strewn out across the lawn. “Does he have a dick?” Tori spouts a bit too loudly. “Well then I’m pretty sure he’s your type... how long has it been anyway?”

“Ummmmm...” I let out through a sigh, that hesitation to answer says more to her than I was hoping and I begin to fumble. “Listen…. that’s…. not for you to know.” Biting my lip, wanting to prevent any more information slipping through. I know she isn’t going to let up, this was a daily conversation. Really though if she was getting so much why should she even care what goes… or doesn’t between my thighs.

“Oh please, Lena if you hold out any longer you’ll be the one sitting on your own therapist couch. Sexual frustration can be madding you know.” She finishes her sentence in a twinkling taunting tone. With advice like that I know she's been listening in on my sessions. “Hey, if you ain’t gonna fuck him… I will.”

“He’s a client Tori…” I whisper, my eyes widening as I try to signal her to shut herself down… but my reaction only revs her voice higher. Like this half wall is going to keep all our secrets in.

“Well when you finish with him, just send him my way, I got some physical to go along with his mental healing.” Slowly she grinds her hips against the leather seat.

“Shhhhhhh…” Trying to stay professional I can’t help but let giggle slip. Her bravado was inspiring. Walking back through the open archway of her office I begin to head for the door into the lobby. Smoothing palms over the softness of my cashmere sweater, I mentally prepare for my last client of the day. Just as my hand reaches for the handle, I catch his figure through the glass panel. Standing from his chair, I’m finally able to take him in completely. The glinting studs, the red bandana… his eyes… oh, his eyes. Damn it, Tori was right. I hate it when she’s right.

Ducking in the shadow of the hallway I watch him slowly sway back and forth, the weight on his feet varying with each movement,  hands tucked away into his pockets. I can't help but lose myself in the sight of him once more.

Men had often come through my office and they fell in one of two categories, mommy issues or perverts. As the afternoon sun broke through the large windows it danced across his delicate features. Though he looked raw, edgy the way the light hit him brought a softness to his face, that angelic glow so different than the roughness of the style he sported. It seemed he still held onto a small piece of innocence… or at least maybe… he used to. With eyes that large and expressive there was no way he could possibly fall into the pervert category… but the dusky gray trench coat he hid himself behind said something altogether different. Suddenly his gaze meets mine through the glass, startling me out of my visual examination of him.

Great he caught you staring, nice Lena it’s called glass cause you can see through it. Finding the courage to turn the knob, I finally join him on just the other side. Timidly I shut the door softly, taking a little more time to collect myself.

“I’m still waiting.” His voice bounces off the walls of the small room. The deepness startles me out of my thoughts. I wasn’t expecting that sound. He’s impatient and demanding… interesting... Napoleon Complex perhaps.

“Well it is still a waiting room.” I give a bright cautious smile hoping my curiosity and Tori’s previous conversation hadn’t made it to his attention. Reaching out my hand for a shake of introduction his palm glides gently over my wrist before clasping it firmly within his grip. His other hand still wedged deep in the pocket of his coat. He’s a little handsy OK… so maybe it is pervert, then. “I’m Dr. Redding.”

“I’m aware.” He responds coolly, his thin fingers lingering over my own a bit too long for comfort.

Drawing back my hand from his grasp, I point to the door. “This way, please.”

Bustling through the door we head down the hall. Passing Tori’s station he stops suddenly and looks to her. His vague expression never wavering. “By the way the answer is, YES… I do.” Again that deep voice resonates clear barely above a whisper.

“You do what?” As he raises an eyebrow, it hits both of us. He of course had heard the entire previous conversation. The most important question she asked, and he gave her a clear and concise answer, yes... he does indeed have a dick. With the realization her words had carried to his ears, her cheeks flush brightly. She talks a big game, but embarrasses so easily. False bravado to mask insecurities. “Ummmm… well… that's good to know… I'll just ummm…. mark that on your chart, sir.” She tries to cover her tracks but it's too late. Looking up her mouth widens into a silent ‘sorry’ as she shuffles uselessly through her files, refusing to look at him.  

Continuing down the narrow hallway to my office door I turn back to him and begin to apologize for my assistant… and myself. “She’s new and we’re still working out a few things, such as office etiquette.”

“What about you?” He smirks as I meet his eyes with mine. Refusing to answer I turn from him quickly. That similar red beginning to creep up my neck. I bet he revels in this, testing others.

As we walk I can’t help but feel the intensity of him behind me. The heeled boots he wore make gentle scuffs across the floor as he follows my lead. I fall back to walk with him but the width of the hallway is too close and our shoulders knock against each other with each step. I am not sure which was the better choice. Feeling him stare at my ass or physically assaulting him with my elbow.

“You know, Dr. Franklin recommend you.” His voice cuts through the awkward silence, that name brings an automatic snarl to my lip, quickly I pull it down with my teeth hoping he doesn’t notice.

Oh Richard, is that where we are now, referring clients to each other, how cordial.

“Dr. Richard Franklin.”

Again that name tumbles from his lips and I feel my fingers clench tightly. The smooth edges of my nails bite into the palm of my hands. Let it go, Lena. At those words of encouragement my fingers fall lose to my sides and I am able to respond to his indifferent prying.

“Yes, I know him.” The mere sound of that man’s name fills me with regret and loathing. An assistant… my assistant no less. He wasn’t even careful enough to fuck his own. No, no of course he had to fuck mine… but I guess if you think about it, how clever, right? She knew my hectic schedule like the back of her hand, while the front of it was all too busy on my fiance.

“Isn’t he your fiance?” The soft overhead lighting brought out the amber in his eyes as he looked up to me. A knowing grin began to trace his lips as he waited, eyes widened in anticipation of my reaction. He was trying to yank my chain again, but I’m not that easy. It does though make me wonder just what in the hell they talked about anyway?

“Ahhhh, I see where you’re going with this, but we are here to talk about you, and not me. ” Deflection. “For the record though he was my fiance. Was.”

“Good to know.” He mentally takes in this information and tucks it away. Still that knowing grin etched his perfect lips like the little patch of hair that grazed the plump bottom one. The smugness must get really infuriating.

Opening the door we walk into my office, I feel an instant rush of relief as I cross the threshold. This space is my haven. It was a short walk from the front of the lobby to here, but he was trying my patience every step of the way. I breathe deep, taking in the calming scent of lavender and leather bound books. This is my house, my rules, I am the one in control from here on out. I point to the teal chaise lounge. Let’s get this started. Of course he bucks my direction and sits in the overstuffed floral victorian chair in which I usually reside. Unknowingly I let a huff of displeasure.

“What, you don’t want me to be comfortable?” The tone of his voice too playful to let me know he wasn’t oblivious to his own behavior. He was trying to push all the buttons.

“No. Comfort leads to placation. Therapy is something you have to work at if you actually want it to. I need you on the couch, open… but not comfortable.” I feel like I just smacked a hand that was trying to reach for a cookie before dinner. He resigns to the lounge, his coat buttoned completely, the dark fabric that clung to his calves disappeared beneath the shadowed hem. Swinging his legs onto the fabric he rests his boots on the once absolutely spotless upholstery. Stars… what kind of grown man walks around with stars on his shoes? He’s fighting me every step of the way, and our sessions haven't even started. I begin to wonder if he is here on his own accord or possibly court appointed, but I sure as hell know I won't be calling Richard to find out the truth about his client… his former client.

Putting a new tape in my recorder, I bring it with me and take a seat. Hearing the click of me pressing record his face snaps to my direction, lip upturned, and immediately I regret the unknown mistake I just made. Pressing stop I ask, “Do you mind if I record our session?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” His once spirited voice was a distant memory replaced with a stoic emotionless tone.

“Okay… will a notebook be alright? I like to keep notes on my clients as we work. It helps me remember our sessions for future ones.” Placing the recorder on the floor, I kick it under the chair casually, the plastic thud against wood never drawing his attention. Wedging out a notebook that I keep between the seat, I flip through till I find a blank page. Not waiting for his answer I begin to scribble a few notes quickly, if it’s no, at least I can have a few snippets of information down.

“If you must.” His voice trails as if he is trying to placate my request. Controlling as well hmmmm…

Settling into my chair I cross my legs. The faint buzz of nylon stirs the silent room, that sound finally piques his interest and he adjusts his body so our eyes meet, his thumb etching his lower lip seductively. Twiddling my fountain pen between my index and middle fingers, I raise an eyebrow. "So, tell me a little bit about yourself... Mr. Nelson."