Chapter 26 Dickhead David
Chapter twenty-six
Dickhead David
The next morning I wake up early, needing to get to the office earlier than normal for an important evaluation.
My eyes pop open, and my heart begins to thud heavily inside my chest because of how I'm wrapped around Sarah.
My eyes lower down to where we're pressed together.
Fuck. I'm gripping her breast over the sheet and holding her tummy in my other hand.
God, she's so beautiful and feels so soft.
Cradling her close, I feed that part of me that needs physical touch.
My eyes rise even further up her body to the tops of her bare shoulders, and I immediately see she'd shimmied out of her clothes sometime in the middle of the night.
My eyes fly up to where her face is turned away from me.
The delicate curve of her neck is tempting, begging me to run my lips along it.
I bite back a groan, wanting to taste the flavor of her skin after she's been asleep all night.
My cock thickens as her scent hits me hard, and I want nothing more than to rip the sheet off her body.
The restraint I exercise is strangling me half to death, but I put my desire firmly to the side and work to extract myself from around her.
She doesn't deserve to be lusted over the way I am right now.
I pull away and move the cover up even more, slowly, so I don't wake her up and interrupt her rest.
And I'm ashamed to say that it takes every bit of my two decades of professionalism to keep my eyes off her as I leave the room.
Distracting myself, I dress in the main bedroom before heading downstairs to text Tyler to see how he's doing.
Eerily content, I find I'm enjoying the hush of the early morning as I make lunch for Sarah.
Turning, I stick it in the refrigerator, leaving her another note instructing her to grab breakfast out of the warmer and the tea I made for her, and then reminding her to get her lunch for the day.
Keeping my steps light, I sneak back into her room and place the note on my pillow, freezing when I see she shifted enough that the covers pulled away enough to expose her naked leg and hip.
My face warms with renewed desire as my eyes roam greedily.
Her skin is so creamy it looks like butter.
It would be so wrong, but the fact that I can't run my hands along that flawless expanse of delicate skin is going to fuck my day up. I already know it.
Exercising an extreme force of will, I back out of the room, and the contentment I'd just felt melts away as I now dread the day ahead because I'm losing her.
No—I'm being forced to let her slip through my grasp.
And I don't want to, at all. Nothing in me wants to let her go.
But I do it anyway because this isn't about me and what I want.
This is about Sarah and the time she needs to heal, to find herself, and grieve.
Locking the front door, the sound reverberates out like a bullet inside my skull because it feels so final, and it makes me hate my house even more than I already do. It's just one more thing to stand between us.
“We don't need to trauma bond” is my mantra, and I play it on repeat extra loud in my head on my drive to work. Forcing my brain to relent what it wants and kowtow to what's best.
Somehow I get through the first two hours of work, though I'm rather irritated with everyone and everything.
With a heavy sigh, I close the door to my office after my client and her parents leave.
My annoyance is at an all time high. I could see the looks the mother of my client was giving me, and I know I was coming across even icier than I normally do.
I can't help it, though. I haven’t heard a thing from Sarah, and it stokes the fire of my irritation.
Sitting back in my office chair, I take a rare second to myself, rubbing my hands roughly down my face, and forcing myself to get it together. "Dear God, help me," I plead, but there's no help to be had because I'm like a madman possessed.
Tightening my lips, I lean forward to pull up my work email, pausing as Sarah’s name pops up on the screen.
My chest loosens with relief. She's okay. She’d reached out about an hour ago, right when she got into the office it looks like.
The relief is short lived, however, as my eyes skim her email.
I clench my jaw in fresh agitation at her disrespectful greeting.
Mr.-Dr. Richardson,
It’s Sarah Johnson asking for a rescheduling of our meeting for Client X. I can do Thursday 6p or Friday when you’re free. However, I can’t do after 4p on Friday because I’m performing at the lounge. Please let me know.
Hope your day is going well. I'm focusing on rescheduling the clients I thought I’d be seeing next Thursday, since you’re making me stay an extra day in Vancouver. Smile.
A little anxious about my first night in the apartment. Maybe I should get a cat?
By the way, do you plan on being there? Frick and Frack want to know so we can properly plan for food.
Warmest of the warmest regards,
Sarah Bella Johnson, MA, LPC
I grin at the sight of her sign off with her full name; however, my grin falls fast when I realize Tyler is flying into town on Friday.
He'd made plans to stay with me the night before going to his mother’s for a couple of days before returning to Spain.
My heart tightens with disappointment. It's a shame. I wanted to crash Sarah’s performance and see her sing.
Maybe enjoy a cigar. It's just what I need before speaking at the conference in Vancouver.
Dammit.
I narrow my eyes at my son's inconvenience.
I love him, but Tyler is truly a pain in the ass at the worst possible times.
And I just know that I'm going to have to give him some money at some point because at almost eighteen years old, the boy can’t figure out how to keep a job for longer than two months. And his mother won't stop begging.
Sighing, I hit the reply button with a thunk of finality that feels just as serious as the click of my front door closing this morning.
Sarah Bella,
It’s good to hear from you.
In an effort to be completely honest and transparent, I'm not having the best day. You know how you have one of those days when you wake up on the wrong side of the bed? Well, that's me. I wish I could just leave, but the clients’ needs are greater than mine.
I would have loved to see you perform, but my son will be in town, and he will be staying with me that night. Would it be too much to ask if you could sing a little something tonight, perhaps?
I wouldn’t miss you walking into your new apartment for the world. What are we having to eat? What are they thinking about ordering? Indian food is always a good choice.
Anyways, good luck at rescheduling your clients. I am going to have my secretary send you a few therapists who have become fully licensed and are looking for a home. I know you said you eventually want to fill up that extra room at your office.
And it's Alex. Just Alex.
I sigh deeply and hit send, leaning back in my chair, and squeezing the bridge of my nose between my fingers. A knock at my door has me turning my head in exasperation.
Shaking my head, I consider turning them away because I don't wish to be disturbed right now. I glance up to tell whoever it is to come back in twenty minutes; however, before I can utter one word, my office door cracks open without my permission, and it takes everything in me to not blow a gasket when Dickhead David walks in as friendly as ever. He’s completely unaware that I'm on my last nerve of the day at just ten-thirty in the morning, and have adopted a sudden and irrational dislike towards him.
Staying stone sill in my seat, every muscle tightens as I fight to keep from cursing at him for invading my privacy. Ignorant to my feelings, David smiles brightly at me as he strolls into my office without a goddamn care in the world, running a hand through his hair.
“Hey, man. Glad to see you're in. Do you have a second?” David asks conversationally, gesturing to one of the two chairs across from my desk.
“Uh-huh,” I say rather rudely, realizing this is becoming a new character trait for me.
“I’ve got a few minutes before I have to see my last client of the day.
What’s up, Osterkamp?” I cringe, praying to all that is holy that he isn’t about to ask me about anything to do with psychiatry.
My brain feels too fried to be capable of helping with anything right now.
Actually what it is, is I'm unsettled.
I frown, realizing I'm only this upset because tonight Sarah won’t be in my home. I slide cold eyes to David as he makes himself comfortable in one of the barrel seats.
"Nothing much, really. I just had a quick question," he says with a grin.
I manage a grimace, trying hard to turn it into a civilized grin. I cock my head and put an ankle over my knee, forcing myself to relax.
"I’ve got a second."
David clears his throat lightly before mimicking my posture. “Well, I was wondering if you were seeing Sarah?” he says, completely unaware of my dilemma…that I'm struggling within myself.
Not expecting the question, I fist my hand where it rests on the armrest.
I turn to the left slightly to hide the movement because I don't want him of all people to think I'm unhinged.
“No. We’re not currently seeing each other. Why do you ask?” I ask, clenching my jaw.
“I was just wondering," he says cheekily. "She’s never come in here before, and you never have therapists in your office. I was thinking about asking her out, if you weren’t with her that is.” I stay perfectly still as his gray eyes meet mine for longer than necessary, and damn it all to hell, but the man is challenging me.
Testing me.