Page 50 of Not Catching Love

“So …” He focuses somewhere mid-chest. “Are you back for good?”

“I haven’t figured that out yet. I think I’ll volunteer again because I really loved it, but maybe not for so long next time.”

“Why so long this time, then?”

It’s a brave question since I’m sure he already knows the answer. So I’ll be brave right back. “Needed some space from you.”

A familiar resignation crosses his face. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

“Not like that,” I whisper.

“Then like what?”

“I know you didn’t want to hear me the last time we spoke, and I don’t blame you. That … that wasn’t my best moment.” I’m still so embarrassed that I lost my cool and exploded like that. “I couldn’t have been more unprofessional if I tried. So I’m really sorry. I know that doesn’t make up for it, but getting mad at you over something you can’t control … urggg, I hate myself.”

“Yeah, stop that. I hate myself enough for the both of us.” He flicks me a look. “At least that’s what my shrink says.”

I try not to let the way I get excited over that show. “You’re seeing someone?”

“Apparently, if I didn’t want to be a manipulative little shit anymore, I had to.” He picks at some of the paint on his thumb. “I need to say sorry too, I guess.”

“Hey …” I nudge his arm gently. “That was almost an apology.”

“See? Therapy changes you. Maybe I don’t want to be a good person, Derek.”

“Suits you though.”

We smile at each other, but it takes me a moment to notice.

“Mary told me you’ve been running my class?”

“Your class has been running me. Unlike you, I’m appreciative of all the unsolicited butt taps. Almost feels like I’m in my jock era.”

“As a former jock, those taps aren’t anywhere near as erotic as people make them out to be.”

He presses his hands to his ears. “All I heard was that the jock rooms are an erotic fuck fest, and you had the time of your life in college.”

I humor him. “Yep, that’s exactly what I said.”

His grin slowly slides from his face. “Is it okay if I still come to your class? Only, I sort of owe Carla five bucks for stepping on her toes last week. I’m still not very good.”

And this is where I should draw some lines.

It’s been six months. As a past, long-term patient, it’s against all kinds of ethics to even consider pursuing a friendship with him, let alone anything else. It’s the main reason I ran away in the first place.

This whole thing with Xander was supposed to be that my feelings came about because of our proximity. The time apart was supposed to drive in how wrong it was and how many lines I crossed.

It didn’t work though.

The distance killed me.

During a weak moment, I may have looked up the rules surrounding dating former patients, and they … weren’t good. Well, no. They’re good. I agree with them. I only wish that I’d met Xander literally any other way.

Six months wasn’t long enough. I should have gone for the full two years that’s recommended as the minimum time distance between treating someone and seeing them outside of work. Not that waiting two years is some magical guarantee of it being okay anyway. Maybe the distance would have beengood for me though. Maybe then I wouldn’t want him more now than before I left. Maybe he’d have found a partner, and none of it would be an option anyway.

But I didn’t.

And it is.

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