Page 10 of Physical Therapy

SEVEN

Boe

“Dr. Potts will see you now.” The pretty blonde receptionist offers a warm smile.

I don’t miss the way her gaze drags the length of me as I stand, or the unnecessary swivel of her chair while she tracks me across to the ash panel door.

“Thank you, Molly.” I leave her with the kind of wink that’ll have the girl wondering if I really was hitting on her for the next hour.

If Edith plans on making things difficult for me, then I intend to do the same for her. Perhaps I could take it one step further? I didn’t see a ring on Molly’s finger. I’m sure she’s not averse to a little after-hours fun. It’s not as though she has to abide by patient-client rules now, is it?

“Good morning, Boe.”

I close the door gently behind me, surprised to find Edith in the armchair already. She swivels her hips, tilting her body towards me.

“Thank you for being on time today.”

“It’s my pleasure.” If I want to get the most out of fucking with her this session, then I need the whole hour.

She repositions herself while I take the seat opposite. Unlike last week, she wears a flowing dress that falls just above her knee. The soft floral fabric outlines her shapely thigh, falling over her tanned flesh like a ribbon waiting to be pulled. Her hair is drawn into a loose knot at her nape; soft tendrils lay delicately over her shoulders.

“We’ll work on your background today, Boe. Do you have any objections?”

“None at all.”

Her eyes widen a fraction. “Great.” I drink in the blush of her lips while she diverts her attention to the notepad on the arm of her chair. “Your first conviction. Tell me about that.”

“My first?” I grin. “Only if you tell me about your first time.”

Her disappointment is evident in the dip of her brow. “I ask the questions. Remember?”

“For now.” I widen my legs, thighs pressed against the sides of the seat. As predicted, her gaze pulls to my crotch when I lay my hands casually at my hips.

“You had a clear record until then.” She recovers well, flicking her attention to my face. “What prompted an aggravated assault charge at twenty-two?”

“Yeah, see—” I wave an index finger at her “—I had a clear record until then, but I was far from well-behaved.”

“When did the physical altercations start, then?”

“With strangers?” I clarify. “Or anybody in general?”

Her delicate fingers fidget with the pen clasped to her notepad. “Can you detail what you mean for me?”

My fingers tap on the smooth white arm. “I brawled in the schoolyard like most boys, had the odd altercation while out with buddies. But my first fist fight was with my grandfather.”

The pen slides from the pad in one swift movement, the nib scratching hungrily across the paper. “Why?”

“Because he provoked me.”

“How?”

She’s less surprised than I anticipated. “It was his way of teaching me how real men behave.”

“In relation to what? What did he think you weren’t responding correctly to?”

“My first conviction was for a road-rage incident,” I divert. “But I’m sure you already know that.”

Edith’s pen slows; her shoulders slump before she pulls a deep breath. “I know the details, yes. But what the police reports don’t tell me is why you chose that option for resolving your frustration.”

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