Page 73 of Oh, Flutz!

“Wow. Impressive.”

I fold my arms across my chest. This man is surprisingly good at hiding his opinions from his expression—I’ve always been terrible at that, it’s part of why all the reporters and team media people always loathed working with me, why I developed my reputation—but I know he definitely isn’t impressed. If anything, he’s probably about to call Lian and tell her she should dump me and cut her losses. “Yeah.”

Sanjiv laughs, raking his curls back. “No need to look at me like that. Trust me, if I was going to lock you up, I would’ve gotten Lian to do it. She’s a whole lot scarier than I am.”

Fair enough. “Fine. What else?”

He shrugs, taking off his glasses and wiping them with the hem of his t-shirt. “Honestly, I just want to get to know you. Lee didn’t say much, just that she wants me to figure out how we can help.”

“I don’t need help.”

“I agree.”

“You do?”

“You seem fine enough to me. You’re not tweaking. You’re not in cold sweats. You don’t sleepwalk, do you? No hallucinations?”

I crease my brow. “No…”

He makes ayikesnoise, shaking his head. “You should’ve seen this water polo player I had once. Poor guy used to scare the living daylights out of his girlfriend ‘cause he’d sleep-cook and almost burned their apartment down.” He shakes his head. “Trust me. Back in my competing days, I almost overdosed on Z’s before my team forced me down and into rehab. You don’t got shit to worry about.”

“I…” I pause. “I was going to say sorry, but that’s stupid, isn’t it?”

Sanjiv grins at me. “Atta girl. I like you already.”

I can’t help it, I smile back. “You’re a very unusual psychiatrist.”

“And thank god for it.”

I suppose the “casual doctor” thing isn’t as off-putting as I originally thought, because before I know it we’re chatting like we’ve known each other for ages. I tell him about work, my life back home, what it’s been like since moving here, how much Bryan gets on my nerves, and he tells me about his other weird clients.

“What did you used to compete in?” I ask eventually. “Didn’t you say something about that?”

“Wow, someone’s…terrifyingly attentive.”

“I get that a lot.” Usually just the terrifying part, but sometimes both.

“I’m sure. As for your question, I used to ski a little bit.”

“You don’t anymore?”

“Nah, the tourists up here put me off it.”

He really is funny.Bryan should take notes, I think, which is when I spot the framed picture behind Sanjiv’s desk on the other side of the room. I squint at it. It’s him, younger by maybe ten or fifteen years, in a bright red-white-and-blue ski suit, goggles and beanie hiding most of his black curls. He has some kind of lanyard around his neck, maybe an ID card—

I stop short. “Is that a fucking Olympic gold medal?”

“Maybe,” he replies meekly.

“Are you serious?Oh, I used to ski a little bit,”I mock, and he bursts out laughing.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to bamboozle you. It’s simply my nature to deceive.”

“What on earth doesbamboozlemean?”

Sanjiv pretends to sigh. “Russians. Can’t depend on you guys for anything, least of all understanding silly vocab.”

“I take offense at that. But don’t deflect, how many times did you make it to the Olympics? Just the once?”

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