Chapter Eight
Alfie
I drive along the road toward Lottie’s house, bracing myself for another endless discussion about my nonexistent love life. Mia has been mentioned more times than I can count in our group chat this last week, that eventually I leaned into it.
Last night…God, what was I thinking? And how did she even know I would be there?
It’s like she knows what I’m going to do before I do.
And that outfit, Christ. How Texas ever let her leave the state when she looks that good in a pair of denim shorts, I’ll never know.
She looked like a dreamlike cowgirl, a pinup model that men would fantasize about whilst away at war.
The promise of coming home to something completely out of their league.
A fantasy girl. Now I understand what my patient Austin meant last year when he let his now fiancée, Olivia, kidnap him and hold him hostage in her basement.
I’d let Mia lasso me any day of the week if she were wearing that outfit.
She could hog-tie me and keep me with the horses just to pull me out whenever she wants to use me. No worries, love, saddle up.
I shake the image, mentally preparing myself for the inevitable bloodlust of my friends over a night of drinks, games and gossip.
On today’s agenda: Mia; how I can get Mia; whether Mia would ever see me as anything other than her boss; and unfortunately for me, whether I have the ability to get a woman like Mia in the first place.
As I slow to pull into the drive, I spot someone lurking behind a tree. The dark figure is dressed all in black and hides quickly behind the trunk as I approach.
What the fuck?
The lingering bruises on my face should be enough to scare them away, or maybe they would see me as an easy target considering there are no bruises on my knuckles. I pull off the road. Jumping out of the car and slamming the door. A small squeak sounds out.
The earthy smell of damp soil fills my lungs as the soft squidge of moss beneath my feet quietens my approach. As I round the tree, all I see is an arm, covered in a long-sleeved T-shirt, darting around the corner.
“You better show your face or I’m going to call the police.”
“Why?” an obviously fake male voice sounds out. “Is stalking people wrong?”
“Oh Christ. Mia? Are you fucking serious right now?”
She continues to use a gruff rendition of a man. “Did you just swear at a lady?”
“Get back here!” I trip over a tree root trying to grab her, but the sprightly menace evades me.
A honk of a horn pulls me back into the present, Jonesy opening his window with a look of utter confusion on his face as I attempt to grab Mia yet again.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to grab my receptionist,” I yell back.
“I’m your goddamn office manager. How many times must I say it?” She stops hiding, her hands on hips, face thunderous.
“Oh, shit…that’s her?” Jonesy says, his mouth gaping.
“Get inside or I’ll tell Katie you were gawking,” I snap before turning my attention back to my office manager.
He grumbles, and the roar of his engine spits up gravel as he makes his way down to Lottie’s house.
Mia’s annoyed again. Seems this might be our usual state now.
The outfit, however, is new.
The tightest leather pants known to man, grip her like a second skin.
Some obviously not fit for purpose combat boots, which have a too high heel for the kind of operation she seems to be cosplaying, but manage to elongate her mouthwateringly long legs all the same.
The long-sleeved top is skin tight too, bringing attention to every curve on her.
Her long black hair pulled up into a high ponytail that I’d give anything to wrap around my fist and tug.
That would be if she weren’t my office manager and if I were actually attracted to her.
Which I’m not. Because that would be inappropriate as her boss.
She points her finger at me again, and oh God, she’s even painted her nails black too. My teenage goth girl fantasy has come to life, and she’s going to squish me under her boot just like I would imagine when I was fourteen and learned what masturbating was.
She’s catwoman and I’m just the dorky professor about to give her a history lesson before she cracks her whip and takes down another villain, or in Mia’s case, wedgies someone.
“What are you doing here?” My voice is sharp and, maybe for the first time, angry.
“I-I thought you were following another patient, so I followed you.”
“You were already out of the car when I pulled over.”
“Yeah, I overtook you and parked up. You drive like my grandma,” she snips.
I ignore the jab and turn to see Katie pull into Lottie’s driveway, pausing as she studies us for a moment.
“Mia?” she calls out.
“Err…yes,” she answers cautiously, her attention flitting between me and Katie.
“What do you drink?”
“No, Katie,” I interrupt. “Absolutely not.” She’s not coming into Lottie’s house.
Not a chance am I going to spend the evening explaining why I’ve brought a woman to Dinner Club for the first time.
Not when she’s dressed like a wet dream.
Especially not when I’ve been messaging the group chat about her all damn week.
“Anything with bubbles,” Mia shouts back before I can stop her.
“We’ve got prosecco.” Another yell from Katie as she flicks her red hair over her shoulder.
“That works.”
“Nice boots, by the way.” She winks before heading up the drive, leaving me alone with Mia.
Mia looks down at her feet, grinning and despite the huff expelling from my mouth, my pulse picks up as I look down at her shoes.
Keep it together. You’re a goddamn therapist.
“Why are you here?” I repeat.
“I told you, I wanted to make sure you weren’t stalking another patient and doing a terrible job of it by not wearing a disguise.”
“And this is your idea of a good disguise?”
She looks down at herself again, this time twirling so the curve of her perfect fucking ass comes into view. “You don’t like it?”
No, I don't like it. I love it. I want to rip it off her, see if her underwear matches the theme of the day or not. I bet it does. Goddamn it, she’s driving me crazy.
“You can’t come in,” I say, a little desperation seeping in.
“I’ve already got my drink order coming.” She laughs before moving toward my car. “Do you think it’s fine to leave my car on the road?”
I look around for help from anyone, but there’s nothing.
Just the giant pine trees until we make it inside.
I race to the car, closing the door on her as she tries to get in the passenger-side door.
She turns, and suddenly I’m caging her in against the door.
The boots make her as tall as she is in those heels she wears around the office, but I can still loom over her.
I don’t want to appear threatening, but she has to understand the seriousness of this situation.
I could lose my job. I could lose everything.
My friends could think I’ve lost my goddamn mind.
Jury’s out on whether that’s true or not.
“Mia, you can’t tell them about me following patients.”
“Alfie, what do you take me for?” She rolls her eyes.
“A loose cannon with a penchant for wedging people?” I deadpan.
“Ooh, do you think there will be an opportunity for that tonight? I hope you wore your best, Dr. Adams,” she trills, pushing against my chest until I move and let her in. I close the door like a gentleman and look up to the sky, praying that I can keep my cool tonight.
◆◆◆
“We need to lay some ground rules,” I say, mostly to myself as we make our way down Lottie’s driveway, the trees thickening as we lose sight of the street.
“Okay, let’s go.”
“Firstly, we need to come up with a story as to why you’re here tonight and why you’re wearing that outfit.”
“I don’t understand what you have against this outfit.”
I look down at her again, the tight fabric fighting against her curves until I force myself to look away.
“If you’re okay with it, I think we should pretend that we’re dating.
Social media already thinks that’s the case, and my friends have been hounding me about you ever since the Vincent incident.
” The words slip out as if they were carefully curated and well thought out.
It couldn’t be further from the truth. My friends know we’re not dating.
Our group chat has been very much trying to force me into the dating stage with Mia, mostly against my will.
And yet here I am, trying to do the very same thing to her.
“You want me to be your fake girlfriend?”
“Not girlfriend-girlfriend. Just dating…casually.”
“I’m not really a casual kind of girl.” Her body twists to face me and I keep my eyes ahead, my hands ten and two on the wheel.
“On the date with deadbeat David, you said you were on dating apps…being casual.”
Her cheeks pinken before her face breaks out into a grin. “Yeah, I was kind of saying that to annoy him. He was drooling over Dr. Buckingham; I was trying to save face.”
“So you’re not dating anyone?”
“When exactly would I have the time? I work full time with you, I’m finishing my PhD, and I work at the crisis center. Oh, and I’m now protecting you in my free time to make sure I get a job before my reference ends up in prison for stalking his patients.”
“Is that what you’re worried about?” I feel my eyes widen. Her tone suggests she’s joking, but she must have at least thought about it to bring it up.
She shrugs. “Listen, I don’t want to get all deep and trauma dump, but in my experience, older men just let you down—"
“I’m not that old.”
“Okay, I’ll rephrase. Men older than me just let me down. I don’t trust that I’m going to get a good reference from you. I don’t trust that you’re not going through some midlife crisis—”
“Not midlife yet, but thanks.”