Chapter Six
Mia
Alfie Adams has not learned his lesson. Because as soon as Helen mentioned that she was going out on a date on Friday, I knew Alfie would be doing his secret stalker thing.
So guess what? We’re gonna Inception this bitch.
Alfie Adams is stalking his patient, and now I’m stalking him, stalking his patient.
The dancehall has been decorated Southern-state style, and dancers are boot scootin’ across the wooden floorboards.
The hall is decorated with the US flag and so many banners it looks like a presidential candidate is about to walk through the door and announce their campaign.
I’ve blended in, pulling out some old, slightly too-tight shorts I brought with me from Texas that I rarely wear, and a red and white gingham shirt that I’ve tied in a knot under my boobs.
A sliver of my stomach is exposed, but luckily it's not too cold in here. The heaters are on, and with the drinks flowing, I’ve warmed up in no time.
I spot Alfie entering the hall and roll my eyes.
The guy is one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, and yet he wears slacks and dress shoes to a line dancing class.
Isn’t he supposed to be blending in? You can tell he’s a rookie at stalking because he has no characters, no costumes, no pageantry.
If he’s going to do this, he’s going to seriously need my help.
He hides behind a wooden pillar and sneaks a glance at the dance floor, scanning the room in the most unsubtle way possible. He looks like a dad who is trying to catch his kid smoking weed.
I sneak up behind him and watch as he pulls his phone out. He opens up his messages, and my heart stops as he pulls up my contact.
He begins typing, pausing every few seconds to look up at the ceiling, or the heavens, who knows? Perhaps he’s looking for some divine intervention.
No, you shouldn’t be stalking your patients.
No, you also shouldn’t be stalking your office manager.
Yes, she’s an office manager, stop calling her a receptionist.
I rise up on the toes of my boots but I can’t see what he’s typing until I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. I fish it out quickly and see the message.
Alfie: Let me know if you need a ride back from the Jonas Brother’s house. I’m free later.
I snort at his joke. I didn’t really get those guys’ numbers.
I mean I totally would have, but stopping to get their contact info seemed slightly anticlimactic when I was trying to bad-bitch strut out of the bar.
Besides, three on one? I haven’t had sex in a while, and the prospect kind of terrified me.
Even if they were all total sweethearts.
Is Alfie worried about me?
Seems odd because he’s never been concerned about my personal life before. My chest aches a little, and I can’t work out why. Maybe it’s because he wants to care but doesn’t know how to keep things professional. Maybe he’s just annoyed that I’ve become a nuisance that he doesn’t know how to handle.
He huffs, pulling out the phone again, tapping furiously on the phone and hitting send before reviewing. Bold move.
I pull out my phone, but nothing comes through.
He seems to be messaging back and forth until I feel the call coming in. I hesitate for a second but decide it’s best that he doesn’t realize I’m here stalking him, stalking a patient. Given this week's tension filled office, I’d say Alfie isn’t in the mood to find me here.
I text him instead, something that will certainly keep his thoughts occupied.
“Fuck my life,” he grumbles.
My chin dips to my chest, my knees suddenly unable to hold myself up.
What the hell am I doing? Have I learned nothing with my limited experience with men?
Playing games with inappropriate role models in my life is something I should have squashed a long time ago, and yet here I am doing it again.
Alfie stands running his hand over his mouth.
His head is dipped low, a small smirk playing at his lips and a gleam in his eye that tells me he’d indulge me if I don’t put a stop to it now.
Mia: We could do with some better snacks in the kitchen.
I watch as he runs his hand over his mouth again, his shoulders sagging a little, the rough texture of his beard scraping along his palm. My breath catches in my throat as I watch his smile downturn.
Alfie: I’ll look into it.
Alfie: Remember to call me if you need a ride.
He pockets his phone, crossing one leg over the other as he leans a shoulder against the pillar.
I watch his eye line and spot Helen dancing next to a man in his fifties.
His salt-and-pepper hair is trimmed at the sides but full on top, and he has a bigger build than I imagine she’d go for.
He looks strong, but soft too. He has a bit of padding cushioning his muscles, and the look on his face…
it's like Helen is lighting up his whole world just by giving him a chance to go out with her. She’s beaming too, smiling from ear to ear as she stomps her foot and lifts her other leg and slaps her boot behind her.
I’m mesmerized by them, and before I can move out of the way, Alfie turns, stopping dead in his tracks as he sees me.
I suddenly feel so stupid wearing a pair of daisy dukes with my cowboy boots, my gingham top revealing a little too much.
His eyes wander downward, pausing over my breasts and then my thighs.
I feel like I’ve dressed up for him, something I swore I’d never do again for a man.
But I’m playing this part, a character that’s brave and bold and despite myself, I just don’t know if I have the follow through.
Men make me nervous in general, but this man.
Pensive, kind, and considerate. What if I get to know him more and he shows me he’s not those things?
What if his professional self is just another part he plays?
He already follows his patients around; hell, he’s followed me around. That should scream red flag.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
“What are you doing here?” I volley.
“I thought you were with the Jonas Brothers?” he says, and I smile. It really is a good joke.
“They had a last-minute gig. Had to cancel.”
He nods, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes dropping low once again, like he just can’t help himself.
A wannabe cowboy bumps into me, pushing me closer to Alfie and I give him the finger before taking a deep breath.
“She’s fine, Alfie. She’s having a good time.”
His eyes dart back to Helen. “I know…”
I step toward him, and he sucks in a breath.
“Why are you wearing this?” He pulls at the loose bit of fabric from the knot just below my sternum.
“It’s a hoedown. Or at least, it’s trying to be a hoedown. What are you wearing? You’re not very undercover.”
His eyes move around the room like it’s suddenly occurring to him that he’s sticking out like a sore thumb.
“If you’re going to do this, you might want to think about a few disguises.”
“Disguises suggest premeditation.”
“And this wasn’t premeditated? You just happened to be checking out the same line dancing venue as your patient, who was going on her first date since her scummy ex was thrown in prison?”
“Mia…”
“Alfie.” I raise my eyebrows. “I can see why you’re doing this. You care. But you’re gonna have to lean into this, otherwise you’re going to get caught. Let me help you.”
“Help me?”
“Yeah. I can prepare things you might need for your stakeouts.”
“No.”
“Yes. When is the next one?”
“No. There is no next one.”
I roll my eyes and mutter under my breath what an idiot he is.
“We should go, before Helen spots us.”
I’m jostled again, this time right into Alfie’s chest. “Watch it, asshole.”
He turns and gives me a wink, mouthing You’re welcome before heading to the bar. My eyebrows pinch together. What the hell?
As I look up, my hands still flat on Alfie’s chest, my mouth inches from his.
Oh God. What did I say? Something about an authority figure with my livelihood in his hands?
My brain fizzes like throwing a Mento into a bottle of Coke.
All my thoughts are shooting out, overflowing, and I can’t remember what my exact argument was for not flirting.
The smell of his aftershave fills my lungs, and I can’t help but breathe him in.
He’s watching me cautiously, like he doesn’t know what to do.
Like he’s itching to freeze this moment.
Seeing Dr. Alfie Adams without an answer is oddly endearing.
“Alfie…”
His hand brushes a stray hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear.
Not the hair behind the ear tuck.
“The what?” he asks.
Oh God. I said it out loud. The hair behind the ear tuck.
“Nothing. We should go. Unless you’re going to dance in those things?
” We both look down at his leather shoes before returning to our previous position, mouths inches apart.
God, I’d never been so close to him before.
It’s almost painful. Having a monumental, completely-cannot-happen crush on your boss is embarrassing enough, but clinging to him and panting like a puppy that’s been chasing him around is a downright fireable offence.
And I’ve already used up my one free pass for saving him from Vincent.
“You might be right about the disguises.”
“Sorry, what was that?” I lean back, my hand splayed across my chest in shock. “Did Dr. Adams just admit I was right, and he was wrong?”
He grips one hand around my arm, the other snaking around my middle, holding me close to him. “You’re a menace to society. I don’t know why the patients love you so much.”
“It’s the southern charm. What are you going to do without me?”
He grunts, letting go of my waist, moving his hand to rub the back of his neck again.
“How long until you leave again?”
I pick a piece of lint off his shirt, if only to find an excuse to touch him again.
“Three months, give or take.”
“What do you want, Mia? Do you want to move on and find something new?”
“Yeah, I mean, of course I want a proper psychologist job. I can’t run your practice forever.”
“Have you thought about where you want to work?”
“I want to work in a practice like yours. Somewhere where you can really help people long term. But I’d be open to doing other jobs in the meantime. Seeing what else is out there.”
I sense he has more to say, but he doesn’t. He gives me a brief nod, takes my hand in his, and weaves through the crowd of cowboys toward the exit.