Page 12 of The Play

He stretches out on my little couch and kicks off his shoes. He’s wearing jeans that are ripped at the knees, a black T-shirt, and an unzipped gray hoodie. Muscular but not bulky, he’s got a great body, and the heart-stopping face to go with it. And when he flashes me a cocky grin, I’m horrified to feel heat rise in my cheeks. That smile of his is dangerous. No wonder Pax is obsessed with this guy.

I open the large envelope and extract a stapled packet with the instructions for our assignment, as well as two other envelopes. One is labeled “DOCTOR,” the other “PATIENT.”

“Here.” I toss the patient envelope at the couch. Hunter catches it easily.

Inside my envelope, I find a stack of papers, and flip through it. It’s blank templates that I’m supposed to use for my “session notes.” I skim the instructions bundle. We need to log a minimum of eight sessions, but we can do as many as we want. My session notes will apparently be included in the appendix for the case study I’ll need to write. My package also includes diagnostic tools and tip sheets.

From the couch, Hunter chuckles softly. I glance over to see him skimming through papers. His stack isn’t as big as mine, likely because his part of the project involves more research.

“We probably should’ve decided on our roles in class,” I realize. “I don’t know if we can do much of a session before you’ve brushed up on your fake condition.”

But Hunter just shrugs. A wry note enters his voice as he studies his papers again. “It’s cool. I know enough to wing it, at least for this first chat.”

“You sure?”

“Yup.” He slides the paperwork back into the envelope and drops it on his bag. Then he gets comfortable again. “All right, let’s go.”

As per Andrews’ instructions, I’m not allowed to record the session. But I’m confident in my note-taking abilities. I crunch the last bit of my lollipop between my teeth, swallow the candy, and toss the little stick in the wastebasket.

Once we’re both settled, we start going through the formalities. “So, Mister…?” I wait for him to fill in the rest.

“Sexy.”

“Veto. You can do better than that.”

“Big,” he supplies.

I sigh. “Smith,” I say firmly. “You’re Mr. Smith. First name, um, Damien.”

“Like the devil kid from that horror movie? Veto. It’s bad karma.”

“You’re bad karma,” I mutter. Jesus, it’s taking forever just to record his fake name. At this rate, the project will never get done. “Fine, your first name is Richard, you picky dick.”

He snorts.

“It’s nice to meet you, Dick Smith,” I say sweetly. “I’m Dr. Davis. What brings you here today?”

I half-expect another bullshit line, something about how this Dick needs to be sucked. But he surprises me. “My wife thinks I need therapy.”

My eyebrows shoot up. Ooh, getting right down to it. I love it. “Is that so… And why does she think that?”

“Honestly? I don’t know.She’sthe one who needs therapy. She’s always losing her mind over something.”

I jot down his phrasing. “What do you mean by that, losing her mind?”

“She overthinks everything. She bitches all the time. For example, if I’m home late from work, her brain immediately jumps to ‘he’s been screwing around.’” Hunter pauses irritably. “I guess for the sake of full disclosure, I should mention I cheated on her once or twice, and yes, she is aware of this.”

Wow, this is like a soap opera. I’m already invested.

“All right…this cheating you mention.” I make some more notes. “How long ago did it take place? And was it once, or was it twice?”

“The first affair was years ago, the most recent one this year. I was under a lot of stress at work.”

I note that he ignored my question about how many times he’d actually cheated.

“Why do you think you cheated? Is there a particular reason that stands out?”

“It’s hard to feel connected to somebody when they’re constantly complaining and making demands. She fucking drove me to cheat. I mean, what else did she expect would happen if she kept acting like that?”

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