Page 15 of Dirty Dix

“No, I did not,” I reply, reaching for my scotch, failing to mention that she didn’t even offer.

“So what happened?”

“Nothing. We had our session…”

“Hold up,” Hunter interrupts, brushing his hair from his face, as it’s slipped free from his manbun. “You still went through with the session?”

I pathetically nod because the situation is as ridiculous as it sounds.

“You are either the smartest, or stupidest motherfucker alive!” He laughs, slapping his hand on the tabletop.

“He’s definitely the smartest. Good on you, Dix,” Finch says, nodding his head in encouragement.

“Thanks, man. At leastyou’rea good friend.” I look pointedly at Hunter.

“Hey, don’t be hating on me. I told you to handball her to another doctor. You’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”

I sigh because he’s right. It was absolutely ludicrous attempting to act professional. The session was a total disaster, and I should be ashamed of myself for allowing it to ever get that far.

“You’re not seeing her next week, are you?” Hunter asks with an incredulous look.

“Well…” I reply, guiltily chugging down my scotch.

“Are you insane?” Finch cries, sitting tall in his seat. “Dixon, this person is a dirty, dirty, slutty slut from the planet ‘I’m a big whore who masturbates in offices where babies have been!’ You need to never see her again, and you need to buy a new desk!”

I can’t help the laugh that rumbles from my chest as Finch is utterly entertaining when riled up. Hunter joins in and Finch runs a hand over his full beard.

“You guys are sick bastards.”

And just like that, I instantly feel better.

“I’m going out for a smoke,” I say, pushing back my chair.

“Make sure you don’t bump into any masturbating fiends on your way out,” Hunter playfully chides while I flip him off.

Walking through the packed restaurant, my thoughts drift to Juliet and the predicament I find myself in. The right and smart thing to do would be to tell Ms. Harte I can no longer treat her. But that thought leaves a sour taste in my mouth, and I have no idea why.

My mother was a devout Catholic, and in times of crisis she would tell me to pray to the Lord, and apparently he was supposed to give me some magical answer. I really could do with some answers right about now, so God, if you’re listening, how ’bout you cut me some slack and give me a sign. Please?

“Oh, shit!” a voice from beneath me—yes, beneath me—yelps.

I jolt back, part in shock, part in horror, as I blindly walked straight into someone. Now that poor person is sprawled out on the floor on her stomach.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you,” I say in a rushed breath, quickly dropping to a squat.

“It’s okay,” she replies, laughing quietly.

As she turns around to face me, my words get caught in my throat. “M-Madison?”

I knew she worked here, that’s part of the reason I’m here, but I wasn’t expecting to literally bump into her.

“Dixon?” she says, gasping. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here with friends. We’re having drinks. And you did say if I was ever in the neighborhood…” I reply, mesmerized by her stunning green eyes.

“Oh.” She sounds surprised that I actually came.

I suddenly realize she’s still lying sprawled out on the floor, and like a jerk, I haven’t even offered to help her up.

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