I fumbled for an excuse. “She lives with her father. I don’t think it would be too cool to bang her while he’s sleeping in the bedroom next door.”
“I agree. That’s not a good idea. But you have your own place and a bed.”
My blood heated as I bolted upright. “There’s no way I can fuck her in my bed! That bed’s sacred. It was my wedding present to Allee.”
“Then sell it and buy a new one.”
His matter-of-fact words ripped into me. My fists clenched on my thighs. I was reeling.
He cast his eyes downward. “And it’s time for you, young man, to stop wearing your wedding band.”
My blood bubbled at his words. Fuck him!
Before I could utter a word—or punch him out which is what I really wanted to do—Dr. Goodman glanced down at his watch and announced that our session was over. Not thanking him for seeing me, I charged out of his office feeling worse than I had when I’d arrived. Therapy was supposed to help you—make you feel better—but a lot of the time it made you feel like crap.
Still simmering, I waited impatiently for the elevator. I needed to get the hell out of here. Blow off some steam. Maybe go for a run or take my bike for a ride. I tapped my foot as I anxiously rubbed the gold band on my ring finger with the pad of my thumb. What was taking so long? Finally, the elevator arrived, and when door slid open, my eyes almost popped out of their sockets. I was face to face with the person I least likely expected to see. Willow Rosenthal.