“The thought of not drinking again—how does that make you feel?”
I think about it for a moment. “It doesn’t make me feel anything.” Not that anything makes me feel anymore.
“Still, I’d recommend seeing someone about the drinking. I know a great group that deals with substance—”
“I’m not an alcoholic,” I bite. “I might have problems, but that’s not one of them.”
She carefully eyes me.
“Okay. We’ll shelf that…for now.” She puts her pen down on the paper on her lap and looks at me.
Her red lips are slightly parted, and all I can think of doing is smearing that lipstick all over her mouth as I kiss it.
“Our time is nearly up. The first session is always short. The next time, we’ll have a full hour to talk.”
I know what I’d rather do in sixty minutes with her, and it doesn’t involve a lot of talking.
But she’s the best, and I need to get better.
“Is there anything else you want to talk about before we end this session? Anything you feel I should know?”
I want to fuck you. “No. Actually, yes.” I scratch my nose. “I have to be back on the track by January, mid-January at the very latest, to allow me to prepare for the start of the Prix in March.”
She puts her notepad and pen on the table as she glances at the calendar on the wall, which is currently on the month of November. “That gives us three months. Three and a half, at a push.”
“Impossible?” The weak part of me wants her to say yes, so my coward has a way out. I fight against it.
“No. I like a challenge.” Her lips lift into a soft smile, making me smile. “But this means intensive treatment. I’ll need to see you at least three times a week. Are you up for that?”
I flex my fingers from the fist they were curled into. “I’m up for it.”
“Good.” She presses her hands together in a clap and rises from her seat. “Sadie, my receptionist, will be in touch with you tomorrow to schedule your appointments. We book them in batches for intensive treatments.”
“So, I’ll see you in a few days, Leandro, and we can get started on getting you back on that racetrack.”
I follow her to the door, watching her ass sway as she moves. She’s heading to a different door than the one I entered.
“This is the exit door,” she explains. “I always have my patients leave through this door than the one they came in as I usually have another patient waiting to see me. Most people prefer anonymity—as I imagine you would.”
She holds the door open for me, allowing me to pass through.
I turn to face her. “This can’t get into the press,” I tell her.
From the other side, she smiles at me. “Anything you tell me never leaves this room. You’re safe here.”
I give her a nod. “Okay. Well, I’ll see you in a few days.”
Turning, I hear the door close behind me, and I jog down the stairs. I let myself out the door at the bottom that takes me out to the street.
Breathing in the crisp, cool air, I run a hand through my hair.
Then, I pull my cell from my pocket and dial.
I don’t even give him a chance to speak. I just hear the answering click before I start talking, “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that she looked like that?” I growl down the phone at Carrick.
“Hello to you, too. And who looks like what?” There’s laughter in his voice.
“You know exactly who I’m talking about—Dr. Harris, dickface,” My cock starts to harden at the mere thought of her.
Jesus. What the hell am I now? A teenager getting a boner over an attractive woman.
Who am I kidding? She’s not attractive. She’s gorgeous.
“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“Stop being a cock. You know exactly what I’m talking about. You might be pussy-whipped and have Andi vision, but you know a hot chick when you see one. You could have warned me.”
“Sorry, but the thought didn’t even cross my mind. Yeah, she’s decent looking, but she’s not my type. I never thought you’d want to bang her. Actually, scrap that. You’ll screw anything at the moment, so really, my warning was there when I told you she was a woman.”
“I love it when you talk dirty to me.”
He laughs loudly. “Wanting to fuck Dr. Harris aside, how did it go? She’s good, right? She’s helped Andi a lot.”
“Yeah, she’s good, I suppose.”
“So, she thinks she can help you?”
“That’s what she says.” That is, if I don’t fuck her first and screw it up.
RELIEVED TO BE HOME, I open my front door, pizza boxes in hand.
“I’m home,” I call out.
“In the kitchen,” Kit calls back.
Kicking off my heels, I head to the kitchen.
Kit and the love of my life, Jett—my baby boy who’s not a baby anymore—are sitting around the table, playing a card game.
“Hey, honey.” I kiss the top of Jett’s head as I place the pizzas on the table.
“Hey, Mum. You had a good day?” He smiles up at me.
That smile, those blue eyes. They make the longest days worth it.
“Yeah. Good, long.”
“You work too hard.”