Page 39 of Look, Don't Touch

On that note, I close my laptop from my and Astor’s video chat since Zhan canceled this week. She now has whatever sickness her girlfriend had last week. Yet another reason to fly solo.

I grab Mr. Judge’s tie from my drawer, where I’ve successfully ignored it most days, and make my way to the big leather chair. For this occasion, I wore my most professionally acceptable badass outfit. I need to feel like a badass today. The black thigh-high boots are hidden under a floor-length semi-sheer black skirt, that only shows off my black leggings underneath. My tight-fit black turtleneck is paired with a cropped leather jacket that says, ‘Try me, fucker. I dare you.’

My hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail. My makeup is fresh. My nerves are settled after a week of upheaval.

Lifting the tie to my face, I knot it in place and wait. I wait for the rush of excitement to wash over me, for the inappropriate tingles to start, for the need to ambush me.

Nothing but irritation comes.

It’s more shocking than using my safe word.

Before I hear the door open, I’m contemplating ripping the damn thing off my face. I’m tired of it, and I’ve never been anything but grateful for a blindfold.

What the fuck?

I press my clammy hands into my lap and hold very still, leaning into training to get me through this odd development. I listen to him enter and close the door behind him. I’m struck once more at the bare whisper of his footsteps. After he sits, he’s quiet for a minute. So am I.

“Good evening, Hailey. It’s nice to see you.”

It would be nice to see you too.

“How did your homework go?”

“You’re straight to the point.” There’s a quip to his voice and concern too. It chafes even more than the blindfold.

“Would you rather I waste your time and money?” I’m snapping, and I don’t know If I can stop.

“I’d rather know what’s gotten into you.”

“You’re here for therapy, not me.” I should recommend him to another therapist. “So answer my question.” I tack on a “please” because I’m being a bitch, and he doesn’t deserve it.

“It was…hard.” He’s not the type to make lewd comments. So I don’t have to worry about him going into detail about his cock. My next question is safe.

“How so?”

“Now that I’ve fantasized about her touching me, I want it more than ever.”

“I’d call that major progress.”

The usual joy of a patient’s progress is strangely absent. It stokes my already roaring irritation. I don’t know why I thought I was ready for this. Mostly, because I’ve never had such a reaction to a patient. Hell, to anyone.

“What if she wants nothing to do with me?”

He doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who fishes for compliments. So I won’t give them. After all, I haven’t even seen him face-to-face. I can, however, point out the obvious.

“How many people eye-fuck you daily?”

“Um?” He stalls.

“Don’t be shy. You know what I’m talking about. The woman standing in line near you at the coffee shop. The woman who always ends up riding the elevator at the same time you do? The guy at the gym.”

“A few.” He finally concedes.

“People don’t eye-fuck those who are unattractive to them. It’s safe to deduce that you’re not an ogre. Though, even ogres appeal to some.” I adjust the blindfold, hating it more by the second. “Have you even asked this woman out on a date?”

“No.”

“She doesn’t know you’re interested. You’ve spoken, so she knows you exist. She probably knows you’re not into physical contact. People who aren’t into physical contact exude an aura that tells everyone else to piss off. If she’s any good at reading people, she’s probably picked up on those cues, even if you don’t outright give them to her.” I draw a deep breath. “I’m about to make you uncomfortable.”

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