Physical Therapy (Red Hot Read Book 4)

by Max Henry

  “We’ll get something else delivered.” I chuckle. “Come here.”

  Edith falls into my arms, the position already welcoming and familiar. I dot a kiss to her head and then rest my smile against her crown.

  Perhaps we all have our shortcomings? But why should that impact what we think of ourselves? It’s our rough edges that make us tangible for others to love. Without the grit, without the imperfections, we’d lose grip of one another.

  By wearing our faults for all to see, we give them something to adhere to.

  We allow friction.

  And with friction, you create fire.

  SIXTEEN

  Edith

  I’ve tried to leave twice now, and yet he seems to stall me at every turn. A crime drama plays on the TV, turned down low. Our dinner sits between us on the floor: extra-cheesy supreme pizza. I glance across at Boe as he takes a bite.

  I wouldn’t have picked him for a man who likes the simple pleasures outside of work. He comes across as so cultured, so purposefully put together when in a suit. Not the man before me who winds the string of cheese around his thick finger before sucking it clean.

  I readjust the T-shirt I have on to cover more of my ass, my legs tucked to one side where I sit. His gaze tracks my movements, lingering on my flesh as I lean forward to take a second slice.

  “You better work out a goddamn solution,” he warns. “Because you’re sure as fuck not doing much right now to convince me carrying on with this would be a bad idea.”

  I sigh, a small smile playing at my lips. The pizza burns at my fingertips. “I’m not doing much to tempt you, either.” I take a large bite to prove my point.

  “I don’t know.” Hungry eyes rove my body. “An attractive woman wearing my clothes while sitting on the floor eating pizza.” He growls quietly. “I’m sure that’s most men’s dream.”

  “Frat boys, maybe.” I laugh.

  “Aren’t we all just frat boys at heart?”

  True. I finish my slice, feigning interest in the TV. This conversation could get deep, and that’s not something I’m in the mood for. Not after the sucker punch to the gut my earlier realization was.

  For now, I’d simply like to live the dream a little longer.

  I’d like to enjoy having a man who tests me, who’s compatible.

  Even if I know it won’t last.

  The gentle slide of the box against carpet snaps me from my daze. I turn my attention back to Boe to find him setting dinner aside before then scooting across the floor to me.

  “Can I tell you something? Off the record?”

  I nod, allowing him to adjust me so that I sit tucked between his legs with my back to him. Boe rests against the armchair and plays with my hair, fingers gently lifting the lengths.

  “I hate my job.”

  I laugh, turning my head to see him. “That’s hardly anything unusual, Boe.”

  He meets my gaze with a stoic one of his own. “Career, then. Everything about it. I hate it.”

  I twist in his hold, tucked side on against his body. “What would you rather do?”

  “Anything that doesn’t involve a suit.”

  Knew it. I suppress the smug smile that desperately tries to break free. “If you could do anything in the world, what would it be?” I picked it from the start: deep down he is not corporate.

  “Mechanic.” He flinches, as though it physically hurts him to be truthful. “I’ve always wished I knew more about cars and trucks.”

  “Wow.” I turn a little more, settling between his feet so I can observe his expressions better. “Why get into sales then?”

  “You know about my old man, right?” He frowns.

  “Yes.”

  “I wanted to prove I could do it right. I wanted him to see that I could do honestly, what he had to achieve illegally.”

  Damn. “Why was that so important to you?” If only I had a notebook.

  Boe shrugs. “I can only tie it back to why I resented the asshole.” He pulls a deep breath. “He chose to fucking rip our family apart. He chose greed over loyalty. But he never acknowledged that.”

  “That’s an extreme way to prove a point.” I fold my hands in my lap and study him.

  He hesitates, eyeing the way I sit before him.

  My gut sinks.

  “I said off the fucking record, Edith.” Boe stands, his leg knocking me sideways in the process.

  “We are.”

  “And then you lie to me,” he says as though the very words disgust him.

  I back up and rise to my knees as he strides to the wall and promptly throws a fist into it. The plaster crackles, yet no hole forms. It appears to frustrate him further, given the extra three hits he deals the same spot.

  Boe only stops when the destruction is complete.

  I stay prone, observing in a disassociated way. It’s the only way to stay level in this hothouse of anger.

  “Do you even know how to switch off?” He spins, the heat in his gaze unsettling.

  I shuffle back until my feet touch the TV unit. “I honestly didn’t realize I was doing it.”

  “Bullshit!”

  He sees right through me. Damn it. I forget how perceptive he is.

  “Was that the real reason behind your visit tonight?” he scathes, arms folded as he glares at me. “Get me on side. Make me let my guard down.” He takes a menacing step forward, bending at the waist to level our faces. “Did you get what you need, Doctor?”

  I feel every single heated word against my face. Every. Single. One.

  Boe rears back and I take my cue to leave. The situation is on a rapid decline from bad to worse. One more minute in this dance might be all it takes before I’m his next charge on the rap sheet.

  “I don’t think anything I say right now would sway your opinion,” I state, grabbing my coat.

  He shakes his head, refusing to look at me as I shirk his T-shirt, and then don my coat. “Yeah, probably not.”

  Like a petty child, he waits until I’m at the door before he delivers the final line.

  “Not when I’m sure I just figured out the truth, Doc.”

  His continued moniker for me slices like the knife he intends it to be. Five seconds is all I give. Five shallow breaths while I wait with my hand on the door for him to realize how unfair he’s been.

  I never get the apology I hope for. Instead, I get the sinking feeling I’ve come to expect after every damn interaction with Boe Johanssen.

  The one that tells me some people never change.

  And as it seems, neither do I.

  Otherwise why else would I be crying in the damn lift?

  SEVENTEEN

  Boe

  Fucking head shrinker. I chuckle into my scotch. I guess it was a new experience, being psychoanalyzed while balls deep in a woman. I can tick that one off the list now.

  The unmistakable commotion of Clara and the twins drifts through the workplace. I stash the hip flask back in my desk to finish later and then straighten my tie.

  “In here.” My sister shepherds her spawn into my office. “Sit in front of Uncle Boe’s desk.” She gives me a flat smile as a brief acknowledgment before delving into her massive mom-bag and producing a small coloring book and crayons.

  The twins immediately cease their chatter, their little hands scrapping over the best colors. Clara nudges a clear space on the front of my desk to perch her ass.

  “What did you need me for?”

  I shut my laptop and set it aside before leaning back in my chair. “I have an issue I need a woman’s perspective on.”

  She groans. “Seriously, Boe. Is this something I can discuss in front of the kids?”

  “They’re too young to understand, right?”

  “They’re four,” she deadpans. “They may not understand what we’re talking about but they’re perfectly capable of repeating what they hear.”

  Duly noted. “So, that therapist you sent me to.”

  She buries her face in her hands. “No. Y
ou’re not going to say what I think you are. Nope.”

  “She came over last night.”

  “And… you just did.” Clara’s hands hit her lap with a slap. “Why?”

  I shrug. “She’s attractive.”

  “The woman at the coffee shop is attractive,” she cries, throwing one of her hands out in front of her. “But I don’t see you jumping the counter to do her.”

  I fold my hands behind my head. “Are you going to help me with this, or not?”

  “You’re beyond help, little brother.”

  “You know me so well,” I jest. “Anyway. I kicked her out.”

  She fixes me with a blank stare. “And this is unusual how?”

  “Because I didn’t want to.”

  “So why did you?” she asks as though the answer to my problem should be obvious.

  “Because she was probing into my head while we were fuck—”

  “Words!”

  I glance at my niece and nephew. They’re unfazed. “Cuddling.”

  Clara sighs, rising from my desk. “What did you expect, Boe? You hired her to straighten you out. Instead, you straighten her out.” She paces to the window, bending to peer out between the blinds. “I’m seriously questioning how good she is at her job if all it takes it two sessions to break her.”

  “Three,” I correct. “And she’s good at it. That’s the issue.”

  “You want her to keep counseling you?” Clara turns to face me.

  “I want her to do both.”

  “And yet you kicked her out when she did.”

  “Not at the same time, for God’s sake.” Fuck it. I pull my hip flask out.

  Clara’s face pinches into disbelief. “Are you drinking at work?”

  I shrug. “It makes the day more interesting.”

  She draws a deep breath while I draw a decent mouthful.

  “Come on, monkeys.” Clara collects up the coloring materials, much to the twins’ disgust. “Let’s get lunch.”

  “Uncle Boe, too?” My nephew asks.

  Clara shakes her head before pointedly looking at my scotch. “Nope. Uncle Boe has his own lunch.”

  “I’m serious, sis.” I stand as she prepares to leave. “I need help figuring out how to do this.”

  She gives me a sad smile, guiding the kids out into the open part of our offices. “I don’t think you can do both.”

  “So that’s it,” I snap. “I get punished when I want to date a woman because of my criminal history?”

  Clara gives a quick glance out the door to check on the kids before answering. “Yes, Boe. That’s what happens when you break the law when you assault people. You get punished.”

  “Fucking bullshit,” I mutter, turning away.

  “No,” Clara argues. “It’s called consequences. Deal with it.”

  ***

  I deal with it… the only way I know how.

  “Fuck rules.”

  The old lady beside me in the waiting room frowns as she throws a cautionary glance my way.

  “What?” I glare at the snobby bitch. “Something you want to say?”

  The pretty blonde thing behind the reception desk lifts her head. And then her phone. Barely thirty seconds pass before Edith herself stands before me.

  “You don’t have an appointment, Mr. Johanssen.”

  “So?”

  I swear to God if that nosey cow to my left doesn’t look away in the next—

  “So, I don’t have time allotted for you.”

  I turn to grandma, leaning across the seat between us. “Excuse me, love. But why are you here?”

  “Boe,” Edith warns.

  I lift a hand to her face without looking away from the old duck. “What’s your issue?”

  She glances between Edith and me, tongue peeking out to wet her withered peach-painted lips.

  “You don’t have to answer, Mrs. Cruse.”

  “Yes, she does.” I shoot Edith a glare. I mean, what the fuck? I asked the woman a question.

  “It’s okay, dear. If it settles this man down.” The gnarled old hag sharpens her eyes my way. “He has been causing quite the commotion.”

  “Sweetheart,” I leer. “I haven’t even got started.”

  “If you persist, Boe, I will have to call building security.”

  “Go ahead.” I wave a hand dismissively at Edith before folding my arms high on my chest. “I’ll wait while Mrs. Cruse here tells me what her appointment is for.”

  “Doctor Potts assists with my shopping addiction,” the old woman shares.

  I look to Edith first, then Mrs. Cruse, before back to Edith. I lose my grip on composure. My laugh erupts, echoing around the small waiting area. “Are you serious?” The old bag regards me with wide eyes when I return my focus to her. “Take the day off, darling. Treat yourself.” I rise from the seat and stride towards Edith’s office. “I’ll have her session for myself.” Both Edith and the woman stare open-mouthed as I hesitate, leaning back out the open office door to let the receptionist know, “Reschedule Mrs. Cruse for me, would you love?”

  Fucking shopping addiction. Pfft.

  EIGHTEEN

  Edith

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I walk into my office to find Boe seated at my desk. “You can’t just bully my clients out of their appointments.”

  “I can, and I did.” He lifts the lid of my laptop. “What’s your password?”

  “Get out.”

  Asshole taps on the keyboard. “Nope. Didn’t work.”

  “Boe. We’re not scheduled. And quite frankly, even if you were I don’t know if I could continue with our sessions.”

  “Why?” he challenges, glaring at me over the top of my screen. “Because we slept together?”

  “No.” I shut the door, praying like hell Molly didn’t hear that, let alone Mrs. Cruse. “Because you kicked me out. Until you actually want treatment, then there’s no point in me pretending I can help you.”

  “I want treatment,” he says rising from my seat. “Just not while the taste of your cunt is still fresh on my lips.”

  “You’re so damn crude,” I snap.

  He stalks across the office toward me. “You want to know why I’m here?”

  “Should I drop my pencil?” I taunt.

  His eyes flash with pure excitement. “Promise?”

  I sigh as he stops toe to toe. “Spit it out. Why do you need to see me so damn desperately?”

  “Same reason you need to see me,” he murmurs, a delicious rumble to his tone. “Because I crave you. All fucking day.” His gaze drops between us; raking over my clothed body with the same passion he shows when I’m naked. Perhaps in his mind, I am? “And,” he adds. “I want to prove something to you.”

  “What would that be?” God, I want to lick him.

  “That I can be the asshole you love without getting myself arrested again.”

  “Is that so?” I hitch an eyebrow.

  His hands lift between us, both thumbs brushing my nipples as he cups my breasts. “I just was, wasn’t I?” The tiny buds peak at his caress. “Go on,” Boe taunts. “Tell me it didn’t turn you on how I acted out there.”

  Damn it. As though I could lie when my body screams the truth. “Is that your plan?” I say dryly. “Come in here every day and slowly scare my clientele away?”

  “Perhaps.” His hands slide to the top button of my blouse. “I might also have other ideas.”

  My hands capture his wrists as he undoes the top clasp, and yet I don’t try to stop him. Instead, my grasp travels with Boe’s while he slowly unbuttons my blouse. “We can’t do this here.”

  “Like fuck we can’t.” He curls his top lip in a sneer and chuckles, gaze fixed to the golden silk as it falls away from my body. “In my mind, I’ve already done it a dozen times.”

  “You’ll have to change therapist,” I protest weakly, all the while shifting my arms so that the blouse falls to the floor.

  “See,” he says with a tip of his head. “I�
��ve thought about what you said around that.” His fingers make fast work of the zipper on my skirt. “And there’s a flaw in your reasoning.”

  “There is?” Cotton blend pools around my ankles.

  I step out of it, flicking the skirt aside with one leather heel.

  “For what we’re doing here to be a conflict of interest—” He smiles. “—then people have to know about it.”

  “You propose we try to keep this a secret?” I raise one eyebrow and scoff at the man. “As though that would be possible.”

  Boe leans closer, one hand dropping between us to cup my sex through the thin barrier of my panties. “One to shy from a challenge, Doc?”

  Damn him. Damn Boe and his incredibly sharp jaw. His captivating eyes, and his taunting smirk.

  “I need to lock the door,” I whisper.

  He massages his fingers back and forth before sliding one beneath my lingerie. “Leave it.” A gentle caress. A promise.

  “Be fair,” I whine pitifully.

  He leans in to touch his nose to mine, his breath heavy as his finger explores my slick folds. “I am.”

  I ache to kiss him, yet he evades me with quick, deft movements. “How?”

  “Because I get the feeling you’d enjoy it more with the thrill of getting caught. Am I right?” His finger probes my channel, curling into a tantalizing hook before he pulls it out and brings the digit to his mouth. “Mmm.” I watch, enchanted, as Boe sucks my juices from his skin. “I think I am.”

  My flesh burns with the need for connection, and yet he steps away. Boe surveys the office, all the while shedding his own clothes. His jacket rests on the client chair, his shirt laid over my desk, tie atop. My core clenches as he steps before the large windows that overlook the street below and swiftly unbuckles his belt.

  “Yeah,” he says as though to agree with himself. “This will be perfect.”

  Black slacks hit the floor, Boe stepping out of them and his shoes in one fluid movement. He stands before my office window in nothing more than his tailored boxers, my receptionist a mere unlocked door away from what would be a confronting scene should she decide to check on me.

  I’ve never been wetter.

  “Get over here.” Boe chooses to remain facing the window while he barks his command. I can’t see what he does, but the angle of his arm suggests he touches himself.